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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ffb1118 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60174 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60174) diff --git a/old/60174-0.txt b/old/60174-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index bd23de8..0000000 --- a/old/60174-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,25378 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Children of the Abbey, by Regina Maria Roche - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Children of the Abbey - A Tale - -Author: Regina Maria Roche - -Release Date: August 26, 2019 [EBook #60174] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY *** - - - - -Produced by David T. Jones, Pat McCoy & the online -Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - -[Illustration: "But, gracious Heavens! Who can describe the emotions of -her soul, when the original of the picture so fondly sketched, so -hastily obliterated, met her eye." - Page 532.] - - - - -THE - -CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY. - -A TALE. - -BY - -REGINA MARIA ROCHE. - - - - - A matchless pair; - With equal virtue formed, and equal grace, - The same, distinguished by their sex alone: - Hers the mild lustre of the blooming morn, - And his the radiance of the risen day.--THOMSON. - - - - - NEW YORK: - ALBERT COGSWELL, PUBLISHER, - NO. 24 BOND STREET. - 1880 - - - - -THE - -CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - "Yellow sheafs from rich Ceres the cottage had crowned, - Green rustles were strewed on the floor; - The casements sweet woodbine crept wantonly round, - And decked the sod seats at the door."--CUNNINGHAM. - - -Hail, sweet asylum of my infancy! Content and innocence reside beneath -your humble roof, and charity unboastful of the good it renders. Hail, -ye venerable trees! my happiest hours of childish gayety were passed -beneath your shelter--then, careless as the birds that sung upon your -boughs, I laughed the hours away, nor knew of evil. - -Here surely I shall be guarded from duplicity; and if not happy, at -least in some degree tranquil. Here unmolested may I wait, till the rude -storm of sorrow is overblown, and my father's arms are again expanded to -receive me. - -Such were the words of Amanda, as the chaise (which she had hired at a -neighboring village on quitting the mail) turned down a little verdant -lane, almost darkened by old trees, whose interwoven branches allowed -her scarcely a glimpse of her nurse's cottage, till she had reached the -door. - -A number of tender recollections rushing upon her mind, rendered her -almost unable to alight; but the nurse and her husband, who had been -impatiently watching for the arrival of their fondling, assisted her, -and the former, obeying the dictates of nature and affection, half -stifled her with caresses; the latter respectfully kissed her hand, and -dropped a tear of unutterable joy upon it. Lort, he said, he was -surprised, to be sure, at the alteration a few years had made in her -person--why, it seemed to him as if it was only the other day since he -had carried her about in his arms, quite a little fairy. Then he begged -to know how his tear old captain was, and Mr. Oscar--and whether the -latter was not grown a very fine youth. Amanda, smiling through her -tears, endeavored to answer his inquiries; but she was so much affected -by her feelings, as to be scarcely able to speak; and when, by her -desire, he went out to discharge the chaise, and assist the young man -(who had travelled with her from London) to bring in her luggage, her -head sunk upon her nurse's bosom, whose arms encircled her waist. "My -dear faithful nurse," she sobbed, "your poor child is again returned to -seek an asylum from you." "And she is heartily welcome," replied the -good creature, crying herself, "and I have taken care to have everything -so nice, and so tidy, and so comfortable, that I warrant you the -greatest laty in the land need not disdain your apartments; and here are -two little girls, as well as myself, that will always be ready to -attend, serve and obey you. This is Ellen, your own foster-sister; and -this is Betsey, the little thing I had in the cradle when you went -away--and I have besides, though I say it myself that should not say it, -two as fine lads as you could wish to see; they are now at work at a -farmer's hard by; but they will be here presently. Thank Cot, we are all -happy, though obliged to earn our own bread; but 'tis sweeter for that -reason, since labor gives us health to enjoy it, and contentment blesses -us all." Amanda affectionately embraced the two girls, who were the -pictures of health and cheerfulness, and was then conducted into a -little parlor, which, with a small bedchamber adjoining it, was -appropriated to her use. The neatness of the room was truly pleasing; -the floor was nicely sanded; the hearth was dressed with "flowers and -fennel gay;" and the chimney-piece adorned with a range of broken -teacups, "wisely kept for show;" a clock ticked behind the door; and an -ebony cupboard displayed a profusion of the showiest ware the country -could produce. And now the nurse, on "hospitable thought intent," -hurried from Amanda to prepare her dinner. The chicken, as she said -herself, was ready to pop down in a minute; Ellen tied the asparagus; -and Betsey laid the cloth; Edwin drew his best cider, and, having -brought it in himself, retired to entertain his guest in the kitchen -(Amanda's travelling companion), before whom he had already set some of -his most substantial fare. - -Dinner, in the opinion of Amanda, was served in a moment; but her heart -was too full to eat, though pressed to do so with the utmost -tenderness, a tenderness which, in truth, was the means of overcoming -her. - -When insulted by malice, or oppressed by cruelty, the heart can assume a -stern fortitude foreign to its nature; but this seeming apathy vanishes -at the voice of kindness, as the rigid frost of winter melts before the -gentle influence of the sun, and tears, gushing tears of gratitude and -sensibility, express its yielding feelings. Sacred are such tears; they -flow from the sweet source of social affection: the good alone can shed -them. - -Her nurse's sons soon returned from their labor; two fine nut-brown -youths. They had been the companions of her infant sports, and she spoke -to them with the most engaging affability. - -Domestic bliss and rural felicity Amanda had always been accustomed to, -till within a short period; her attachment to them was still as strong -as ever, and had her father been with her, she would have been happy. - -It was now about the middle of June, and the whole country was glowing -with luxuriant beauty. The cottage was in reality a comfortable, -commodious farm-house; it was situated in North Wales, and the romantic -scenery surrounding it was highly pleasing to a disposition like -Amanda's, which delighted equally in the sublime and beautiful. The -front of the cottage was almost covered with woodbine, intermingled with -vines; and the lane already mentioned formed a shady avenue up to the -very door; one side overlooked a deep valley, winding amongst hills clad -in the liveliest verdure; a clear stream running through it turned a -mill in its course, and afforded a salutary coolness to the herds which -ruminated on its banks; the other side commanded a view of rich -pastures, terminated by a thick grove, whose natural vistas gave a view -of cultivated farms, a small irregular village, the spire of its church, -and a fine old castle, whose stately turrets rose above the trees -surrounding them. - -The farm-yard, at the back of the cottage, was stocked with poultry and -all the implements of rural industry; the garden was divided from it by -a rude paling, interwoven with honeysuckles and wild roses; the part -appropriated for vegetables divided from the part sacred to Flora by -rows of fruit-trees; a craggy precipice hung over it, covered with -purple and yellow flowers, thyme, and other odoriferous herbs, which -afforded browsage to three or four goats that skipped about in playful -gambols; a silver stream trickled down the precipice, and winding round -a plantation of shrubs, fell with a gentle murmur into the valley. -Beneath a projecting fragment of the rock a natural recess was formed, -thickly lined with moss, and planted round with a succession of -beautiful flowers. - - "Here, scattered wild, the lily of the vale - Its balmy essence breathes; here cowslips hang - The dewy head, and purple violets lurk-- - With all the lowly children of the shade."--THOMSON. - -Of those scenes Amanda had but an imperfect recollection; such a faint -idea as we retain of a confused but agreeable dream, which, though we -cannot explain, leaves a pleasing impression behind. - -Peculiar circumstances had driven her from the shelter of a parent's -arms, to seek security in retirement at this abode of simplicity and -peace. Here the perturbation of fear subsided; but the soft melancholy -of her soul at times was heightened, when she reflected, that in this -very place an unfortunate mother had expired almost at the moment of -giving her birth. - -Amanda was now about nineteen; a description of her face and person -would not do her justice, as it never could convey a full idea of the -ineffable sweetness and sensibility of the former, or the striking -elegance and beautiful proportion of the latter. - -Sorrow had faded her vivid bloom; for the distresses of her father -weighed heavy on her heart, and the blossom drooped with the tree which -supported it. Her agonized parent witnessing this sudden change, sent -her into Wales, as much for health as for security; she was ordered -goat's whey and gentle exercise; but she firmly believed that -consolation on her father's account could alone effect a cure. - -Though the rose upon her cheek was pale, and the lustre of her eyes was -fled, she was from those circumstances (if less dazzling to the eye) -more affecting to the heart. Cold and unfeeling indeed must that one -have been, which could see her unmoved; for hers was that interesting -face and figure which had power to fix the wandering eye and change the -gaze of admiration into the throb of sensibility: nor was her mind -inferior to the form that enshrined it. - -She now exerted her spirits in gratitude to her humble but benevolent -friends. Her arrival had occasioned a little festival at the cottage: -the tea things, which were kept more for show than use in the ebony -cupboard, were now taken out and carried by her desire to the recess in -the garden; whither Mrs. Edwin followed the family with a hot cake, -Amanda thought large enough to serve half the principality. - -The scene was delightful, and well calculated to banish all sadness but -despair; Amanda was therefore cheered; for she was too much the child of -piety ever to have felt its baneful influence. In the midst of her -troubles she still looked up with confidence to that Power who has -promised never to forsake the righteous. - -The harmless jest, the jocund laugh went round, and Amanda enjoyed the -innocent gayety; for a benevolent mind will ever derive pleasure from -the happiness of others. The declining sun now gave softer beauties to -the extensive scenery; the lowing of the cattle was faintly echoed by -the neighboring hills; the cheerful carol of the peasant floated on the -evening gale, that stole perfumes from the beds of flowers and wafted -them around; the busy bees had now completed the delicious labor of the -day, and with incessant hummings sought their various hives, while-- - - "Every copse - Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush - Were prodigal of harmony."--THOMSON. - -To complete the concert, a blind harper, who supported himself by summer -rambles through the country, strolled into the garden; and after a -plentiful repast of bread and cheese, and nut-brown ale, began playing. - -The venerable appearance of the musician, the simple melody of his harp, -recalled to Amanda's recollection the tales of other times, in which she -had so often delighted: it sent her soul back to the ages of old, to the -days of other years, when bards rehearsed the exploits of heroes, and -sung the praises of the dead. "While the ghosts of those they sung, came -in their rustling winds, and were seen to bend with joy towards the -sound of their praise." To proceed, in the beautiful language of Ossian, -"The sound was mournful and low, like the song of the tomb;" such as -Fingal heard, when the crowded sighs of his bosom rose; and, "some of my -heroes are low," said the gray-haired King of Morven: "I hear the sound -of death on the harp. Ossian, touch the trembling string. Bid the sorrow -rise, that their spirits may fly with joy to Morven's woody hills. He -touched the harp before the king: the sound was mournful and low. Bend -forwards from your clouds," he said, "ghosts of my fathers, bend. Lay by -the red terror of your course. Receive the falling chief; whether he -comes from a distant land, or rises from the rolling sea, let his robe -of mist be near; his spear, that is formed of a cloud; place an -half-extinguished meteor by his side, in the form of the hero's sword. -And, oh! let his countenance be lovely, that his friends may delight in -his presence. Bend from your clouds," he said, "ghosts of my fathers, -bend." - -The sweet enthusiasm which arose in Amanda's mind, from her present -situation, her careful nurse soon put an end to, by reminding her of the -heavy dew then falling. Amanda could have stayed for hours in the -garden; but resigning her inclination to her nurse's, she immediately -accompanied her into the house. She soon felt inclined to retire to -rest; and, after a slight supper of strawberries and cream (which was -all they could prevail on her to touch), she withdrew to her chamber, -attended by the nurse and her two daughters, who all thought their -services requisite; and it was not without much difficulty Amanda -persuaded them to the contrary. - -Left to solitude, a tender awe stole upon the mind of Amanda, when she -reflected that in this very room her mother had expired. The -recollection of her sufferings--the sorrows her father and self had -experienced since the period of her death--the distresses they still -felt and might yet go through--all raised a sudden agony in her soul, -and tears burst forth. She went to the bed, and knelt beside it; "Oh! my -mother," she cried, "if thy departed spirit be permitted to look down -upon this world, hear and regard the supplications of thy child, for thy -protection amidst the snares which may be spread for her. Yet," -continued she, after a pause, "that Being, who has taken thee to -himself, will, if I continue innocent, extend his guardian care: to Him, -therefore, to Him be raised the fervent prayer for rendering abortive -every scheme of treachery." - -She prayed with all the fervency of devotion; her wandering thoughts -were all restrained, and her passions gradually subsided into a calm. - -Warmed by a pure and ardent piety, that sacred power which comes with -healing on its wings to the afflicted children of humanity, she felt a -placid hope spring in her heart, that whispered to it, all would yet be -well. - -She arose tranquil and animated. The inhabitants of the cottage had -retired to repose; and she heard no sound save the ticking of the clock -from the outside room. She went to the window, and raising the white -calico curtain, looked down the valley; it was illumined by the beams of -the moon, which tipped the trees with a shadowy silver, and threw a line -of radiance on the clear rivulet. All was still, as if creation slept -upon the bosom of serenity. Here, while contemplating the scene, a -sudden flutter at the window startled her; and she saw in a moment after -a bird flit across, and perch upon a tree whose boughs shaded the -casement; a soft serenade was immediately begun by the sweet and -plaintive bird of night. - -Amanda at length dropped the curtain, and sought repose; it soon blessed -her eyelids, and shed a sweet oblivion over all her cares. - - "Sleep on, sweet innocent! - And when a soul is found sincerely so, - A thousand liveried angels lacquey it, - Driving far off all thought of harm or sin."--MILTON. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - "Canst thou bear cold and hunger? Can these limbs, - Framed for the tender offices of love, - Endure the bitter gripes of smarting poverty? - When in a bed of straw we shrink together, - And the bleak winds shall whistle round our heads, - Wilt thou talk to me thus, - Thus hush my cares, and shelter me with love?"--OTWAY. - - -Fitzalan, the father of Amanda, was the descendant of an ancient Irish -family, which had, however, unfortunately attained the summit of its -prosperity long before his entrance into life; so that little more than -a name, once dignified by illustrious actions, was left to its -posterity. The parents of Fitzalan were supported by an employment under -government, which enabled them to save a small sum for their son and -only child, who at an early period became its sole master, by their -dying within a short period of each other. As soon as he had in some -degree recovered the shock of such calamities, he laid out his little -pittance in the purchase of a commission, as a profession best suiting -his inclinations and finances. - -The war between America and France had then just commenced; and -Fitzalan's regiment was amongst the first forces sent to the aid of the -former. The scenes of war, though dreadfully affecting to a soul of -exquisite sensibility, such as he possessed, had not power to damp the -ardor of his spirit; for, with the name, he inherited the hardy -resolution of his progenitors. - -He had once the good fortune to save the life of a British soldier; he -was one of a small party, who, by the treachery of their guides, were -suddenly surprised in a wood, through which they were obliged to pass -to join another detachment of the army. Their only way in this alarming -exigence was to retreat to the fort from whence they had but lately -issued: encompassed as they were by the enemy, this was not achieved -without the greatest difficulty. Just as they had reached it, Fitzalan -saw far behind them, a poor soldier, who had been wounded at the first -onset, just overtaken by two Indians. Yielding to the impulse of -compassion in which all idea of self was lost, Fitzalan hastily turned -to his assistance, and flinging himself between the pursued and the -pursuers, he kept them at bay till the poor creature had reached a place -of safety. This action, performed at the imminent hazard of his life, -secured him the lasting gratitude of the soldier, whose name was Edwin; -the same that now afforded an asylum to his daughter. - -Edwin had committed some juvenile indiscretions, which highly incensed -his parents; in despair at incurring their resentment, he enlisted with -a recruiting party in their neighborhood: but, accustomed all his life -to peace and plenty, he did not by any means relish his new situation. -His gratitude to Fitzalan was unbounded; he considered him as the -preserver of his life; and, on the man's being dismissed, who had -hitherto attended him as a servant, entreated he might be taken in his -place. This entreaty Fitzalan complied with; he was pleased with Edwin's -manner; and, having heard the little history of his misfortunes, -promised, on their return to Europe, to intercede with his friends for -him. - -During his stay abroad, Fitzalan was promoted to a captain-lieutenancy; -his pay was his only support, which, of necessity, checked the -benevolence of a spirit "open as day to melting charity." - -On the regiment's return to Europe, he obtained Edwin's discharge, who -longed to re-enter upon his former mode of life. He accompanied the -penitent himself into Wales, where he was received with the truest -rapture. - -In grief for his loss, his parents had forgotten all resentment for his -errors, which, indeed, had never been very great: they had lost their -two remaining children during his absence, and now received him as the -sole comfort and hope of their age. - -His youthful protector was blest with the warmest gratitude: tears -filled his fine eyes, as he beheld the pleasure of his parents, and the -contrition of the son; and he departed with that heartfelt pleasure, -which ever attends and rewards an action of humanity. - -He now accompanied his regiment into Scotland; they were quartered at a -fort in a remote part of that kingdom. - -Near the fort was a fine old abbey, belonging to the family of Dunreath; -the high hills which nearly encompassed it, were almost all covered with -trees, whose dark shades gave an appearance of gloomy solitude to the -building. - -The present possessor, the Earl of Dunreath, was now far advanced in -life; twice had he married, in expectation of a male heir to his large -estates, and twice he had been disappointed. His first lady had expired -immediately after the birth of a daughter. She had taken under her -protection a young female, who, by unexpected vicissitudes in her -family, was left destitute of support. On the demise of her patroness, -she retired from the Abbey to the house of a kinswoman in its vicinity; -the Earl of Dunreath, accustomed to her society, felt his solitude -doubly augmented by her absence. He had ever followed the dictates of -inclination, and would not disobey them now: ere the term of mourning -was expired, he offered her his hand, and was accepted. - -The fair orphan, now triumphant mistress of the Abbey, found there was -no longer occasion to check her natural propensities. Her soul was vain, -unfeeling, and ambitious; and her sudden elevation broke down all the -barriers which prudence had hitherto opposed to her passions. - -She soon gained an absolute ascendancy over her lord--she knew how to -assume the smile of complacency, and the accent of sensibility. - -Forgetful of the kindness of her late patroness, she treated the infant -she had left with the most cruel neglect; a neglect which was, if -possible, increased, on the birth of her own daughter, as she could not -bear that Augusta (instead of possessing the whole) should only share -the affection and estates of her father. She contrived by degrees to -alienate the former from the innocent Malvina; and she trusted, she -should find means to deprive her of the latter. - -Terrified by violence, and depressed by severity, the child looked -dejected and unhappy; and this appearance, Lady Dunreath made the Earl -believe, proceeded from sulkiness and natural ill-humor. Her own child, -unrestrained in any wish of her heart, was, from her playful gayety, a -constant source of amusement to the Earl; her mother had taken care to -instruct her in all the little endearments which, when united with -infantine sweetness, allure almost imperceptibly the affections. - -Malvina, ere she knew the meaning of sorrow, thus became its prey; but -in spite of envy or ill treatment, she grew up with all the graces of -mind and form that had distinguished her mother; her air was at once -elegant and commanding; her face replete with sweetness; and her fine -eyes had a mixture of sensibility and languor in them, which spoke to -the feeling soul. - -Augusta was also a fine figure; but unpossessed of the winning graces of -elegance and modesty which adorned her sister, her form always appeared -decorated with the most studied art, and her large eyes had a confident -assurance in them, that seemed to expect and demand universal homage. - -The warriors of the fort were welcome visitants at the Abbey, which Lady -Dunreath contrived to render a scene of almost constant gayety, by -keeping up a continual intercourse with all the adjacent families, and -entertaining all the strangers who came into its neighborhood. - -Lord Dunreath had long been a prey to infirmities, which at this period -generally confined him to his room; but though his body was debilitated, -his mind retained all its active powers. - -The first appearance of the officers at the Abbey was at a ball given by -Lady Dunreath, in consequence of their arrival near it; the gothic -apartments were decorated, and lighted up with a splendor that at once -displayed taste and magnificence; the lights, the music, the brilliancy, -and unusual gayety of the company, all gave to the spirits of Malvina an -agreeable flutter they had never before experienced; and a brighter -bloom than usual stole over her lovely cheek. - -The young co-heiresses were extremely admired by the military heroes. -Malvina, as the eldest, opened the ball with the colonel; her form had -attracted the eyes of Fitzalan, and vainly he attempted to withdraw -them, till the lively conversation of Augusta, who honored him with her -hand, forced him to restrain his glances, and pay her the sprightly -attentions so generally expected--when he came to turn Malvina, he -involuntarily detained her hand for a moment: she blushed, and the timid -beam that stole from her half-averted eyes, agitated his whole soul. - -Partners were changed in the course of the evening, and he seized the -first opportunity that offered for engaging her; the softness of her -voice, the simplicity yet elegance of her language, now captivated his -heart, as much as her form had charmed his eyes. - -Never had he before seen an object he thought half so lovely or -engaging; with her he could not support that lively strain of -conversation he had done with her sister. Where the heart is much -interested, it will not admit of trifling. - -Fitzalan was now in the meridian of manhood; his stature was above the -common size, and elegance and dignity were conspicuous in it; his -features were regularly handsome, and the fairness of his forehead -proved what his complexion had been, till change of climate and hardship -had embrowned it; the expression of his countenance was somewhat -plaintive: his eyes had a sweetness in them that spoke a soul of the -tenderest feelings; and the smile that played around his mouth, would -have adorned a face of female beauty. - -When the dance with Lady Malvina was over, Lady Augusta took care for -the remainder of the evening to engross all his attention. She thought -him by far the handsomest man in the room, and gave him no opportunity -of avoiding her; gallantry obliged him to return her assiduities, and he -was by his brother officers set down in the list of her adorers. This -mistake he encouraged: he could bear raillery on an indifferent subject; -and joined in the mirth, which the idea of his laying siege to the young -heiress occasioned. - -He deluded himself with no false hopes relative to the real object of -his passion; he knew the obstacles between them were insuperable; but -his heart was too proud to complain of fate; he shook off all appearance -of melancholy, and seemed more animated than ever. - -His visits at the Abbey became constant; Lady Augusta took them to -herself, and encouraged his attentions: as her mother rendered her -perfect mistress of her own actions, she had generally a levee of -redcoats every morning in her dressing-room. Lady Malvina seldom -appeared; she was at those times almost always employed in reading to -her father; when that was not the case, her own favorite avocations -often detained her in her room; or else she wandered out, about the -romantic rocks on the sea-shore; she delighted in solitary rambles, and -loved to visit the old peasants, who told her tales of her departed -mother's goodness, drawing tears of sorrow from her eyes, at the -irreparable loss she had sustained by her death. - -Fitzalan went one morning as usual to the Abbey to pay his customary -visit; as he went through the gallery which led to Lady Augusta's -dressing-room, his eyes were caught by two beautiful portraits of the -Earl's daughters; an artist, by his express desire, had come to the -Abbey to draw them; they were but just finished, and that morning placed -in the gallery. - -Lady Augusta appeared negligently reclined upon a sofa, in a verdant -alcove; the flowing drapery of the loose robe in which she was habited, -set off her fine figure; little Cupids were seen fanning aside her -dark-brown hair, and strewing roses on her pillow. - -Lady Malvina was represented in the simple attire of a peasant girl, -leaning on a little grassy hillock, whose foot was washed by a clear -stream, while her flocks browsed around, and her dog rested beneath the -shade of an old tree, that waved its branches over her head, and seemed -sheltering her from the beams of a meridian sun. - -"Beautiful portrait!" cried Fitzalan, "sweet resemblance of a seraphic -form!" - -He heard a soft sigh behind him; he started, turned, and perceived Lady -Malvina; in the utmost confusion he faltered out his admiration of the -pictures; and not knowing what he did, fixed his eyes on Lady Augusta's, -exclaiming, "How beautiful!" "'Tis very handsome indeed," said Malvina, -with a more pensive voice than usual, and led the way to her sister's -drawing-room. - -Lady Augusta was spangling some ribbon; but at Fitzalan's entrance she -threw it aside, and asked him if he had been admiring her -picture?--"Yes," he said, "'twas that alone had prevented his before -paying his homage to the original." He proceeded in a strain of -compliments, which had more gallantry than sincerity in them. In the -course of their trifling he snatched a knot of the spangled ribbon, and -pinning it next his heart, declared it should remain there as a talisman -against all future impressions. - -He stole a glance at Lady Malvina; she held a book in her hand; but her -eyes were turned towards him, and a deadly paleness overspread her -countenance. - -Fitzalan's spirits vanished; he started up, and declared he must be gone -immediately. The dejection of Lady Malvina dwelt upon his heart; it -flattered his fondness, but pained its sensibility. He left the fort in -the evening, immediately after he had retired from the mess; he strolled -to the sea-side, and rambled a considerable way among the rocks. The -scene was wild and solemn; the shadows of evening were beginning to -descend; the waves stole with low murmurs upon the shore, and a soft -breeze gently agitated the marine plants that grew amongst the crevices -of the rocks; already were the sea-fowl, with harsh and melancholy -cries, flocking to their nests, some lightly skimming over the water, -while others were seen, like dark clouds arising from the long heath on -the neighboring hills. Fitzalan pursued his way in deep and melancholy -meditation, from which a plaintive Scotch air, sung by the melting voice -of harmony itself, roused him. He looked towards the spot from whence -the sound proceeded, and beheld Lady Malvina standing on a low rock, a -projection of it affording her support. Nothing could be more -picturesque than her appearance: she looked like one of the beautiful -forms which Ossian so often describes: her white dress fluttered in the -wind, and her dark hair hung dishevelled around her. Fitzalan moved -softly, and stopped behind her; she wept as she sung, and wiped away her -tears as she ceased singing; she sighed heavily. "Ah! my mother," she -exclaimed, "why was Malvina left behind you?"--"To bless and improve -mankind," cried Fitzalan. She screamed, and would have fallen, had he -not caught her in his arms; he prevailed on her to sit down upon the -rock, and allow him to support her till her agitation had subsided. "And -why," cried he, "should Lady Malvina give way to melancholy, blest as -she is with all that can render life desirable? Why seek its indulgence, -by rambling about those dreary rocks; fit haunts alone, he might have -added, for wretchedness and me? Can I help wondering at your dejection -(he continued), when to all appearance (at least) I see you possessed of -everything requisite to constitute felicity?" - -"Appearances are often deceitful," said Malvina, forgetting in that -moment the caution she had hitherto inviolably observed, of never -hinting at the ill treatment she received from the Countess of Dunreath -and her daughter. "Appearances are often deceitful," she said, "as I, -alas! too fatally experience. The glare, the ostentation of wealth, a -soul of sensibility would willingly resign for privacy and plainness if -they were to be attended with real friendship and sympathy." - -"And how few," cried Fitzalan, turning his expressive eyes upon her -face, "can know Lady Malvina without feeling friendship for her virtues, -and sympathy for her sorrows!" As he spoke, he pressed her hand against -his heart, and she felt the knot of ribbon he had snatched from her -sister: she instantly withdrew her hand, and darting a haughty glance at -him, "Captain Fitzalan," said she, "you were going, I believe, to Lady -Augusta; let me not detain you." - -Fitzalan's passions were no longer under the dominion of reason; he tore -the ribbon from his breast and flung it into the sea. "Going to Lady -Augusta!" he exclaimed, "and is her lovely sister then really deceived? -Ah! Lady Malvina, I now gaze on the dear attraction that drew me to the -Abbey. The feelings of a real, a hopeless passion could ill support -raillery or observation: I hid my passion within the recesses of my -heart, and gladly allowed my visits to be placed to the account of an -object truly indifferent, that I might have opportunities of seeing an -object I adored." Malvina blushed and trembled: "Fitzalan," cried she -after a pause, "I detest deceit." - -"I abhor it too, Lady Malvina," said he; "but why should I now endeavor -to prove my sincerity, when I know it is so immaterial? Excuse me for -what I have already uttered, and believe that though susceptible, I am -not aspiring." He then presented his hand to Malvina; she descended from -her seat, and they walked towards the Abbey. Lady Malvina's pace was -slow, and her blushes, had Fitzalan looked at her, would have expressed -more pleasure than resentment: she seemed to expect a still further -declaration; but Fitzalan was too confused to speak; nor indeed was it -his intention again to indulge himself on the dangerous subject. They -proceeded in silence; at the Abbey gate they stopped, and he wished her -good-night. "Shall we not soon see you at the Abbey?" exclaimed Lady -Malvina in a flurried voice, which seemed to say she thought his adieu -rather a hasty one. "No, my lovely friend," cried Fitzalan, pausing, -while he looked upon her with the most impassioned tenderness,--"in -future I shall confine myself chiefly to the fort." "Do you dread an -invasion?" asked she, smiling, while a stolen glance of her eyes gave -peculiar meaning to her words. "I long dreaded that," cried he in the -same strain, "and my fears were well founded; but I must now muster all -my powers to dislodge the enemy." He kissed her hand, and precipitately -retired. - -Lady Malvina repaired to her chamber, in such a tumult of pleasure as -she had never before experienced. She admired Fitzalan from the first -evening she beheld him; though his attentions were directed to her -sister, the language of his eyes, to her, contradicted any attachment -these attentions might have intimated; his gentleness and sensibility -seemed congenial to her own. Hitherto she had been the slave of tyranny -and caprice; and now, for the first time, experienced that soothing -tenderness her wounded feelings had so long sighed for. She was agitated -and delighted; she overlooked every obstacle to her wishes; and waited -impatiently a further explanation of Fitzalan's sentiments. - -Far different were his feelings from hers: to know he was beloved, could -scarcely yield him pleasure, when he reflected on his hopeless -situation, which forbad his availing himself of any advantage that -knowledge might have afforded. Of a union indeed he did not dare to -think, since its consequences, he knew, must be destruction; for rigid -and austere as the Earl was represented, he could not flatter himself he -would ever pardon such a step; and the means of supporting Lady Malvina, -in any degree of comfort, he did not possess himself. He determined, as -much as possible, to avoid her presence, and regretted continually -having yielded to the impulse of his heart and revealed his love, since -he believed it had augmented hers. - -By degrees he discontinued his visits at the Abbey; but he often met -Lady Malvina at parties in the neighborhood: caution, however, always -sealed his lips, and every appearance of particularity was avoided. The -time now approached for the departure of the regiment from Scotland, and -Lady Malvina, instead of the explanation she so fondly expected, so -ardently desired, saw Fitzalan studious to avoid her. - -The disappointment this conduct gave rise to, was too much for the -tender and romantic heart of Malvina to bear without secretly repining. -Society grew irksome; she became more than ever attached to solitary -rambles, which gave opportunities of indulging her sorrows without -restraint: sorrows, pride often reproached her for experiencing. - -It was within a week of the change of garrison, when Malvina repaired -one evening to the rock where Fitzalan had disclosed his tenderness; a -similarity of feeling had led him thither; he saw his danger, but he had -no power to retreat; he sat down by Malvina, and they conversed for some -time on indifferent subjects; at last, after a pause of a minute, -Malvina exclaimed, "You go then, Fitzalan, never, never, I suppose, to -return here again!" "'Tis probable I may not indeed," said he. "Then we -shall never meet again," cried she, while a trickling tear stole down -her lovely cheek, which, tinged as it was with the flush of agitation, -looked now like a half-blown rose moistened with the dews of early -morning. - -"Yes, my lovely friend," said he, "we shall meet again--we shall meet in -a better place; in that heaven," continued he, sighing, and laying his -cold, trembling hand upon hers, "which will recompense all our -sufferings." "You are melancholy to-night, Fitzalan," cried Lady -Malvina, in a voice scarcely articulate. - -"Oh! can you wonder at it?" exclaimed he, overcome by her emotion, and -forgetting in a moment all his resolutions--"Oh! can you wonder at my -melancholy, when I know not but that this is the last time I shall see -the only woman I ever loved--when I know, that in bidding her adieu I -resign all the pleasure, the happiness of my life." - -Malvina could no longer restrain her feelings; she sunk upon his -shoulder and wept. "Good heavens!" cried Fitzalan, almost trembling -beneath the lovely burden he supported--"What a cruel situation is mine! -But, Malvina, I will not, cannot plunge you in destruction. Led by -necessity, as well as choice, to embrace the profession of a soldier, I -have no income but what is derived from that profession; though my own -distresses I could bear with fortitude, yours would totally unman me; -nor would my honor be less injured than my peace, were you involved in -difficulties on my account. Our separation is therefore, alas! -inevitable." - -"Oh! no," exclaimed Malvina, "the difficulties you have mentioned will -vanish. My father's affections were early alienated from me; and my fate -is of little consequence to him--nay, I have reason to believe he will -be glad of an excuse for leaving his large possessions to Augusta; and -oh! how little shall I envy her those possessions, if the happy destiny -I now look forward to is mine." As she spoke, her mild eyes rested on -the face of Fitzalan, who clasped her to his bosom in a sudden transport -of tenderness. "But though my father is partial to Augusta," she -continued, "I am sure he will not be unnatural to me; and though he may -withhold affluence, he will, I am confident, allow me a competence; nay, -Lady Dunreath, I believe, in pleasure at my removal from the Abbey, -would, if he hesitated in that respect, become my intercessor." - -The energy with which Malvina spoke convinced Fitzalan of the strength -of her affection. An ecstasy never before felt pervaded his soul at the -idea of being so beloved; vainly did prudence whisper, that Malvina -might be deluding herself with false hopes, the suggestions of love -triumphed over every consideration; and again folding the fair being he -held in his arms to his heart, he softly asked, would she, at all -events, unite her destiny with his. - -Lady Malvina, who firmly believed what she had said to him would really -happen, and who deemed a separation from him the greatest misfortune -which could possibly befall her, blushed, and faltering yielded a -willing consent. - -The means of accomplishing their wishes now occupied their thoughts. -Fitzalan's imagination was too fertile not soon to suggest a scheme -which had a probability of success; he resolved to intrust the chaplain -of the regiment with the affair, and request his attendance the ensuing -night in the chapel of the Abbey, where Lady Malvina promised to meet -them with her maid, on whose secrecy she thought she could rely. - -It was settled that Fitzalan should pay a visit the next morning at the -Abbey, and give Malvina a certain sign, if he succeeded with the -chaplain. - -The increasing darkness at length reminded them of the lateness of the -hour. Fitzalan conducted Malvina to the Abbey gate, where they -separated, each involved in a tumult of hopes, fears, and wishes. - -The next morning Lady Malvina brought her work into her sister's -dressing-room; at last Fitzalan entered; he was attacked by Augusta for -his long absence, which he excused by pleading regimental business. -After trifling some time with her, he prevailed on her to sit down to -the harpsichord; and then glancing to Malvina, he gave her the promised -signal. - -Her conscious eyes were instantly bent to the ground; a crimson glow was -suddenly succeeded by a deadly paleness; her head sunk upon her bosom; -and her agitation must have excited suspicions had it been perceived; -but Fitzalan purposely bent over her sister, and thus gave her an -opportunity of retiring unnoticed from the room. As soon as she had -regained a little composure, she called her maid, and, after receiving -many promises of secrecy, unfolded to her the whole affair. It was long -past the midnight hour ere Malvina would attempt repairing to the -chapel; when she at last rose for that purpose she trembled universally; -a kind of horror chilled her heart; she began to fear she was about -doing wrong, and hesitated; but when she reflected on the noble -generosity of Fitzalan, and that she herself had precipitated him into -the measure they were about taking, her hesitation was over; and leaning -on her maid, she stole through the winding galleries, and lightly -descending the stairs, entered the long hall, which terminated in a dark -arched passage, that opened into the chapel. - -This was a wild and gloomy structure, retaining everywhere vestiges of -that monkish superstition which had erected it; beneath were the vaults -which contained the ancestors of the Earl of Dunreath, whose deeds and -titles were enumerated on gothic monuments; their dust-covered banners -waving around in sullen dignity to the rude gale, which found admittance -through the broken windows. - -The light, which the maid held, produced deep shadows, that heightened -the solemnity of the place. - -"They are not here," said Malvina, casting her fearful eyes around. She -went to the door, which opened into a thick wood; but here she only -heard the breeze rustling amongst the trees; she turned from it, and -sinking upon the steps of the altar, gave way to an agony of tears and -lamentations. A low murmur reached her ear; she started up; the chapel -door was gently pushed open, and Fitzalan entered with the chaplain; -they had been watching in the wood for the appearance of light. Malvina -was supported to the altar, and a few minutes made her the wife of -Fitzalan. - -She had not the courage, till within a day or two previous to the -regiment's departure from Scotland, to acquaint the Earl with her -marriage; the Countess already knew it, through the means of Malvina's -woman, who was a creature of her own. Lady Dunreath exulted at the -prospect of Malvina's ruin; it at once gratified the malevolence of her -soul, and the avaricious desire she had of increasing her own daughter's -fortune; she had, besides, another reason to rejoice at it; this was, -the attachment Lady Augusta had formed for Fitzalan, which, her mother -feared, would have precipitated her into a step as imprudent as her -sister's, had she not been beforehand with her. - -This fear the impetuous passions of Lady Augusta naturally excited. She -really loved Fitzalan; a degree of frantic rage possessed her at his -marriage; she cursed her sister in the bitterness of her heart, and -joined with Lady Dunreath in working up the Earl's naturally austere and -violent passions into such a paroxysm of fury and resentment, that he at -last solemnly refused forgiveness to Malvina, and bid her never more -appear in his presence. - -She now began to tread the thorny path of life; and though her guide was -tender and affectionate, nothing could allay her anguish for having -involved him in difficulties, which his noble spirit could ill brook or -struggle against. The first year of their union she had a son, who was -called after her father, Oscar Dunreath; the four years that succeeded -his birth were passed in wretchedness that baffles description. At the -expiration of this period their debts were so increased, Fitzalan was -compelled to sell out on half-pay. Lady Malvina now expected an addition -to her family; her situation, she hoped, would move her father's heart, -and resolved to essay everything, which afforded the smallest prospect -of obtaining comfort for her husband and his babes; she prevailed on -him, therefore, to carry her to Scotland. - -They lodged at a peasant's in the neighborhood of the Abbey; he -informed them the Earl's infirmities were daily increasing; and that -Lady Dunreath had just celebrated her daughter's marriage with the -Marquis of Roseline. This nobleman had passionately admired Lady -Malvina; an admiration the Countess always wished transferred to her -daughter. On the marriage of Malvina he went abroad; his passion was -conquered ere he returned to Scotland, and he disdained not the -overtures made for his alliance from the Abbey. His favorite -propensities, avarice and pride, were indeed gratified by the possession -of the Earl of Dunreath's sole heiress. - -The day after her arrival Lady Malvina sent little Oscar, with the old -peasant, to the Abbey; Oscar was a perfect cherubim-- - - "The bloom of opening flowers, unsullied beauty, - Softness and sweetest innocence he wore, - And looked like nature in the world's first spring." - -Lady Malvina gave him a letter for the Earl, in which, after -pathetically describing her situation, she besought him to let the -uplifted hands of innocence plead her cause. The peasant watched till -the hour came for Lady Dunreath to go out in her carriage, as was her -daily custom: he then desired to be conducted to the Earl, and was -accordingly ushered into his presence: he found him alone, and briefly -informed him of his errand. The Earl frowned and looked agitated; but -did not by any means express that displeasure which the peasant had -expected; feeling for himself, indeed, had lately softened his heart; he -was unhappy; his wife and daughter had attained the completion of their -wishes, and no longer paid him the attention his age required. He -refused, however, to accept the letter: little Oscar, who had been -gazing on him from the moment he entered the apartment, now ran forward; -gently stroking his hand, he smiled in his face, and exclaimed, "Ah! do -pray take poor mamma's letter." The Earl involuntarily took it; as he -read, the muscles of his face began to work, and a tear dropped from -him. "Poor mamma cries too," said Oscar, upon whose hand the tear fell. -"Why did your mamma send you to me?" said the Earl. "Because she said," -cried. Oscar, "that you were my grandpapa--and she bids me love you, and -teaches me every day to pray for you." "Heaven bless you, my lovely -prattler!" exclaimed the Earl, with sudden emotion, patting his head as -he spoke. At this moment Lady Dunreath rushed into the apartment: one of -her favorites had followed her, to relate the scene that was going -forward within it: and she had returned, with all possible expedition, -to counteract any dangerous impression that might be made upon the -Earl's mind. Rage inflamed her countenance: the Earl knew the violence -of her temper; he was unequal to contention, and hastily motioned for -the peasant to retire with the child. The account of his reception -excited the most flattering hopes in the bosom of his mother: she -counted the tedious hours, in expectation of a kind summons to the -Abbey; but no such summons came. The next morning the child was sent to -it; but the porter refused him admittance, by the express command of the -Earl, he said. Frightened at his rudeness, the child returned weeping to -his mother, whose blasted expectations wrung her heart with agony, and -tears and lamentations broke from her. The evening was far advanced, -when suddenly her features brightened: "I will go," cried she, starting -up--"I will again try to melt his obduracy. Oh! with what lowliness -should a child bend before an offended parent! Oh! with what fortitude, -what patience, should a wife, a mother, try to overcome difficulties -which she is conscious of having precipitated the objects of her -tenderest affections into!" - -The night was dark and tempestuous; she would not suffer Fitzalan to -attend her; but proceeded to the Abbey, leaning on the peasant's arm. -She would not be repulsed at the door, but forced her way into the hall: -here Lady Dunreath met her, and with mingled pride and cruelty, refused -her access to her father, declaring it was by his desire she did so. -"Let me see him but for a moment," said the lovely suppliant, clasping -her white and emaciated hands together--"by all that is tender in -humanity, I beseech you to grant my request." - -"Turn this frantic woman from the Abbey," said the implacable Lady -Dunreath, trembling with passion--"at your peril suffer her to continue -here. The peace of your lord is too precious to be disturbed by her -exclamations." - -The imperious order was instantly obeyed, though, as Cordelia says, "it -was a night when one would not have turned an enemy's dog from the -door." The rain poured in torrents; the sea roared with awful violence; -and the wind roared through the wood, as if it would tear up the trees -by their roots. The peasant charitably flung his plaid over Malvina: she -moved mechanically along; her senses appeared quite stupefied. Fitzalan -watched for her at the door: she rushed into his extended arms, and -fainted; it was long ere she showed any symptoms of returning life. -Fitzalan wept over her in the anguish and distraction of his soul; and -scarcely could he forbear execrating the being who had so grievously -afflicted her gentle spirit: by degrees she revived; and, as she pressed -him feebly to her breast, exclaimed, "The final stroke is given--I have -been turned from my father's door." - -The cottage in which they lodged afforded but few of the necessaries, -and none of the comforts of life; such, at least, as they had been -accustomed to. In Malvina's present situation, Fitzalan dreaded the loss -of her life, should they continue in their present abode; but whither -could he take her wanderer, as he was upon the face of the earth? At -length the faithful Edwin occurred to his recollection: his house, he -was confident, would afford them a comfortable asylum, where Lady -Malvina would experience all that tenderness and care her situation -demanded. - -He immediately set about procuring a conveyance, and the following -morning Malvina bid a last adieu to Scotland. - -Lady Dunreath, in the mean time, suffered torture: after she had seen -Malvina turned from the Abbey, she returned to her apartment: it was -furnished with the most luxurious elegance, yet could she not rest -within it. Conscience already told her, if Malvina died, she must -consider herself her murderer; her pale and woe-worn image seemed still -before her; a cold terror oppressed her heart, which the horrors of the -night augmented; the tempest shook the battlements of the Abbey; and the -winds, which howled through the galleries, seemed like the last moans of -some wandering spirit of the pile, bewailing the fate of one of its -fairest daughters. To cruelty and ingratitude Lady Dunreath had added -deceit: her lord was yielding to the solicitations of his child, when -she counteracted his intentions by a tale of falsehood. The visions of -the night were also dreadful; Malvina appeared expiring before her, and -the late Lady Dunreath, by her bedside, reproaching her barbarity. "Oh -cruel!" the ghastly figure seemed to say, "is it you, whom I fostered in -my bosom, that have done this deed--driven forth my child, a forlorn and -wretched wanderer?" - -Oh, conscience, how awful are thy terrors! thou art the vicegerent of -Heaven, and dost anticipate its vengeance, ere the final hour of -retribution arrives. Guilt may be triumphant, but never, never can be -happy: it finds no shield against thy stings and arrows. The heart thou -smitest bleeds in every pore, and sighs amidst gayety and splendor. - -The unfortunate travellers were welcomed with the truest hospitality by -the grateful Edwin; he had married, soon after his return from America, -a young girl, to whom, from his earliest youth, he was attached. His -parents died soon after his union, and the whole of their little -patrimony devolved to him. Soothed and attended with the utmost -tenderness and respect, Fitzalan hoped Lady Malvina would here regain -her health and peace: he intended, after her recovery, to endeavor to be -put on full pay; and trusted he should prevail on her to continue at the -farm. - -At length the hour came, in which she gave a daughter to his arms. From -the beginning of her illness the people about her were alarmed; too soon -was it proved their alarms were well founded: she lived after the birth -of her infant but a few minutes, and died embracing her husband, and -blessing his children. - -Fitzalan's feelings cannot well be described: they were at first too -much for reason, and he continued some time in perfect stupefaction. -When he regained his sensibility, his grief was not outrageous; it was -that deep, still sorrow, which fastens on the heart, and cannot vent -itself in tears or lamentations: he sat with calmness by the bed, where -the beautiful remains of Malvina lay; he gazed without shrinking on her -pale face, which death, as if in pity to his feelings, had not -disfigured; he kissed her cold lips, continually exclaiming, "Oh! had we -never met, she might still have been living." His language was something -like that of a poet of her own country:-- - - "Wee, modest crimson-tipped flower, - I met thee in a luckless hour." - -It was when he saw them about removing her that all the tempest of his -grief broke forth. Oh! how impossible to describe the anguish of the -poor widower's heart, when he returned from seeing his Malvina laid in -her last receptacle: he shut himself up in the room where she had -expired, and ordered no one to approach him; he threw himself upon the -bed; he laid his cheek upon her pillow, he grasped it to his bosom, he -wetted it with tears, because she had breathed upon it. Oh, how still, -how dreary, how desolate, did all appear around him! "And shall this -desolation never more be enlightened," he exclaimed, "by the soft music -of Malvina's voice? Shall these eyes never more be cheered by beholding -her angelic face?" Exhausted by his feelings, he sunk into a slumber: he -dreamt of Malvina, and thought she lay beside him: he awoke with sudden -ecstasy, and under the strong impression of the dream, stretched out his -arms to enfold her. Alas! all was empty void: he started up--he groaned -in the bitterness of his soul he traversed the room with a distracted -pace--he sat him down in a little window, from whence he could view the -spire of the church (now glistening in the moonbeams) by which she was -interred. "Deep, still, and profound," cried he, "is now the sleep of my -Malvina--the voice of love cannot awake her from it; nor does she now -dream of her midnight mourner." - -The cold breeze of night blew upon his forehead, but he heeded it not; -his whole soul was full of Malvina, whom torturing fancy presented to -his view, in the habiliments of the grave. "And is this emaciated form, -this pale face," he exclaimed, as if he had really seen her, "all that -remain of elegance and beauty, once unequalled!" - -A native sense of religion alone checked the transports of his grief; -that sweet, that sacred power, which pours balm upon the wounds of -sorrow, and saves its children from despair; that power whispered to his -heart, a patient submission to the will of heaven was the surest means -he could attain of again rejoining his Malvina. - -She was interred in the village church-yard: at the head of her grave a -stone was placed, on which was rudely cut, - - MALVINA FITZALAN, - ALIKE LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. - -Fitzalan would not permit her empty title to be on it: "She is buried," -he said, "as the wife of a wretched soldier, not as the daughter of a -wealthy peer." - -She had requested her infant might be called after her own mother; her -request was sacred to Fitzalan, and it was baptized by the united names -of Amanda Malvina. Mrs. Edwin was then nursing her first girl; but she -sent it out, and took the infant of Fitzalan in its place to her bosom. - -The money, which Fitzalan had procured by disposing of his commission, -was now nearly exhausted; but his mind was too enervated to allow him to -think of any project for future support. Lady Malvina was deceased two -months, when a nobleman came into the neighborhood, with whom Fitzalan -had once been intimately acquainted: the acquaintance was now renewed; -and Fitzalan's appearance, with the little history of his misfortunes, -so much affected and interested his friend, that, without solicitation, -he procured him a company in a regiment, then stationed in England. Thus -did Fitzalan again enter into active life; but his spirits were broken, -and his constitution injured. Four years he continued in the army; when, -pining to have his children (all that now remained of a woman he adored) -under his own care, he obtained, through the interest of his friend, -leave to sell out. Oscar was then eight, and Amanda four; the delighted -father, as he held them to his heart, wept over them tears of mingled -pain and pleasure. - -He had seen in Devonshire, where he was quartered for some time, a -little romantic solitude, quite adapted to his taste and finances; he -proposed for it, and soon became its proprietor. Hither he carried his -children, much against the inclinations of the Edwins, who loved them as -their own: two excellent schools in the neighborhood gave them the usual -advantages of genteel education; but as they were only day scholars, the -improvement, or rather forming of their morals, was the pleasing task of -their father. To his assiduous care too they were indebted for the rapid -progress they made in their studies, and for the graceful simplicity of -their manners: they rewarded his care, and grew up as amiable and lovely -as his fondest wishes could desire. As Oscar advanced in life, his -father began to experience new cares; for he had not the power of -putting him in the way of making any provision for himself. A military -life was what Oscar appeared anxious for: he had early conceived a -predilection for it, from hearing his father speak of the services he -had seen; but though he possessed quite the spirit of a hero, he had the -truest tenderness, the most engaging softness of disposition; his temper -was, indeed, at once mild, artless, and affectionate. He was about -eighteen, when the proprietor of the estate, on which his father held -his farm, died, and his heir, a colonel in the army, immediately came -down from London to take formal possession: he soon became acquainted -with Fitzalan, who, in the course of conversation, one day expressed the -anxiety he suffered on his son's account. The Colonel said he was a fine -youth, and it was a pity he was not provided for. He left Devonshire, -however, shortly after this, without appearing in the least interested -about him. - -Fitzalan's heart was oppressed with anxiety; he could not purchase for -his son, without depriving himself of support. With the nobleman who had -formerly served him so essentially, he had kept up no intercourse, since -he quitted the army; but he frequently heard of him, and was told he had -become quite a man of the world, which was an implication of his having -lost all feeling: an application to him, therefore, he feared, would be -unavailing, and he felt too proud to subject himself to a repulse. - -From this disquietude he was unexpectedly relieved by a letter from the -Earl of Cherbury, his yet kind friend, informing him he had procured an -ensigncy for Oscar, in Colonel Belgrave's regiment, which he considered -a very fortunate circumstance, as the colonel, he was confident, from -personally knowing the young gentleman, would render him every service -in his power. The Earl chided Fitzalan for never having kept up a -correspondence with him, assured him he had never forgotten the -friendship of their earlier years; and that he had gladly seized the -first opportunity which offered, of serving him in the person of his -son; which opportunity he was indebted to Colonel Belgrave for. - -Fitzalan's soul was filled with gratitude and rapture; he immediately -wrote to the Earl, and the Colonel, in terms expressive of his feelings. -Colonel Belgrave received his thanks as if he had really deserved them; -but this was not by any means the case: he was a man devoid of -sensibility, and had never once thought of serving Fitzalan or his son; -his mentioning them was merely accidental. - -In a large company, of which the Earl of Cherbury was one, the discourse -happened to turn on the Dunreath family, and by degrees led to Fitzalan, -who was severally blamed and pitied for his connection with it; the -subject was, in the opinion of Colonel Belgrave, so apropos, he could -not forbear describing his present situation, and inquietude about his -son, who, he said he fancied, must, like a second Cincinnatus, take the -plough-share instead of the sword. - -Lord Cherbury lost no part of his discourse; though immersed in -politics, and other intricate concerns, he yet retained, and was ready -to obey, the dictates of humanity, particularly when they did not -interfere with his own interests; he therefore directly conceived the -design of serving his old friend. - -Oscar soon quitted Devonshire after his appointment, and brought a -letter from his father to the Colonel, in which he was strongly -recommended to his protection, as one unskilled in the ways of men. - -And now all Fitzalan's care devolved upon Amanda; and most amply did she -recompense it. To the improvement of her genius, the cultivation of her -talents, the promotion of her father's happiness, seemed her first -incentive; without him no amusement was enjoyed, without him no study -entered upon; he was her friend, guardian, and protector; and no -language can express, no heart (except a paternal one) conceive, the -rapture he felt, at seeing a creature grow under - - his forming hand. - ----So fair - That what seemed fair in all the world, seemed now - Mean, or in her contained. - -Some years had elapsed since Oscar's departure, ere Colonel Belgrave -returned into their neighborhood; he came soon after his nuptials had -been celebrated in Ireland, with a lady of that country, whom Oscar's -letters described as possessing every mental and personal charm which -could please or captivate the heart. Colonel Belgrave came unaccompanied -by his fair bride. Fitzalan, who believed him his benefactor, and -consequently regarded him as a friend (still thinking it was through his -means Lord Cherbury had served him), immediately waited upon him, and -invited him to his house. The invitation, after some time, was accepted; -but had he imagined what an attraction the house contained, he would not -have long hesitated about entering it: he was a man, indeed, of the most -depraved principles; and an object he admired, no tie or situation, -however sacred, could guard from his pursuit. - -Amanda was too much a child, when he was last in the country, to attract -his observation; he had, therefore, no idea that the blossom he then so -carelessly overlooked, had since expanded into such beauty. How great, -then, was his rapture and surprise, when Fitzalan led into the room -where he had received him, a tall, elegantly-formed girl, whose rosy -cheeks were dimpled with the softest smile of complacence, and whose -fine blue eyes beamed with modesty and gratitude upon him! He instantly -marked her for his prey; and blessed his lucky stars which had inspired -Fitzalan with the idea of his being his benefactor, since that would -give him an easier access to the house than he could otherwise have -hoped for. - -From this time he became almost an inmate of it, except when he chose to -contrive little parties at his own for Amanda. He took every opportunity -that offered, without observation, to try to ingratiate himself in her -favor: those opportunities the unsuspecting temper of Fitzalan allowed -to be frequent--he would as soon have trusted Amanda to the care of -Belgrave, as to that of her brother; and never, therefore, prevented her -walking out with him, when he desired it, or receiving him in the -morning, while he himself was absent about the affairs of his -farm--delighted to think the conversation or talents of his daughter -(for Amanda frequently sung and played for the Colonel) could -contribute to the amusement of his friend. Amanda innocently increased -his flame, by the attention she paid which she considered but a just -tribute of gratitude for his services: she delighted in talking to him -of her dear Oscar, and often mentioned his lady; but was surprised to -find he always waived the latter subject. - -Belgrave could not long restrain the impetuosity of his passions: the -situation of Fitzalan (which he knew to be a distressed one) would, he -fancied, forward his designs on his daughter; and what those designs -were, he, by degrees, in a retired walk one day, unfolded to Amanda. At -first she did not perfectly understand him; but when, with increased -audacity, he explained himself more fully, horror, indignation, and -surprise took possession of her breast; and, yielding to their feelings, -she turned and fled to the house, as if from a monster. Belgrave was -provoked and mortified; the softness of her manners had tempted him to -believe he was not indifferent to her, and that she would prove an easy -conquest. - -Poor Amanda would not appear in the presence of her father, till she -had, in some degree, regained composure, as she feared the smallest -intimation of the affair might occasion fatal consequences. As she sat -with him, a letter was brought her; she could not think Belgrave would -have the effrontery to write, and opened it, supposing it came from some -acquaintance in the neighborhood. How great was the shock she sustained, -on finding it from him! Having thrown off the mask, he determined no -longer to assume any disguise. Her paleness and confusion alarmed her -father, and he instantly demanded the cause of her agitation. She found -longer concealment was impossible; and, throwing herself at her father's -feet, besought him, as she put the letter into his hands, to restrain -his passion. When he perused it, he raised her up, and commanded her, as -she valued his love or happiness, to inform him of every particular -relative to the insult she had received. She obeyed, though terrified to -behold her father trembling with emotion. When she concluded, he -tenderly embraced her; and, bidding her confine herself to the house, -rose, and took down his hat. It was easy to guess whither he was going; -her terror increased; and, in a voice scarcely articulate, she besought -him not to risk his safety. He commanded her silence, with a sternness -never before assumed. His manner awed her; but, when she saw him leaving -the room, her feelings could no longer be controlled--she rushed after -him, and flinging her arms round his neck, fainted on it. In this -situation the unhappy father was compelled to leave her to the care of -a maid, lest her pathetic remonstrances should delay the vengeance he -resolved to take on a wretch who had meditated a deed of such atrocity -against his peace; but Belgrave was not to be found. - -Scarcely, however, had Fitzalan returned to his half-distracted daughter -ere a letter was brought him from the wretch, in which he made the most -degrading proposals; and bade Fitzalan beware how he answered them, as -his situation had put him entirely into his power. This was a fatal -truth: Fitzalan had been tempted to make a large addition to his farm, -from an idea of turning the little money he possessed to advantage: but -he was more ignorant of agriculture than he had imagined; and this -ignorance, joined to his own integrity of heart, rendered him the dupe -of some designing wretches in his neighborhood: his whole stock dwindled -away in unprofitable experiments, and he was now considerably in arrears -with Belgrave. The ungenerous advantage he strove to take of his -situation, increased, if possible, his indignation; and again he sought -him, but still without success. - -Belgrave soon found no temptation of prosperity would prevail on the -father or daughter to accede to his wishes; he therefore resolved to try -whether the pressure of adversity would render them more complying, and -left the country, having first ordered his steward to proceed directly -against Fitzalan. - -The consequence of this order was an immediate execution on his effects; -and, but for the assistance of a good-natured farmer, he would have been -arrested. By his means, and under favor of night, he and Amanda set out -for London; they arrived there in safety, and retired to obscure -lodgings. In this hour of distress, Fitzalan conquered all false pride, -and wrote to Lord Cherbury, entreating him to procure some employment -which would relieve his present distressing situation. He cautiously -concealed everything relative to Belgrave--he could not bear that it -should be known that he had ever been degraded by his infamous -proposals. Oscar's safety, too, he knew depended on his secrecy; as he -was well convinced no idea of danger, or elevation of rank, would secure -the wretch from his fury, who had meditated so great an injury against -his sister. - -He had the mortification of having the letter he sent to Lord Cherbury -returned, as his lordship was then absent from town; nor was he expected -for some months, having gone on an excursion of pleasure to France. Some -of these months had lingered away in all the horrors of anxiety and -distress, when Fitzalan formed the resolution of sending Amanda into -Wales, whose health had considerably suffered, from the complicated -uneasiness and terror she experienced on her own and her father's -account. - -Belgrave had traced the fugitives; and though Fitzalan was guarded -against all the stratagems he used to have him arrested, he found means -to have letters conveyed to Amanda, full of base solicitations and -insolent declarations, that the rigor he treated her father with was -quite against his feelings, and should instantly be withdrawn, if she -acceded to the proposals he made for her. - -But though Fitzalan had determined to send Amanda into Wales, with whom -could he trust his heart's best treasure? At last the son of the worthy -farmer who had assisted him in his journey to London, occurred to his -remembrance; he came often to town, and always called on Fitzalan. The -young man, the moment it was proposed, expressed the greatest readiness -to attend Miss Fitzalan. As every precaution was necessary, her father -made her take the name of Dunford, and travel in the mail-coach, for the -greater security. He divided the contents of his purse with her; and -recommending this lovely and most beloved child to the protection of -heaven, saw her depart, with mingled pain and pleasure; promising to -give her the earliest intelligence of Lord Cherbury's arrival in town, -which, he supposed, would fix his future destiny. Previous to her -departure, he wrote to the Edwins, informing them of her intended visit, -and also her change of name for the present. This latter circumstance, -which was not satisfactorily accounted for, excited their warmest -curiosity; and not thinking it proper to ask Amanda to gratify it, they, -to use their own words, sifted her companion, who hesitated not to -inform them of the indignities she had suffered from Colonel Belgrave, -which were well known about his neighborhood. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - "----Thy grave shall with fresh flowers be dressed, - And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast; - There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, - There the first roses of the year shall blow."--POPE. - - -A gentle noise in her chamber roused Amanda from a light, refreshing -slumber, and she beheld her nurse standing by her bedside with a bowl of -goat's whey. Amanda took the salubrious draught with a smile, and -instantly starting up, was dressed in a few minutes. She felt more -composed than she had done for some time past; the transition from a -narrow dark street to a fine open country, would have excited a lively -transport in her mind, but for the idea of her father still remaining in -the gloomy situation she had quitted. - -On going out, she found the family all busily employed; Edwin and his -sons were mowing in a meadow near the house, the nurse was churning, -Ellen washing the milk-pails by the stream in the valley, and Betsey -turning a cake for her breakfast. The tea-table was laid by a window, -through which a woodbine crept, diffusing a delightful fragrance; the -bees feasted on its sweetness, and the gaudy butterflies fluttered -around it; the refulgent sun gladdened the face of nature; the morning -breeze tempered its heat, and bore upon its dewy wings the sweets of -opening flowers; birds carolled their matins almost on every spray; and -scattered peasants, busied in their various labors, enlivened the -extensive prospect. - -Amanda was delighted with all she saw, and wrote to her father that his -presence was only wanting to complete her pleasure. The young man who -had attended her, on receiving her letter, set out for the village, from -whence he was to return in a stage-coach to London. - -The morning was passed by Amanda in arranging her little affairs, -walking about the cottage, and conversing with the nurse relative to -past times and present avocations. When the hour for dinner came, by her -desire it was carried out into the recess in the garden, where the balmy -air, the lovely scene which surrounded her, rendered it doubly -delicious. - -In the evening she asked Ellen to take a walk with her, to which she -joyfully consented. "And pray, Miss," said Ellen, after she had -smartened herself up with a clean white apron, her Sunday cap, and a hat -loaded with poppy-colored ribbons, smiling as she spoke, at the pretty -image her glass reflected, "where shall we go?" "To the church-yard," -replied Amanda. "Oh, Lord, Miss won't that be rather a dismal place to -go to?" "Indulge me, my dear Ellen," said Amanda, "in showing me the way -thither; there is one spot in it my heart wants to visit." - -The church-yard lay at the entrance of the little village; the church -was a small structure, whose gothic appearance proclaimed its ancient -date; it was rendered more venerable by the lofty elms and yews which -surrounded it, apparently coeval with itself, and which cast dark shades -upon the spots where the "rude forefathers of the hamlet slept," which, - - "With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, - Implored the passing tribute of a sigh." - -And it was a tribute Amanda paid, as she proceeded to the grave of Lady -Malvina; which Ellen pointed out; it was over grown with grass, and the -flag, which bore her name, green from time and damp. Amanda -involuntarily sunk on her knees, and kissed the hallowed earth; her eyes -caught the melancholy inscription. "Sweet spirit," she said, "heaven now -rewards your sufferings. Oh, my mother! if departed spirits are ever -allowed to review this world, with love ineffable you may now be -regarding your child. Oh, if she is doomed to tread a path as thorny as -the one you trod, may the same sweetness and patience that distinguished -you, support her through it! with the same pious awe, the same meek -submission, may she bow to the designations of her Creator!" - -The affecting apostrophe drew tears from the tender-hearted Ellen, who -besought her not to continue longer in such a dismal place. Amanda now -arose weeping--her spirits were entirely overcome; the busy objects of -day had amused her mind, and prevented it from meditating on its sorrow; -but, in the calm solitude of the evening, they gradually revived in her -remembrance. Her father's ill-health, she feared, would increase for -want of her tender attentions; and when she thought of his distress, his -confinement, his dejection, she felt agony at their separation. - -Her melancholy was noticed at the cottage. Ellen informed the nurse of -the dismal walk they had taken, which at once accounted for it; and the -good woman exerted herself to enliven her dear child, but Amanda, though -she faintly smiled, was not to be cheered, and soon retired to -bed--pale, languid, and unhappy. - -Returning light, in some degree, dispelled her melancholy; she felt, -however, for the first time, that her hours would hang heavy on her -hands, deprived as she was of those delightful resources which had -hitherto diversified them. To pass her time in listless inaction, or -idle saunters about the house, was insupportable; and besides, she found -her presence in the morning was a restraint on her humble friends, who -did not deem it good manners to work before her; and to them, who, like -the bees, were obliged to lay up their wintry hoard in summer, the loss -of time was irreparable. - -In the distraction of her father's affairs, she had lost her books, -implements for drawing, and musical instruments; and in the cottage she -could only find a Bible, a family prayer-book, and a torn volume of old -ballads. - -"Tear heart, now I think on't," said the nurse, "you may go to the -library at Tudor Hall, where there are books enough to keep you a-going, -if you lived to the age of Methusalem himself; and very pretty reading -to be sure amongst them, or our Parson Howel would not have been going -there as often as he did to study, till he got a library of his own. The -family are all away; and as the door is open every fine day to air the -room, you will not be noticed by nopoty going into it; though, for that -matter, poor old Mrs. Abergwilly would make you welcome enough, if you -promised to take none of the books away with you. But as I know you to -be a little bashful or so, I will, if you choose, step over and ask her -leave for you to go." "It you please," said Amanda; "I should not like -to go without it." "Well, I sha'n't be long," continued the nurse, "and -Ellen shall show you the way to-day; it will be a pretty pit of a walk -for you to take every morning." - -The nurse was as good as her word; she returned soon, with Mrs. -Abergwilly's permission for Amanda to read in the library whenever she -pleased. In consequence of this, she immediately proceeded to the Hall, -whose white turrets were seen from the cottage: it was a large and -antique building, embosomed in a grove; the library was on the -ground-floor, and entered by a spacious folding-door. As soon as she had -reached it, Ellen left her, and returned to the cottage; and Amanda -began with pleasure to examine the apartment, whose elegance and -simplicity struck her with immediate admiration. - -On one side was a row of large windows, arched quite in the gothic -style; opposite to them were corresponding arches, in whose recesses the -bookcases were placed; round these arches were festoons of laurel, -elegantly executed in stucco-work; and above them medallions of some of -the most celebrated poets: the chimney-piece, of the finest Italian -marble, was beautifully inlaid and ornamented; the paintings on the -ceiling were all highly finished, and of the allegorical kind; and it -was difficult to determine whether the taste that designed, or the hand -that executed them, merited most praise; upon marble pedestals stood a -celestial and terrestrial globe, and one recess was entirely hung with -maps. It was a room, from its situation and appearance, peculiarly -adopted for study and contemplation; all around was solitude and -silence, save the rustling of the trees, whose dark foliage cast a -solemn shade upon the windows. - -Opposite the entrance was another folding-door, which being a little -opened, Amanda could not resist the desire she felt of seeing what was -beyond it. She entered a large vaulted apartment, whose airy lightness -formed a pleasing contrast to the gloomy one she had left. The manner in -which it was fitted up, and the musical instruments, declared this to be -a music-room. It was hung with pale green damask, spotted with silver, -and bordered with festoons of roses, intermingled with light silver -sprays; the seats corresponded to the hangings; the tables were of fine -inlaid wood; and superb lustres were suspended from the ceiling, which -represented, in a masterly style, scenes from some of the pastoral -poets; the orchestra, about the centre of the room, was enclosed with a -light balustrading of white marble, elevated by a few steps. - -The windows of this room commanded a pleasing prospect of a deep -romantic dale; the hills through which it wound, displaying a beautiful -diversity of woody scenery, interspersed with green pastures and barren -points of rocks: a fine fall of water fell from one of the highest of -the hills, which, broken by intervening roots and branches of trees, ran -a hundred different ways, sparkling in the sunbeams as they emerged from -the shade. - -Amanda stood long at a window, enjoying this delightful prospect, and -admiring the taste which had chosen this room for amusement; thus at -once gratifying the eye and ear. On looking over the instruments, she -saw a pianoforte unlocked; she gently raised the lid, and touching the -keys, found them in tolerable order. Amanda adored music; her genius for -it was great, and had received every advantage her father could -possibly give it; in cultivating it he had laid up a fund of delight for -himself, for "his soul was a stream that flowed at pleasant sounds." - -Amanda could not resist the present opportunity of gratifying her -favorite inclination. "Harmony and I," cried she, "have long been -strangers to each other." She sat down and played a little tender air: -those her father loved, recurred to her recollection, and she played a -few of them with even more than usual elegance. "Ah, dear and valued -object," she mournfully sighed, "why are you not here to share, my -pleasure?" She wiped away a starting tear of tender remembrance, and -began a simple air-- - - Ah gentle Hope, shall I no more - Thy cheerful influence share? - Oh must I still thy loss deplore, - And be the slave of care? - - The gloom which now obscures my days - At thy approach would fly, - And glowing fancy would display - A bright unclouded sky. - - Night's dreary shadows fleet away - Before the orient beam - So sorrow melts before thy sway, - Thou nymph of cheerful mien. - - Ah! seek again my lonely breast, - Dislodge each painful fear; - Be once again my heavenly guest, - And stay each falling tear. - -Amanda saw a number of music-books lying about; she examined a few, and -found they contained compositions of some of the most eminent masters. -They tempted her to continue a little longer at the instrument: when she -rose from it, she returned to the library, and began looking over the -books, which she found were a collection of the best that past or -present times had produced. She soon selected one for perusal, and -seated herself in the recess of a window, that she might enjoy the cool -breeze, which sighed amongst the trees. Here, delighted with her -employment, she forgot the progress of time; nor thought of moving, till -Ellen appeared with a request from the nurse, for her immediate return, -as her dinner was ready, and she was uneasy at her fasting so long. -Amanda did not hesitate to comply with the request; but she resolved -henceforth to be a constant visitor to the hall, which contained such -pleasing sources of amusement: she also settled in her own mind often -to ramble amidst its shades, which were perfectly adapted to her taste. -These resolutions she put in practice; and a week passed in this manner, -during which she heard from her father, who informed her, that, -suspecting the woman with whom he lodged to be in Colonel Belgrave's -interest, he proposed changing his abode; he desired her therefore not -to write till she heard from him again, and added, "Lord Cherbury was -daily expected." - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - "Mine eyes were half closed in sleep. Soft music came to mine - ear; it was like the rising breeze, that whirls at first, the - thistle's beard, that flies, dark shadowy over the - grass."--OSSIAN. - - -Amanda went every morning to the hall, where she alternately played and -read: in the evening she again returned to it: but instead of staying in -the library, generally took a book from thence, and read at the foot of -some old moss-covered tree, delighted to hear its branches gently -rustling over her head, and myriads of summer flies buzzing in the sunny -ray, from which she was sheltered. When she could no longer see to read, -she deposited her book in the place she had taken it from, and rambled -to the deepest recesses of the grove: this was the time she loved to -saunter carelessly along, while all the jarring passions that obtruding -care excited were hushed to peace by the solemnity and silence of the -hour, and the soul felt at once composed and elevated: this was the time -she loved to think on days departed, and sketch those scenes of felicity -which, she trusted, the days to come would realize. Sometimes she gave -way to all the enthusiasm of a young and romantic fancy, and pictured to -herself the time when the shades she wandered beneath were - - ----the haunts of meditation, - The scenes, where ancient bards the inspiring breath - Ecstatic felt, and, from this world retired, - Conversed with angels, and immortal forms, - On gracious errands bent; to save the fall - Of Virtue struggling on the brink of Vice.--THOMSON. - -Her health gradually grew better, as the tranquillity of her mind -increased: a faint blush again began to tinge her cheek, and her lovely -eyes beamed a placid lustre, through their long silken lashes. - -She returned one evening from her usual ramble, with one of those -unaccountable depressions on her spirits to which, in a greater or -lesser degree, almost every one is subject. When she retired to bed, her -sleeping thoughts took the tincture of her waking ones, and images of -the most affecting nature arose in her mind: she went through the whole -story of her mother's sufferings, and suddenly dreamt she beheld her -expiring under the greatest torture; and that while she wept her fate -the clouds opened, and discovered her adorned with seraphic beauty, -bending with a benignant look towards her child, as if to assure her of -her present happiness. From this dream Amanda was roused by the softest, -sweetest strains of music she had ever heard: she started with -amazement; she opened her eyes, and saw a light around her, far -exceeding that of twilight. Her dream had made a deep impression on her, -and a solemn awe diffused itself over her mind; she trembled -universally; but soon did the emotion of awe give way to that of -surprise, when she heard on the outside of the window the following -lines from Cowley, sung in a manly and exquisitely melodious voice, the -music which awoke her being only a symphony to them:-- - - Awake, awake, my lyre, - And tell thy silent master's humble tale - In sounds that may prevail; - Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire. - Though so exalted she, - And I so lowly be, - Tell her such different notes make all thy harmony. - - Hark, how the strings awake, - And though the moving hand approach not near - Themselves with awful fear, - A kind of numerous trembling make. - Now all thy forces try, - Now all thy charms apply, - Revenge upon her ear the conquest of her eye. - - Weak lyre, thy virtue sure - Is useless here, since thou art only found - To cure, but not to wound, - And she to wound, but not to cure. - Too weak, too, wilt thou prove - My passion to remove. - Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love. - - Sleep, sleep again, my lyre, - For thou canst never tell my humble tale, - In sounds that will prevail, - Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire. - All thy vain mirth lay by, - Bid thy strings silent lie, - Sleep, sleep again, my lyre, and let thy master die. - -Ere the voice ceased, Amanda had quite shaken off the effects of her -dream; and when all again was silent, she drew back the curtain, and saw -it was the moon, then at the full, which, beaming through the calico -window-curtains, cast such a light around her. The remainder of the -night was passed in ruminating on this strange incident; it was evident -the serenade was addressed to her; but she had not seen any one since -her arrival in the neighborhood from whom she could have expected such a -compliment, or, indeed, believed capable of paying it; that the person -who paid it was one of no mean accomplishments, from his performance, -she could not doubt. She resolved to conceal the incident, but to make -such inquiries the next morning as might possibly lead to a discovery. -From the answers those inquiries received, the clergyman was the only -person whom, with any degree of probability, she could fix on. She had -never seen him, and was at a loss to conceive how he knew anything of -her, till it occurred he might have seen her going to Tudor Hall, or -rambling about it. - -From the moment this idea arose, Amanda deemed it imprudent to go to the -hall; yet, so great was the pleasure she experienced there, she could -not think of relinquishing it without the greatest reluctance. She at -last considered, if she had a companion, it would remove any appearance -of impropriety. Ellen was generally employed at knitting; Amanda -therefore saw, that going to the hall could not interfere with her -employment, and accordingly asked her attendance thither, which the -other joyfully agreed to. - -"While you look over the books," said Ellen, as they entered the -library, "I will just step away about a little business." "I beg you may -not be long absent," cried Amanda. Ellen assured her that she would not, -and flew off directly. She had in truth seen, in an enclosure near the -hall, Tim Chip, the carpenter, at work, who was the rural Adonis of -these shades. He had long selected Ellen for the fair nymph of his -affection, which distinction excited not a little jealousy among the -village girls, and considerably increased the vanity of Ellen, who -triumphed in a conquest that at once gratified her love, and exalted her -above her companions. - -Amanda entered the music-room. The melodious strains she had heard the -preceding night dwelt upon her memory, and she sat down to the piano and -attempted them; her ear soon informed her the attempt was successful; -and her voice (as the words were familiar to her) then accompanied the -instrument--"Heavenly sounds!" exclaimed some one behind her, as she -concluded singing. Amanda started in terror and confusion from the -chair, and beheld a tall and elegant young man standing by it. "Good -heaven!" cried she, blushing and hastily moving to the door, scarcely -knowing what she said, "where can Ellen be?" "And do you think," said -the stranger, springing forward and intercepting her passage, "I shall -let you escape in this manner? No; really, my charming girl, I should be -the most insensible of beings if I did not avail myself of the happy -opportunity chance afforded of entreating leave to be introduced to -you." As he spoke, he gently seized her hand and carried it to his lips. -"Be assured, sir," said Amanda, "the chance, as you call it, which -brought us together, is to me most unpleasant, as I fear it has exposed -me to greater freedom than I have been accustomed to." "And is it -possible," said he, "you really feel an emotion of anger? Well, I will -relinquish my lovely captive if she condescendingly promises to continue -here a few minutes longer, and grants me permission to attend her home." -"I insist on being immediately released," exclaimed Amanda. "I obey," -cried he, softly pressing her hand, and then resigning it--"you are -free; would to Heaven I could say the same!" - -Amanda hurried to the grove, but in her confusion took the wrong path, -and vainly cast her eyes around in search of Ellen. The stranger -followed, and his eyes wandered with hers in every direction they took. -"And why," cried he, "so unpropitious to my wish of introduction?--a -wish it was impossible not to feel from the moment you were seen." -Amanda made no reply, but still hurried on, and her fatigue and -agitation were soon too much for her present weak state of health, and, -quite overpowered, she was at last compelled to stop, and lean against a -tree for support. Exercise had diffused its softest bloom over her -cheek; her hair fluttered in the breeze that played around her, and her -eyes, with the beautiful embarrassment of modesty, were bent to the -ground to avoid the stranger's ardent gaze. He watched her with looks of -the most impassioned admiration, and softly exclaimed, as if the -involuntary exclamation of rapture, "Good heavens, what an angel! -Fatigue has made you ill," he said; "and 'tis your haste to avoid me -has occasioned this disorder. Could you look into my heart, you would -then find there was no reason to fly me; the emotions that lovely face -excites in a soul of sensibility could never be inimical to your -safety." - -At this moment Amanda perceived Ellen leaping over a style; she had at -last left Mr. Chip, after promising to meet him in the evening at the -cottage, where the blind harper was to attend to give them a dance. She -ran forward, but, on seeing the stranger, started back in the utmost -amazement. "Bless me!" said Amanda, "I thought you would never come." -"You go, then," said the stranger, "and give me no hope of a second -interview. Oh say," taking her hand, "will you not allow me to wait upon -you?" "It is utterly impossible," replied Amanda, "and I shall be quite -distressed if longer detained." "See, then," said he, opening a gate -which led from the grove into the road, "how like a courteous knight I -release you from painful captivity. But think not, thou beautiful though -cruel fair one," he continued gayly, "I shall resign my hopes of yet -conquering thy obduracy." - -"Oh, Lord!" cried Ellen, as they quitted the grove, "how did you meet -with Lord Mortimer?" "Lord Mortimer?" repeated Amanda, "Yes, himself, -inteed," said Ellen; "and I think in all my porn days I was never more -surprised than when I saw him with you, looking so soft and so sweet -upon you; to be sure he is a beautiful man, and besides that, the young -Lort of Tudor Hall." Amanda's spirits were greatly flurried when she -heard he was the master of the mansion, where he had found her seated -with as much composure as if possessor of it. - -As they were entering the cottage, Ellen, twitching Amanda's sleeve, -cried, "Look! look!" Amanda, hastily turning round, perceived Lord -Mortimer, who had slowly followed them half way down the lane. On being -observed, he smiled, and kissing his hand, retired. - -Nurse was quite delighted at her child being seen by Lord Mortimer -(which Ellen informed her of): her beauty, she was convinced, had -excited his warmest admiration; and admiration might lead (she did not -doubt) to something more important. Amanda's heart fluttered with an -agreeable sensation, as Ellen described to her mother the tender looks -with which Lord Mortimer regarded her. She was at first inclined to -believe, that in his lordship she had found the person whose melody so -agreeably disturbed her slumbers; but a minute's reflection convinced -her this belief must be erroneous: it was evident (or she would have -heard of it) that Lord Mortimer had only arrived that day at Tudor Hall: -and even had he seen her before, upon consideration she thought it -improbable that he should have taken the trouble of coming in such a -manner to a person in a station, to all appearance, so infinitely -beneath his own. Yes, it was plain, chance alone had led him to the -apartment where she sat; and the commonplace gallantry fashionable men -are accustomed to, had dictated the language he addressed to her. She -half sighed, as she settled the matter thus in her mind, and again fixed -on the curate as her serenader. Well, she was determined, if ever he -came in her way, and dropped a hint of an attachment, she would -immediately crush any hope she might have the vanity to entertain! - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - "The blossoms opening to the day, - The dews of heaven refined, - Could nought of purity display - To emulate his mind."--GOLDSMITH. - - -After tea Amanda asked little Betsey to accompany her in a walk; for -Ellen (dressed in all her rural finery) had gone earlier in the evening -to the dance. But Amanda did not begin her walk with her usual alacrity: -her bonnet was so heavy, and then it made her look so ill, that she -could not go out till she had made some alterations in it; still it -would not do; a hat was tried on; she liked it better, and at last set -out; but not as usual did she pause, whenever a new or lovely feature in -the landscape struck her view, to express her admiration: she was often -indeed so absorbed in thought, as to start when Betsey addressed her, -which was often the case: for little Betsey delighted to have Miss -Amanda to trace figures for her in the clouds, and assist her in -gathering wild flowers. Scarcely knowing which way they went, Amanda -rambled to the village; and feeling herself fatigued, turned into the -church-yard to rest upon one of the raised flags. - -The graves were ornamented with garlands of cut paper, interwoven with -flowers: tributes of love from the village maids to the memory of their -departed friends. - -As Amanda rested herself, she twined a garland of the wild flowers she -had gathered with Betsey, and hung it over the grave of Lady Malvina: -her fine eyes raised to heaven, as if invoking at that moment the spirit -of her mother, to regard the vernal offering of her child; while her -white hands were folded on her heart, and she softly exclaimed, "Alas, -is this the only tribute for me to pay!" - -A low murmur, as if from voices near, startled her at the instant; she -turned with quickness, and saw Lord Mortimer, with a young clergyman, -half hid by some trees, attentively observing her. Blushing and -confused, she drew her hat over her face, and catching Betsey's hand, -hastened to the cottage. - -Lord Mortimer had wandered about the skirts of the cottage, in hopes of -meeting her in the evening; on seeing the direction she had taken from -it, he followed her, and just as she entered the church-yard, -unexpectedly met the curate. His company, at a moment so propitious for -joining Amanda, he could well have dispensed with; for he was more -anxious than he chose to acknowledge to himself, to become acquainted -with her. - -Lord Mortimer was now in the glowing prime of life: his person was -strikingly elegant, and his manners insinuatingly pleasing; seducing -sweetness dwelt in his smile, and, as he pleased, his expressive eyes -could sparkle with intelligence, or beam with sensibility; and to the -eloquence of his language, the harmony of his voice imparted a charm -that seldom failed of being irresistible; his soul was naturally the -seat of every virtue; but an elevated rank, and splendid fortune, had -placed him in a situation somewhat inimical to their interests, for he -had not always strength to resist the strong temptations which -surrounded him; but though he sometimes wandered from the boundaries of -virtue, he had never yet entered upon the confines of vice--never really -injured innocence, or done a deed which could wound the bosom of a -friend: his heart was alive to every noble propensity of nature; -compassion was one of its strongest feelings, and never did his hand -refuse obedience to the generous impulse. Among the various -accomplishments he possessed, was an exquisite taste for music, which, -with every other talent, had been cultivated to the highest degree of -possible perfection; his spending many years abroad had given him every -requisite advantage for improving it. The soft, melodious voice of -Amanda would of itself almost have made a conquest of his heart; but -aided by the charms of her face and person, altogether were -irresistible. - -He had come into Wales on purpose to pay a visit to an old friend in the -Isle of Anglesey: he did not mean to stop at Tudor Hall; but within a -few miles of it the phaeton, in which he travelled (from the fineness -of the weather), was overturned, and he severely hurt. He procured a -hired carriage, and proceeded to the hall, to put himself into the hands -of the good old housekeeper, Mrs. Abergwilly; who, possessing as great a -stock of medical knowledge as Lady Bountiful herself, he believed would -cure his bruises with as much, or rather more expedition, than any -country surgeon whatever. He gave strict orders that his being at the -hall should not be mentioned, as he did not choose, the few days he -hoped and believed he should continue there, to be disturbed by visits -which he knew would be paid if an intimation of his being there was -received. From an apartment adjoining the music-room he had discovered -Amanda. Though scarcely able to move, at the first sound of her voice he -stole to the door, which being a little open, gave him an opportunity of -seeing her perfectly; and nothing but his situation prevented his -immediately appearing before her, and expressing the admiration she had -inspired him with. As soon as she departed he sent for the housekeeper, -to inquire who the beautiful stranger was. Mrs. Abergwilly only knew she -was a young lady lately come from London, to lodge at David Edwin's -cottage, whose wife had entreated permission for her to read in the -library, which, she added, she had given, seeing that his lordship read -in his dressing-room; but, if he pleased, she would send Miss Dunford -word not to come again--"By no means," his lordship said. Amanda -therefore continued her visits as usual, little thinking with what -critical regard and fond admiration she was observed. Lord Mortimer -daily grew better; but the purpose for which he had come into Wales -seemed utterly forgotten; he had a tincture of romance in his -disposition, and availed himself of his recovery to gratify it, by -taking a lute and serenading his lovely cottage girl. He could no longer -restrain his impatience to be known to her; and the next day, stealing -from his retirement, surprised her as already related. - -As he could not, without an utter violation of good manners, shake off -Howel, he contented himself with following Amanda into the church-yard, -where, shaded by trees, he and his companion stood watching her -unnoticed, till an involuntary exclamation of rapture from his lordship -discovered their situation. When she departed, he read the inscription -on the tombstone; but, from the difference of names, this gave no -insight into any connection between her and the person it mentioned. -Howel could give no information of either; he was but a young man, -lately appointed to the parsonage, and had never seen Amanda till that -evening. - -Lord Mortimer was solicitous, even to a degree of anxiety, to learn the -real situation of Amanda. As Howel, in his pastoral function, had free -access to the houses of his parishioners, it occurred to him that he -would be an excellent person to discover it; he therefore, as if from -curiosity alone, expressed his wish of knowing who she was, and -requested Howel, if convenient, to follow her directly to Edwin's -cottage (where, he said, by chance, he heard she lodged), and endeavor -to find out from the good people everything about her. This request -Howel readily complied with; the face, the figure, the melancholy, and, -above all, the employment of Amanda, had interested his sensibility and -excited his curiosity. - -He arrived soon after her at the cottage, and found her laughing at her -nurse, who was telling her she was certain she should see her a great -lady. Amanda rose to retire at his entrance; but he, perceiving her -intention, declared if he disturbed her, he would immediately depart; -she accordingly reseated herself, secretly pleased at doing so, as she -thought, either from some look or word of the curate's, she might -discover if he really was the person who had serenaded her; from this -idea she showed no aversion to enter into conversation with him. - -The whole family, nurse excepted, had followed Ellen to the dance; and -that good woman thought she could do no less, for the honor of Howel's -visit, than prepare a little comfortable supper for him. The benevolence -of his disposition, and innocent gayety of his temper, had rendered him -a great favorite amongst his rustic neighbors, whom he frequently amused -with simple ballads and pleasant tales. Amanda and he were left -_tete-à-tete_ while the nurse was busied in preparing her entertainment; -and she was soon as much pleased with the elegance and simplicity of his -manners, as he was with the innocence and sweetness of hers. The objects -about them naturally led to rural subjects, and from them to what might -almost be termed a dissertation on poetry: this was a theme peculiarly -agreeable to Howel, who wooed the pensive muse beneath the sylvan shade; -nor was it less so to Amanda--she was a zealous worshipper of the muses, -though diffidence made her conceal her invocations to them. She was led -to point out the beauties of her favorite authors, and the soft -sensibility of her voice raised a kind of tender enthusiasm in Howel's -soul; he gazed and listened, as if his eye could never be satisfied with -seeing, or his ear with hearing. At his particular request, Amanda -recited the pathetic description of the curate and his lovely daughter -from the "Deserted Village"--a tear stole down her cheek as she -proceeded. Howel softly laid his hand on hers, and exclaimed, "Good -heavens, what an angel!" - -"Come, come," said Amanda, smiling at the energy with which he spoke, -"you, at least, should have nothing to do with flattery." - -"Flattery!" repeated he, emphatically; "Oh heavens! did you but know my -sincerity----" - -"Well, well," cried she, wishing to change the subject, "utter no -expression in future which shall make me doubt it." - -"To flatter you," said he, "would be impossible, since the highest -eulogium must be inadequate to your merits." - -"Again!" said Amanda. - -"Believe me," he replied, "flattery is a meanness I abhor; the -expressions you denominate as such proceed from emotions I should -contemn myself for want of sensibility if I did not experience." - -The nurse's duck and green peas were now set upon the table, but in vain -did she press Howel to eat; his eyes were too well feasted to allow him -to attend to his palate. Finding her entreaties ineffectual in one -respect, she tried them in another, and begged he would sing a favorite -old ballad; this he at first hesitated to do, till Amanda (from a secret -motive of her own) joined in the entreaty; and the moment she heard his -voice, she was convinced he was not the person who had been at the -outside of her window. After his complaisance to her, she could not -refuse him one song. The melodious sounds sunk into his heart; he seemed -fascinated to the spot, nor thought of moving till the nurse gave him a -hint for that purpose, being afraid of Amanda sitting up too late. - -He sighed as he entered his humble dwelling; it was perhaps the first -sigh he had ever heaved for the narrowness of his fortune. "Yet," cried -he, casting his eyes around, "in this abode, low and humble as it is, a -soul like Amanda's might enjoy felicity." - -The purpose for which Lord Mortimer sent him to the cottage, and Lord -Mortimer himself, were forgotten. His lordship had engaged Howel to sup -with him after the performance of his embassy, and impatiently awaited -his arrival: he felt displeased, as the hours wore away without bringing -him; and, unable at last to restrain the impetuosity of his feelings, -proceeded to the parsonage; which he entered a few minutes after Howel. -He asked, with no great complacency, the reason he had not fulfilled his -engagement. Absorbed in one idea, Howel felt confused, agitated, and -unable to frame any excuse; he therefore simply said, what in reality -was true, "that he had utterly forgotten it." - -"I suppose, then," exclaimed Lord Mortimer, in a ruffled voice, "you -have been very agreeably entertained?" - -"Delightfully," said Howel. - -Lord Mortimer grew more displeased, but his anger was now levelled -against himself as well as Howel. He repented and regretted the folly -which had thrown Howel in the way of such temptation, and had perhaps -raised a rival to himself. - -"Well," cried he, after a few hasty paces about the room, "and pray, -what do you know about Miss Dunford?" - -"About her!" repeated Howel, as if starting from a reverie; -"why--nothing." - -"Nothing!" re-echoed his lordship. - -"No," replied Howel, "except that she is an angel." - -Lord Mortimer was now thoroughly convinced all was over with the poor -parson; and resolved, in consequence of this conviction, to lose no time -himself. He could not depart without inquiring how the evening had been -spent, and envied Howel the happy minutes he had so eloquently -described. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - "--------Hither turn - Thy graceful footsteps; hither, gentle maid, - Incline thy polished forehead. Let thy eyes - Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn; - And may the fanning breezes waft aside - Thy radiant locks, disclosing, as it bends - With airy softness from the marble neck, - The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lip, - Where winning smiles, and pleasure sweet as love - With sanctity and wisdom, tempering blend - Their soft allurements."--AKENSIDE. - - -While Amanda was at breakfast the next morning, Betsey brought a letter -to her; expecting to hear from her father, she eagerly opened it, and, -to her great surprise, perused the following lines:-- - - TO MISS DUNFORD. - - Lord Mortimer begs leave to assure Miss Dunford he shall remain - dissatisfied with himself till he has an opportunity of - personally apologizing for his intrusion yesterday. If the - sweetness of her disposition fulfils the promise her face has - given of it, he flatters himself his pardon will speedily be - accorded: yet never shall he think himself entirely forgiven, if - her visits to the library are discontinued. Happy and honored - shall Lord Mortimer consider himself, if Tudor Hall contains - anything which can amuse or merit the attention of Miss Dunford. - - July 17th. - -"From Lord Mortimer!" said Amanda, with involuntary emotion. "Well, this -really has astonished me." "Oh Lort, my tear!" cried the nurse in -rapture. - -Amanda waved her hand to silence her, as the servant stood in the -outside room. She called Betsey: "Tell the servant," said she---- - -"Lort!" cried the nurse softly, and twitching her sleeve, "write his -lortship a little pit of a note, just to let him see what a pretty -scribe you are." - -Amanda could not refrain smiling; but disengaging herself from the good -woman, she arose, and going to the servant, desired him to tell his -lord, she thanked him for his polite attention; but that in future it -would not be in her power to go to the library. When she returned to the -room, the nurse bitterly lamented her not writing. "Great matters," she -said, "had often arisen from small beginnings." She could not conceive -why his lortship should be treated in such a manner: it was not the way -she had ever served her Edwin. Lort, she remembered if she got but the -scrawl of a pen from him, she used to sit up to answer it. Amanda tried -to persuade her it was neither necessary or proper for her to write. An -hour passed in arguments between them, when two servants came from Tudor -Hall to the cottage with a small bookcase, which they sent in to Amanda, -and their lord's compliments, that in a few minutes he would have the -honor of paying his respects to her. - -Amanda felt agitated by this message; but it was the agitation of -involuntary pleasure. Her room was always perfectly neat, yet did the -nurse and her two daughters now busy themselves with trying, if -possible, to put it into nicer order: the garden was ransacked for the -choicest flowers to ornament it; nor would they depart till they saw -Lord Mortimer approaching. Amanda, who had opened the bookcase, then -snatched up a book, to avoid the appearance of sitting in expectation of -his coming. - -He entered with an air at once easy and respectful, and taking her hand, -besought forgiveness for his intrusion the preceding day. Amanda -blushed, and faltered out something of the confusion she had -experienced from being so surprised; he reseated her, and drawing a -chair close to hers, said he had taken the liberty of sending her a few -books to amuse her, till she again condescended to visit the library, -which he entreated her to do; promising that, if she pleased, both it -and the music-room should be sacred to her alone. She thanked him for -his politeness; but declared she must be excused from going. Lord -Mortimer regarded her with a degree of tender admiration; an admiration -heightened by the contrast he drew in his mind between her and the -generality of fashionable women he had seen, whom he often secretly -censured for sacrificing too largely at the shrine of art and fashion. -The pale and varied blush which mantled the cheek of Amanda at once -announced itself to be an involuntary suffusion; and her dress was only -remarkable for its simplicity; she wore a plain robe of dimity, and an -abbey cap of thin muslin, that shaded, without concealing, her face, and -gave to it the soft expression of a Madonna; her beautiful hair fell in -long ringlets down her back, and curled upon her forehead. - -"Good heaven!" cried Mortimer, "how has your idea dwelt upon my mind -since last night: if in the morning I was charmed, in the evening I was -enraptured. Your looks, your attitude, were then beyond all that -imagination could conceive of loveliness and grace; you appeared as a -being on another world mourning over a kindred spirit. I felt - - "Awe-struck, and as I passed, I worshipped." - -Confused by the energy of his words, and the ardent glances he directed -towards her, Amanda, scarcely knowing what she did, turned over the -leaves of the book she still held in her hand; in doing so, she saw -written on the title-page, the Earl of Cherbury. "Cherbury?" repeated -she, in astonishment. - -"Do you know him?" asked Lord Mortimer. - -"Not personally; but I revere, I esteem him; he is one of the best, the -truest friends, my father ever had." - -"Oh, how happy," exclaimed Lord Mortimer, "would his son be, were he -capable of inspiring you with such sentiments as you avow for him." - -"His son!" repeated Amanda, in a tone of surprise, and looking at Lord -Mortimer. - -"Yes," replied he. "Is it then possible," he continued, "that you are -really ignorant of his being my father?" - -Surprise kept her silent a few minutes; for her father had never given -her any account of the earl's family, till about the period he thought -of applying to him; and her mind was so distracted at that time on his -own account, that she scarcely understood a word he uttered. In the -country she had never heard Lord Cherbury mentioned; for Tudor Hall -belonged not to him, but to Lord Mortimer, to whom an uncle had -bequeathed it. - -"I thought, indeed, my lord," said Amanda, as soon as she recovered her -voice, "that your lordship's title was familiar to me; though why, from -the hurry and perplexity in which particular circumstances involved me, -I could not tell." - -"Oh, suffer," cried Lord Mortimer, with one of his most insinuating -smiles, "the friendship which our parents feel to be continued to their -children; let this," taking her soft hand, and pressing his lips to it, -"be the pledge of amity between us." He now inquired when the intimacy -between her father and his had commenced, and where the former was. But -from those inquiries Amanda shrunk. She reflected, that, without her -father's permission, she had no right to answer them; and that, in a -situation like his and hers, too much caution could not be observed. -Besides, both pride and delicacy made her solicitous at present to -conceal her father's real situation from Lord Mortimer: she could not -bear to think it should be known his sole dependence was on Lord -Cherbury, uncertain as it was, whether that nobleman would ever answer -his expectations. She repented having ever dropped a hint of the -intimacy subsisting between them, which surprise alone had made her do, -and tried to waive the subject. In this design Lord Mortimer assisted -her; for he had too much penetration not instantly to perceive it -confused and distressed her. He requested permission to renew his visit, -but Amanda, though well inclined to grant his request, yielded to -prudence instead of inclination, and begged he would excuse her; the -seeming disparity (she could not help saying) in their situations, would -render it very imprudent in her to receive such visits; she blushed, -half sighed, and bent her eyes to the ground as she spoke. Lord Mortimer -continued to entreat, but she was steady in refusing; he would not -depart, however, till he had obtained permission to attend her in the -evening to a part of Tudor Grove which she had never yet seen, and he -described as particularly beautiful. He wanted to call for her at the -appointed hour, but she would not suffer this, and he was compelled to -be contented with leave to meet her near the cottage when it came. - -With a beating heart she kept her appointment, and found his lordship -not many yards distant from the cottage, impatiently waiting her -approach. A brighter bloom than usual glowed upon her cheek as she -listened to his ardent expressions of admiration; yet not to such -expressions, which would soon have sated an ear of delicacy like -Amanda's, did Lord Mortimer confine himself; he conversed on various -subjects; and the eloquence of his language, the liveliness of his -imagination, and the justness of his remarks, equally amused and -interested his fair companion. There was, indeed, in the disposition and -manners of Lord Mortimer that happy mixture of animation and softness -which at once amuses the fancy and attracts the heart; and never had -Amanda experienced such minutes as she now passed with him, so -delightful in their progress, so rapid in their course. On entering the -walk he had mentioned to her, she saw he had not exaggerated its -beauties. After passing through many long and shaded alleys, they came -to a smooth green lawn, about which the trees rose in the form of an -amphitheatre, and their dark, luxuriant, and checkered shades proclaimed -that amongst them - - "The rude axe, with heaved stroke, - Was never heard, the nymphs to daunt, - Or fright them from their hallowed haunt."--MILTON - -The lawn gently sloped to a winding stream, so clear as perfectly to -reflect the beautiful scenery of heaven, now glowing with the gold and -purple of the setting sun; from the opposite bank of the stream rose a -stupendous mountain, diversified with little verdant hills and dales, -and skirted with a wild shrubbery, whose blossoms perfumed the air with -the most balmy fragrance. Lord Mortimer prevailed on Amanda to sit down -upon a rustic bench, beneath the spreading branches of an oak, -enwreathed with ivy; here they had not sat long, ere the silence, which -reigned around, was suddenly interrupted by strains, at once low, -solemn, and melodious, that seemed to creep along the water, till they -had reached the place where they sat; and then, as if a Naiad of the -stream had left her rushy couch to do them homage, they swelled by -degrees into full melody, which the mountain echoes alternately revived -and heightened. It appeared like enchantment to Amanda; and her eyes, -turned to Lord Mortimer, seemed to say, it was to his magic it was -owing. After enjoying her surprise some minutes, he acknowledged the -music proceeded from two servants of his, who played on the clarinet and -French horn, and were stationed in a dell of the opposite mountain. -Notwithstanding all her former thoughts to the contrary, Amanda now -conceived a strong suspicion that Lord Mortimer was really the person -who had serenaded her; that she conceived pleasure from the idea, is -scarcely necessary to say; she had reason soon to find she was not -mistaken. Lord Mortimer solicited her for the Lady's song in Comus, -saying the present situation was peculiarly adapted to it; on her -hesitating, he told her she had no plea to offer for not complying, as -he himself had heard her enchanting powers in it. Amanda started, and -eagerly inquired when or by what means. It was too late for his lordship -to recede; and he not only confessed his concealment near the -music-room, but his visit to her window. A soft confusion, intermingled -with pleasure, pervaded the soul of Amanda at this confession: and it -was some time ere she was sufficiently composed to comply with Lord -Mortimer's solicitations for her to sing; she at last allowed him to -lead her to the centre of a little rustic bridge thrown over the stream, -from whence her voice could be sufficiently distinguished for the music -to keep time to it, as Lord Mortimer had directed. Her plaintive and -harmonious invocation, answered by the low breathing of the clarinet, -which appeared like the softest echo of the mountain, had the finest -effect imaginable, and "took the imprisoned soul, and wrapped it in -Elysium." - -Lord Mortimer, for the first time in his life, found himself at a loss -to express what he felt: he conducted her back to the seat, where, to -her astonishment, she beheld fruits, ices, and creams, laid out, as if -by the hand of magic, for no mortal appeared near the spot. Dusky -twilight now warned her to return home; but Lord Mortimer would not -suffer her to depart till she had partaken of this collation. - -He was not by any means satisfied with the idea of only beholding her -for an hour or two of an evening; and when they came near the cottage, -desired to know whether it was to chance alone he was in future to be -indebted for seeing her. Again he entreated permission to visit her -sometimes of a morning, promising he would never disturb her avocations, -but would be satisfied merely to sit and read to her, whenever she chose -to work, and felt herself inclined for that amusement: Amanda's refusals -grew fainter; and at last she said, on the above-mentioned conditions, -he might sometimes come. That he availed himself of this permission, is -scarcely necessary to say; and from this time few hours passed without -their seeing each other. - -The cold reserve of Amanda by degrees wore away; from her knowledge of -his family she considered him as more than a new or common acquaintance. -The emotions she felt for him, she thought sanctioned by that knowledge, -and the gratitude she felt for Lord Cherbury for his former conduct to -her father, which claimed, she thought, her respect and esteem for so -near and valuable a connection of his; the worth, too, she could not -avoid acknowledging to herself, of Lord Mortimer, would, of itself -alone, have authorized them. Her heart felt he was one of the most -amiable, most pleasing of men; she could scarcely disguise, in any -degree, the lively pleasure she experienced in his society; nay, she -scarcely thought it necessary to disguise it, for it resulted as much -from innocence as sensibility, and was placed to the account of -friendship. But Lord Mortimer was too penetrating not soon to perceive -he might ascribe it to a softer impulse; with the most delicate -attention, the most tender regard, he daily, nay, hourly, insinuated -himself into her heart, and secured for himself an interest in it, ere -she was aware, which the efforts of subsequent resolution could not -overcome. He was the companion of her rambles, the alleviator of her -griefs; the care which so often saddened her brow always vanished at his -presence, and in conversing with him she forgot every cause of sorrow. - -He once or twice delicately hinted at those circumstances which at his -first visit she had mentioned, as sufficiently distressing to bewilder -her recollection. Amanda, with blushes, always shrunk from the subject, -sickening at the idea of his knowing that her father depended on his for -future support. If he ever addressed her seriously on the subject of the -regard he professed for her (which, from his attentions, she could not -help sometimes flattering herself would be the case), then, indeed, -there would be no longer room for concealment; but, except such a -circumstance took place, she could not bring herself to make any -humiliating discovery. - -Tudor Grove was the favorite scene of their rambles; sometimes she -allowed him to lead her to the music-room; but as these visits were not -frequent, a lute was brought from it to the cottage, and in the recess -in the garden she often sung and played for the enraptured Mortimer; -there, too, he frequently read for her, always selecting some elegant -and pathetic piece of poetry, to which the harmony of his voice gave -additional charms; a voice, which sunk into the heart of Amanda, and -interested her sensibility even more than the subject he perused. - -Often straying to the valley's verge, as they contemplated the lovely -prospect around, only bounded by distant and stupendous mountains, Lord -Mortimer, in strains of eloquence would describe the beautiful scenes -and extensive landscapes beyond them; and, whenever Amanda expressed a -wish (as she sometimes would from thoughtless innocence) of viewing -them, he would softly sigh, and wish he was to be her guide to them; as -to point out beauties to a refined and cultivated mind like hers, would -be to him the greatest pleasure he could possibly experience. Seated -sometimes on the brow of a shrubby hill, as they viewed the scattered -hamlets beneath, he would expatiate on the pleasure he conceived there -must be in passing a tranquil life with one lovely and beloved object: -his insidious eyes, turned towards Amanda, at these minutes, seemed to -say, she was the being who could realize all the ideas he entertained of -such a life; and when he asked her opinion of his sentiments, her -disordered blushes, and faltering accents, too plainly betrayed her -conscious feelings. Every delicacy which Tudor Hall contained, was daily -sent to the cottage, notwithstanding Amanda's prohibition to the -contrary; and sometimes Lord Mortimer was permitted to dine with her in -the recess. Three weeks spent in this familiar manner, endeared and -attached them to each other more than months would have done, passed in -situations liable to interruption. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - "------------------She alone - Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought, - Fills every sense, and pants in every vein. - Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends, - And sad amid the social band he sits, - Lonely and unattentive. From his tongue - The unfinished period falls, while, bore away - On swelling thoughts his wafted spirit flies - To the vain bosom of his distant fair."--THOMSON. - - -Howel was no stranger to the manner in which hours rolled away at the -cottage; he hovered round it, and seized every interval of Lord -Mortimer's absence to present himself before Amanda; his emotions -betrayed his feelings, and Amanda effected reserve towards him, in hopes -of suppressing his passion; a passion, she now began to think, when -hopeless, must be dreadful. - -Howel was a prey to melancholy; but not for himself alone did he mourn; -fears for the safety and happiness of Amanda added to his dejection; he -dreaded that Lord Mortimer, perhaps, like too many of the fashionable -men, might make no scruple of availing himself of any advantage which -could be derived from a predilection in his favor. - -He knew him, it is true, to be amiable; but in opposition to that, he -knew him to be volatile, and sometimes wild, and trembled for the -unsuspecting credulity of Amanda. "Though lost to me," exclaimed the -unhappy young man, "oh never, sweetest Amanda, mayest thou be lost to -thyself!" - -He had received many proofs of esteem and friendship from Lord Mortimer; -he therefore studied how he might admonish without offending, and save -Amanda without injuring himself. It at last occurred to him that the -pulpit would be the surest way of effecting his wishes, where the -subject, addressed to all, might particularly strike one for whom it was -intended, without appearing as if designed for that purpose; and timely -convince him, if, indeed, he meditated any injurious design against -Amanda, of its flagrance. - -On the following Sunday, as he expected, Lord Mortimer and Amanda -attended service; his lordship's pew was opposite the one she sat in, -and we fear his eyes too often wondered in that direction. - -The youthful monitor at last ascended the pulpit; his text was from -Jeremiah, and to the following effect:-- - - "She weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks; - among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her; all her - friends have dealt treacherously with her, they are become her - enemies." - -After a slight introduction, in which he regretted that the declension -of moral principles demanded such an exhortation as he was about to -give, he commenced his subject; he described a young female, adorned -with beauty and innocence, walking forward in the path of integrity, -which a virtuous education had early marked for her to take, and -rejoicing as she went with all around her; when, in the midst of -happiness, unexpected calamity suddenly surprised and precipitated her -from prosperity into the deepest distress: he described the benefits she -derived in this trying period from early implanted virtue and religion; -taught by them (he proceeded) the lovely mourner turns not to the world -for consolation--no, she looks up to her Creator for comfort, whose -supporting aid is so particularly promised to afflicted worth. Cheered -by them, she is able to exert her little talents of genius and taste, -and draw upon industry for her future support; her active virtues, he -thinks the best proof of submission she can give to the will of Heaven; -and in the laudable exertions she finds a conscious peace, which the -mere possession of fortune could never bestow. While thus employed, a -son of perfidy sees and marks her for his prey, because she is at once -lovely and helpless: her unsuspecting credulity lays her open to his -arts, and his blandishments by degrees allure her heart. The snare which -he has spread at last involves her; with the inconstancy of libertinism -he soon deserts her; and again is she plunged into distress. But mark -the difference of her first and second fall: conscience no longer lends -its opposing aid to stem her sorrow, despair instead of hope arises; -without one friend to soothe the pangs of death, one pitying soul to -whisper peace to her departing spirit; insulted, too, perhaps, by some -unfeeling being, whom want of similar temptations alone, perhaps, saved -from similar imprudences, she sinks an early victim to wretchedness. - -Howel paused; the fulness of his heart mounted to his eyes, which -involuntarily turned and rested upon Amanda. Interested by his simple -and pathetic eloquence, she had risen, and leaned over the pew, her head -resting on her hand, and her eyes fastened on his face. Lord Mortimer -had also risen, and alternately gazed upon Howel and Amanda, -particularly watching the latter, to see how the subject would affect -her. He at last saw the tears trickling down her cheeks: the distresses -of her own situation, and the stratagems of Belgrave, made her, in some -respect, perceive a resemblance between herself and the picture Howel -had drawn. Lord Mortimer was unutterably affected by her tears, a faint -sickness seized him, he sunk upon the seat, and covered his face with -his handkerchief, to hide his emotion; but by the time service was over -it was pretty well dissipated: Amanda returned home, and his lordship -waited for Howel's coming out of church. "What the devil, Howel," said -he, "did you mean by giving us such an exhortation? Have you discovered -any affair going on between any of your rustic neighbors?" The parson -colored, but remained silent; Lord Mortimer rallied him a little more, -and then departed; but his gayety was only assumed. - -On his first acquaintance with Amanda, in consequence of what he heard -from Mrs. Abergwilly, and observed himself, he had been tempted to think -she was involved in mystery: and what, but impropriety, he thought, -could occasion mystery. To see so young, so lovely, so elegant a -creature an inmate of a sequestered cottage, associating with people (in -manners at least) so infinitely beneath her; to see her trembling and -blushing, if a word was dropped that seemed tending to inquire into her -motives for retirement; all these circumstances, I say, considered, -naturally excited a suspicion injurious to her in the mind of Lord -Mortimer; and he was tempted to think some deviation from prudence had, -by depriving her of the favor of her friends, made her retire to -obscurity; and that she would not dislike an opportunity of emerging -from it, he could not help thinking. In consequence of these ideas, he -could not think himself very culpable in encouraging the wishes her -loveliness gave rise to; besides, he had some reason to suspect she -desired to inspire him with these wishes; for Mrs. Abergwilly told him -she had informed Mrs. Edwin of his arrival; an information he could not -doubt her having immediately communicated to Amanda; therefore her -continuing to come to the hall seemed as if she wished to throw herself -in his way. Mrs. Edwin had indeed been told of his arrival, but -concealed it from Amanda, that she should not be disappointed of going -to the hall, which she knew, if once informed of it, she would not go -to. - -'Tis true, Lord Mortimer saw Amanda wore (at least) the semblance of -innocence: but this could not remove his suspicions, so often had he -seen it assumed to hide the artful stratagems of a depraved heart. - -Ah! why will the lovely female, adorned with all that heaven and earth -can bestow to render her amiable, overleap the modesty of nature, and by -levity and boldness lose all pretensions to the esteem which would -otherwise be an involuntary tribute. - -Nor is it herself alone she injures; she hurts each child of purity, -helps to point the sting of ridicule, and weave the web of art. - -We shun the blazing sun, but court his tempered beams; the rose, which -glares upon the day, is never so much sought as the bud enwrapt in the -foliage; and, to use the expression of a late much-admired author, "The -retiring graces have ever been reckoned the most beautiful." - -He had never heard the earl mention a person of the name of Dunford; and -he knew not, or rather suspected, little credit was to be given to her -assertion of an intimacy between them, particularly as he saw her, -whenever the subject was mentioned, shrinking from it in the greatest -confusion. - -Her reserve he imputed to pretence; and flattering himself it would soon -wear off, determined for the present at least to humor her affectation. - -With such ideas, such sentiments, had Lord Mortimer's first visits to -Amanda commenced: but they experienced an immediate change as the -decreasing reserve of her manners gave him greater and more frequent -opportunities of discovering her mental perfections; the strength of her -understanding, the justness of her remarks, the liveliness of her fancy, -above all, the purity which mingled in every sentiment, and the modesty -which accompanied every word, filled him with delight and amazement; his -doubts gradually lessened, and at last vanished, and with them every -design, which they alone had ever given rise to. Esteem was now united -to love, and real respect to admiration: in her society he only was -happy, and thought not, or rather would not suffer himself to think, on -the consequences of such an attachment. It might be said, he was -entranced in pleasure, from which Howel completely roused him, and made -him seriously ask his heart, what were his intentions relative to -Amanda. Of such views as he perceived Howel suspected him of harboring, -his conscience entirely acquitted him; yet so great were the obstacles -he knew in the way of an union between him and Amanda, that he almost -regretted (as every one does, who acts against their better judgment,) -that he had not fled at the first intimation of his danger. So truly -formidable indeed did these obstacles appear, that he at times resolved -to break with Amanda, if he could fix upon any plan for doing so, -without injuring his honor, after the great attention he had paid her. - -Ere he came to any final determination, however, he resolved to try and -discover her real situation: if he even left her, it would be a -satisfaction to his heart to know whether his friendship could be -serviceable: and if an opposite measure was his plan, it could never be -put in execution without the desired information. He accordingly wrote -to his sister, Lady Araminta Dormer, who was then in the country with -Lord Cherbury, requesting she would inquire from his father whether he -knew a person of the name of Dunford; and if he did, what his situation -and family were. Lord Mortimer begged her ladyship not to mention the -inquiries being dictated by him, and promised at some future period to -explain the reason of them. He still continued his assiduities to -Amanda, and at the expected time received an answer to his letter; but -how was he shocked and alarmed, when informed, Lord Cherbury never knew -a person of the name of Dunford! His doubts began to revive; but before -he yielded entirely to them, he resolved to go to Amanda, and inquire -from her, in the most explicit terms, how, and at what time, her father -and the Earl had become acquainted; determined, if she answered him -without embarrassment, to mention to his sister whatever circumstances -she related, lest a forgetfulness of them alone had made the Earl deny -his knowledge of Dunford. Just as he was quitting the grove with this -intent, he espied Edwin and his wife coming down a cross-road from the -village, where they had been with poultry and vegetables. It instantly -occurred to him that these people, in the simplicity of their hearts, -might unfold the real situation of Amanda, and save him the painful -necessity of making inquiries, which she, perhaps, would not answer, -without his real motives for making them were assigned, which was what -he could not think of doing. - -Instead, therefore, of proceeding, he stopped till they came up to him, -and then with the most engaging affability addressed them, inquiring -whether they had been successful in the disposal of their goods. They -answered bowing and curtseying, and he then insisted that, as they -appeared tired, they should repair to the hall, and rest themselves. -This was too great an honor to be refused; and they followed their noble -conductor, who hastened forward to order refreshment into a parlor for -them. The nurse, who in her own way was a cunning woman, instantly -suspected, from the great and uncommon attention of Lord Mortimer, that -he wanted to inquire into the situation of Amanda. As soon as she saw -him at some distance, "David," cried she, "as sure as eggs are eggs," -(unpinning her white apron, and smoothing it nicely down as she spoke,) -"this young lort wants to have our company, that he may find out -something apout Miss Amanda. Ah, pless her pretty face, I thought how it -would be; but we must be as cunning as foxes, and not tell too much nor -too little, because if we told too much it would offend her, and she -would ask us how we got all our intelligence, and would not think us -over and above genteel, when she heard we had sifted Jemmy Hawthorn for -it, when he came down from London with her. All we must do is just to -drop some hints, as it were, of her situation, and then his lortship, to -be sure, will make his advantage of them, and ask her everything apout -herself, and then she will tell him of her own accord: so, David, mind -what you say, I charge you." "Ay, ay," cried David, "leave me alone; -I'll warrant you you'll always find an old soldier 'cute enough for -anypoty." - -When they reached the hall, they were shown into a parlor, where Lord -Mortimer was expecting them: with difficulty he made them sit down at -the table, where meat and wine were laid out for them. After they had -partaken of them, Lord Mortimer began with asking Edwin some questions -about his farm (for he was a tenant on the Tudor estate), and whether -there was anything wanting to render it more comfortable. "No," Edwin -replied, with a low bow, thanking his honorable lordship for his -inquiry. Lord Mortimer spoke of his family. "Ay, Cot pless the poor -things," Edwin said, "they were, to be sure, a fine thriving set of -children." Still Lord Mortimer had not touched on the subject nearest -his heart. He felt embarrassed and agitated. At last, with as much -composure as he could assume, he asked how long they imagined Miss -Dunford would stay with them. Now was the nurse's time to speak. She had -hitherto sat simpering and bowing. "That depended on circumstances," she -said. "Poor tear young laty, though their little cottage was so obscure, -and so unlike anything she had before been accustomed to, she made -herself quite happy with it." "Her father must miss her society very -much," exclaimed Lord Mortimer. "Tear heart, to be sure he does," cried -nurse. "Well, strange things happen every tay; but still I never thought -what did happen would have happened, to make the poor old gentleman and -his daughter part." "What happened?" exclaimed Lord Mortimer, starting -and suddenly stopping in the middle of the room, for hitherto he had -been walking backwards and forwards. "'Twas not her business," the nurse -replied, "by no manner of means, to be speaking about the affairs of her -petters; put for all that she could not help saying, because, she -thought it a pity his lortship, who was so good and so affable, should -remain in ignorance of everything; that Miss Amanda was not what she -appeared to be; no, if the truth was told, not the person she passed for -at all; but, Lort, she would never forgive me," cried the nurse, "if -your lortship told her it was from me your lortship heard this. Poor -tear thing, she is very unwilling to have her situation known, though -she is not the first poty who has met with a pad man; and shame and -sorrow be upon him who tistrest herself and her father." - -Lord Mortimer had heard enough: every doubt, every suspicion was -realized; and he was equally unable and unwilling to inquire further. It -was plain Amanda was unworthy of his esteem; and to inquire into the -circumstances which occasioned that unworthiness, would only have -tortured him. He rung the bell abruptly, and ordering Mrs. Abergwilly -to attend the Edwins, withdrew immediately to another room. Now there -was an opportunity for Lord Mortimer to break with Amanda, without the -smallest imputation on his honor. Did it give him pleasure? No: it -filled him with sorrow, disappointment, and anguish: the softness of her -manners, even more than the beauty of her person, had fascinated his -soul, and made him determine, if he found her worthy (of which indeed he -had then but little doubt) to cease not, till every obstacle which could -impede their union should be overcome. He was inspired with indignation -at the idea of the snare he imagined she had spread for him; thinking -her modesty all a pretext to draw him into making honorable proposals. -As she sunk in his esteem, her charms lessened in his fancy; and he -thought it would be a proper punishment for her, and a noble triumph -over himself, if he conquered, or at least resisted his passion, and -forsook her entirely. Full of this idea, and influenced by resentment -for her supposed deceit, he resolved, without longer delay, to fulfil -the purpose which had brought him into Wales, namely, visiting his -friend; but how frail is resolution and resentment when opposed to -tenderness! Without suffering himself to believe there was the least -abatement of either in his mind, he forbid the carriage, in a few -minutes after he had ordered it, merely, he persuaded himself, for the -purpose of yet more severely mortifying Amanda: as his continuing a -little longer in the neighborhood, without noticing her, might, perhaps, -convince her, she was not quite so fascinating as she believed herself -to be. From the time his residence at Tudor Hall was known, he had -received constant invitations from the surrounding families, which, on -Amanda's account, he uniformly declined. This he resolved should no -longer be the case: some, were yet unanswered, and these he meant to -accept, as means indeed of keeping him steady in his resolution of not -seeing her, and banishing her in some degree from his thoughts. But he -could not have fixed on worse methods than these for effecting either of -his purposes: the society he now mixed among was so different from that -he had lately been accustomed to, that he was continually employed in -drawing comparisons between them. He grew restless; his unhappiness -increased; and he at last felt, that if he desired to experience any -comfort, he must no longer absent himself from Amanda; and also that, if -she refused to accede to the only proposals now in his power to make -her, he would be miserable; so essential did he deem her society to his -happiness; so much was he attached from the softness and sweetness of -her manners. At the time he finally determined to see her again, he was -in a large party at a Welsh baronet's where he had dined; and on the -rack of impatience to put his determination in practice, he retired -early, and took the road to the cottage. - -Poor Amanda, during this time, was a prey to disquietude: the first day -of Lord Mortimer's absence, she felt a little uneasiness, but strove to -dissipate it, by thinking business had detained him. The next morning -she remained entirely at home, every moment expecting to behold him; but -this expectation was totally destroyed, when from the outside room she -heard one of the nurse's sons tell of all the company he had met going -to Sir Lewis ap Shenkin's, and amongst the rest Lord Mortimer, whose -servants had told him, the day before their lord dined at Mr. Jones's, -where there was a deal of company, and a grand ball in the evening. -Amanda's heart almost died within her at these words; pleasure then, not -business, had prevented Lord Mortimer from coming to her; these -amusements which he had so often declared were tasteless to him, from -the superior delight he experienced in her society. Either he was -insincere in such expressions, or had now grown indifferent. She -condemned herself for ever having permitted his visits, or received his -assiduities; she reproached him for ever having paid those assiduities, -knowing, as he must, the insincerity or inconstancy of his nature. In -spite of wounded pride, tears of sorrow and disappointment burst from -her; and her only consolation was, that no one observed her. Her hours -passed heavily away; she could not attend to anything; and in the -evening walked out to indulge, in a lonely ramble, the dejection of her -heart: she turned from Tudor Hall, and took (without knowing it indeed) -the very road which led to the house where Lord Mortimer had dined. With -slow and pensive steps she pursued her way, regardless of all around -her, till an approaching footstep made her raise her eyes, and she -beheld, with equal surprise and confusion, the very object who was then -employing her thoughts. Obeying the impulse of pride, she hastily turned -away; till, recollecting that her precipitately avoiding him would at -once betray her sentiments, she paused to listen to his passionate -inquiries after her health; having answered them with involuntary -coldness, she again moved on; but her progress was soon stopped by Lord -Mortimer; snatching her hand, he insisted on knowing why she appeared so -desirous to avoid him. Amanda made no reply to this, but desired he -would let her go. "Never," he exclaimed, "till you wear another face to -me. Oh! did you know the pain I have suffered since last we met, you -would from pity, I am sure, treat me with less coldness." Amanda's heart -throbbed with sudden pleasure; but she soon silenced its emotion, by -reflecting that a declaration of uneasiness, at the very time he was -entering into gayety, had something too inconsistent in it to merit -credit. Hurt by supposing he wanted to impose on her, she made yet more -violent efforts to disengage her hand; but Lord Mortimer held it too -firmly for her to be successful; he saw she was offended, and it gave -him flattering ideas of the estimation in which he stood with her, since -to resent his neglect was the most convincing proof he could receive of -the value she set upon his attention. Without hurting her feelings by a -hint, that he believed the alteration in her manner occasioned his -absence, in indirect terms he apologized for it, saying what indeed was -partly true, that a letter lately received had so ruffled his mind he -was quite unfit for her society, and had therefore availed himself of -those hours of chagrin and uneasiness to accept invitations, which at -some time or other he must have done, to avoid giving offence; and by -acting as he had done, he reserved the precious moments of returning -tranquillity for her he adored. Ah! how readily do we receive any -apology, do we admit of any excuse, that comes from a beloved object! -Amanda felt as if a weight was suddenly removed from her heart; her eyes -were no longer bent to the earth, her cheek no longer pale; and a smile, -the smile of innocence and love, enlivened all her features. She seemed -suddenly to forget her hand was detained by Lord Mortimer, for no longer -did she attempt to free it; she suffered him gently to draw it within -his, and lead her to the favorite haunt in Tudor Grove. - -Pleased, yet blushing and confused, she heard Lord Mortimer, with more -energy than he had ever yet expressed himself with, declare the pain he -suffered the days he saw her not. From his ardent, his passionate -expressions, what could the innocent Amanda infer, but that he intended, -by uniting his destiny to hers, to secure to himself a society he so -highly valued; what could she infer, but that he meant immediately to -speak in explicit terms? The idea was too pleasing to be received in -tranquillity, and her whole soul felt agitated. While they pursued their -way through Tudor Grove, the sky, which had been lowering the whole day, -became suddenly more darkened, and by its increasing gloom foretold an -approaching storm. Lord Mortimer no longer opposed Amanda's returning -home; but scarcely had they turned for that purpose, ere the vivid -lightning flashed across their path, and the thunder awfully -reverberated amongst the hills. The hall was much nearer than the -cottage, and Lord Mortimer, throwing his arm round Amanda's waist, -hurried her to it; but ere they reached the library, whose door was the -first they came to, the rain began pouring with violence. Lord Mortimer -snatched off Amanda's wet hat and cloak; the rest of her clothes were -quite dry; and immediately ordered tea and coffee, as she refused any -other refreshments: he dismissed the attendants, that he might, without -observation or restraint, enjoy her society. As she presided at the -tea-table, his eyes, with the fondest rapture, were fastened on her -face, which never had appeared more lovely; exercise had heightened the -pale tint of her cheek, over which her glossy hair curled in beautiful -disorder; the unusual glow gave a greater radiance to her eyes, whose -soft confusion denoted the pleasure she experienced from the attention -of Lord Mortimer. He restrained not, he could not restrain, the feelings -of his soul. "Oh, what happiness!" he exclaimed. "No wonder I found all -society tasteless, after having experienced yours. Where could I find -such softness, yet such sensibility; such sweetness, yet such animation; -such beauty, yet such apparent unconsciousness of it? Oh, my Amanda, -smoothly must that life glide on, whose destiny you shall share!" - -Amanda endeavored to check these transports, yet secretly they filled -her with delight, for she considered them as the sincere effusions of -honorable love. Present happiness, however, could not render her -forgetful of propriety: by the time tea was over, the evening began to -clear, and she protested she must depart. Lord Mortimer protested -against this for some time longer, and at last brought her to the -window, to convince her there was still a slight rain falling. He -promised to see her home as soon as it was over, and entreated, in the -mean time, she would gratify him with a song. Amanda did not refuse; but -the raptures he expressed, while she sung, she thought too violent, and -rose from the piano when she had concluded, in spite of his entreaties -to the contrary. She insisted on getting her hat and cloak, which had -been sent to Mrs. Abergwilly to dry: Lord Mortimer at last reluctantly -went out to obey her. - -Amanda walked to the window: the prospect from it was lovely; the -evening was now perfectly serene; a few light clouds alone floated in -the sky, their lucid skirts tinged with purple rays from the declining -sun; the trees wore a brighter green, and the dewdrop that had -heightened their verdure, yet glittered on their sprays; across a -distant valley was extended a beautiful rainbow, the sacred record of -Heaven's covenant with man. All nature appeared revived and animated; -the birds now warbled their closing lays, and the bleating of the cattle -was heard from the neighboring hills. "Oh! how sweet, how lovely is the -dewy landscape!" exclaimed Amanda, with that delight which scenes of -calm and vernal nature never fail of raising in minds of piety and -tenderness. - -"'Tis lovely, indeed!" repeated Lord Mortimer, who returned at the -moment, assuring her the things would be sent in directly. "I admire the -prospect," continued he, "because you gaze upon it with me; were you -absent, like every other charm, it would lose its beauty, and become -tasteless to me. Tell me," cried he, gently encircling her waist, "why -this hurry, why this wish to leave me? Do you expect elsewhere to meet -with a being who will value your society more highly than I do? Do you -expect to meet with a heart more fondly, more firmly attached to you -than mine? Oh, my Amanda, if you do, how mistaken are such -expectations!" - -Amanda blushed, and averted her head, unable to speak. - -"Ah, why," continued he, pursuing her averted eyes with his, "should we -create uneasiness to ourselves, by again separating?" - -Amanda looked up at these words with involuntary surprise in her -countenance. Lord Mortimer understood it: he saw she had hitherto -deluded herself with thinking his intentions towards her very different -from what they really were; to suffer her longer to deceive herself -would, he thought, be cruelty. Straining her to his beating heart, he -imprinted a kiss on her tremulous lips, and softly told her, that the -life, which without her would lose half its charms, should be devoted to -her service; and that his fortune, like his heart, should be in her -possession. Trembling while she struggled to free herself from his arms, -Amanda demanded what he meant: her manner somewhat surprised and -confused him; but recollecting this was the moment for explanation, he, -though with half-averted eyes, declared his hopes--his wishes and -intentions. Surprise--horror--and indignation, for a few minutes -overpowered Amanda; but suddenly recovering her scattered senses, with a -strength greater than she had ever before felt, she burst from him, and -attempted to rush from the room. Lord Mortimer caught hold of her. -"Whither are you going, Amanda?" exclaimed he, affrighted by her -manner. - -"From the basest of men," cried she, struggling to disengage herself. - -He shut the door, and forced her back to a chair: he was -shocked--amazed--and confounded by her looks: no art could have assumed -such a semblance of sorrow as she now wore; no feelings but those of the -most delicate nature, have expressed such emotion as she now betrayed: -the enlivening bloom of her cheeks was fled, and succeeded by a deadly -paleness; and her soft eyes, robbed of their lustre, were bent to the -ground with the deepest expression of woe. Lord Mortimer began to think -he had mistaken, if not her character, her disposition; and the idea of -having insulted either purity or penitence, was like a dagger to his -heart. "Oh, my love!" he exclaimed, laying his hand on her trembling -one, "what do you mean by departing so abruptly?" - -"My meaning, my lord," cried she, rising and shaking his hand from hers, -"is now as obvious as your own--I seek, forever, to quit a man who, -under the appearance of delicate attention, meditated so base a scheme -against me. My credulity may have yielded you amusement, but it has -afforded you no triumph: the tenderness which I know you think, which I -shall not deny your having inspired me with, as it was excited by -imaginary virtues, so it vanished with the illusion which gave it birth; -what then was innocent, would now be guilty. Oh, heavens!" continued -Amanda, clasping her hands together in a sudden agony of tears, "is it -me, the helpless child of sorrow, Lord Mortimer sought as a victim to -illicit love! Is it the son of Lord Cherbury destined such a blow -against the unfortunate Fitzalan?" - -Lord Mortimer started. "Fitzalan!" repeated he. "Oh! Amanda, why did you -conceal your real name? And what am I to infer from your having done -so?" - -"What you please, my lord," cried she. "The opinion of a person I -despise can be of little consequence to me, yet," continued she, as if -suddenly recollecting herself, "that you have no plea for extenuating -your conduct, know that my name was concealed by the desire of my -father, who, involved in unexpected distress, wished me to adopt -another, till his affairs were settled." - -"This concealment has undone me," exclaimed Lord Mortimer: "it has led -me into an error, I shall never cease repenting. Oh! Amanda, deign to -listen to the circumstances which occasioned this error; and you will -then, I am sure, think me at least less culpable than I now appear to -be; you will then, perhaps, allow me to make some atonement." - -"No, my lord," cried Amanda, "willingly I will not allow myself to be -deceived: for without deceit, I am convinced you could mention no -circumstance which could possibly palliate your conduct, or what you so -gently term an error. Had I, my lord, by art or coquetry, sought to -attract your notice, your crime would have been palliated; but when you -pursued, I retired; and the knowledge of your being Lord Cherbury's son -first induced me to receive your visits. I suffered their continuance, -because I thought you amiable: sad mistake! Oh! cruel, ungenerous -Mortimer, how have you abused my unsuspecting confidence!" - -As she ended these words, she moved towards the door. Awed by her -manner, confounded by her reproaches, tortured by remorse and half -offended at her refusing to hear his vindication, he no longer attempted -to prevent her quitting the apartment; he followed her, however, from -it. "What do you mean, my lord," asked she, "by coming after me?" - -"I mean to see you safely home," replied he, in a tone of proud -sullenness. - -"And is it Lord Mortimer," cried she, looking steadfastly in his face, -"pretends to see me safe?" - -He stamped, struck his hand violently against his forehead, and -exclaimed, "I see--I see--I am despicable in your eyes; but, Amanda, I -cannot endure your reproaches. Pause for a few minutes, and you will -find I am not so deserving of them as you imagine." - -She made no reply, but quickened her pace: within a few yards of the -cottage Lord Mortimer caught her, with a distracted air. "Amanda," said -he, "I cannot bear to part with you in this manner: you think me the -veriest villain on earth; you will drive me from your heart; I shall -become abhorrent to you." - -"Most assuredly, my lord," replied she, in a solemn voice. - -"Cannot compunction then extenuate my error?" - -"'Tis not compunction, 'tis regret you feel, for finding your designs -unsuccessful." - -"No: by all that is sacred, 'tis remorse for ever having meditated such -an injury. Yet I again repeat, if you listen to me, you will find I am -not so culpable as you believe. Oh! let me beseech you to do so; let me -hope that my life may be devoted to you alone, and that I may thus have -opportunities of apologizing for my conduct. Oh! dearest Amanda," -kneeling before her, "drive me not from you in the hour of penitence." - -"You plead in vain, my lord," cried she, breaking from him. - -He started in an agony from the ground, and again seized her. "Is it -thus," he exclaimed, "with such unfeeling coldness I am abandoned by -Amanda? I will leave you, if you only say I am not detested by you; if -you only say the remembrance of the sweet hours we have spent together -will not become hateful to you." - -He was pale and trembled; and a tear wet his cheek. Amanda's began to -flow: she averted her head, to hide her emotion; but he had perceived -it. "You weep, my Amanda," said he, "and you feel the influence of -pity!" - -"No, no," cried she, in a voice scarcely articulate: "I will -acknowledge," continued she, "I believe you possessed of sensibility; -and an anticipation of the painful feelings it will excite on the -reflection of your conduct to me, now stops my further reproaches. Ah! -my lord, timely profit by mental correction, nor ever again encourage a -passion which virtue cannot sanction or reason justify." - - "Thus spoke the angel; - And the grave rebuke, severe in youthful beauty - Added grace invincible." - -Amanda darted from Lord Mortimer; and entering the cottage, hastily -closed the door. Her looks terrified the nurse, who was the only one of -the family up, and who, by means of one of her sons, had discovered that -Amanda had taken refuge from the thunder-storm in Tudor Hall. - -Amanda had neither hat nor cloak on; her face was pale as death; her -hair, blown by the wind, and wet from the rain, hung dishevelled about -her; and to the inquiries of her nurse she could only answer by sobs and -tears. "Lack a tay," said the nurse, "what ails my sweet chilt?" - -Relieved by tears, Amanda told her nurse she was not very well, and that -she had been reflecting on the great impropriety there was in receiving -Lord Mortimer's visits, whom she begged her nurse, if he came again, not -to admit. - -The nurse shook her head, and said she supposed there had been some -quarrel between them; but if Lord Mortimer had done anything to vex her -tear chilt, she would make him pay for it. Amanda charged her never to -address him on such a subject; and having made her promise not to admit -him, she retired to her chamber faint, weary, and distressed. The -indignity offered her by Colonel Belgrave had insulted her purity and -offended her pride, but he had not wounded the softer feelings of her -soul; it was Mortimer alone had power to work them up to agony. - -The charm which had soothed her sorrows was fled; and while she glowed -with keen resentment, she wept from disappointed tenderness. "Alas! my -father," she cried, "is this the secure retreat you fondly thought you -had discovered for me! Sad mistake! Less had I to dread from the -audacious front of vice, than the insidious form of virtue: delicacy -shrinking from one, immediately announced the danger; but innocence -inspired confidence in the other; and credulity, instead of suspicion, -occupied the mind. Am I doomed to be the victim of deception--and, -except thy honest tender heart, my father, find every other fraught with -deceit and treachery to me? Alas! if in the early season of youth, -perpetual perfidy makes us relinquish candor and hope, what charms can -the world retain? The soul sickening, recoils within itself, and no -longer startles at dissolution. Belgrave aimed at my peace--but Mortimer -alone had power to pierce 'the vital vulnerable heart.' Oh, Mortimer! -from you alone the blow is severe--you, who, in divine language I may -say were my guide, my companion, and my familiar friend." - -Lord Mortimer was now a prey to all the pangs which an ingenuous mind, -oppressed with a consciousness of error, must ever feel: the most -implacable vengeance could not devise a greater punishment for him, than -his own thoughts inflicted; the empire of inordinate passion was -overthrown, and honor and reason regained their full and natural -ascendancy over them. When he reflected on the uniform appearance of -innocence Amanda had always worn, he wondered at his weakness in ever -having doubted its reality--at his audacity, in ever having insulted it; -when he reflected on her melancholy, he shuddered as if having -aggravated it. "Your sorrows, as well as purity, my Amanda," he cried, -"should have rendered you a sacred object to me." - -A ray of consolation darted into his mind at the idea of prevailing on -her to listen to the circumstances which had led him into a conduct so -unworthy of her and himself; such an explanation, he trusted, would -regain her love and confidence, and make her accept, what he meant -immediately to offer--his hand: for pride and ambition could raise no -obstacles to oppose this design of reparation; his happiness depended on -its being accepted. Amanda was dearer to him than life, and hope could -sketch no prospect, in which she was not the foremost object. Impetuous -in his passions, the lapse of the hours was insupportably tedious; and -the idea of waiting till the morning to declare his penitence, his -intention, and again implore her forgiveness, filled him with agony; he -went up to the cottage, and laid his hand upon the latch; he hesitated; -even from the rustics he wished to conceal his shame and confusion. All -within and without the cottage was still; the moonbeams seemed to sleep -upon the thatch, and the trees were unagitated by a breeze. - -"Happy rustics!" exclaimed Lord Mortimer. "Children of content and -undeviating integrity, sleep presses sweetly on your eyelids. My Amanda -too rests, for she is innocent." - -He descended to the valley, and saw a light from her window: he advanced -within a few yards of it, and saw her plainly walk about with an -agitated air--her handkerchief raised to her eyes, as if she wept. His -feelings rose almost to frenzy at this sight, and he execrated himself -for being the occasion of her tears. The village clock struck one: good -heavens! how many hours must intervene ere he could kneel before the -lovely mourner, implore her soft voice to accord his pardon, and (as he -flattered himself would be the case), in the fulness of reconciliation, -press her to his throbbing heart, as the sweet partner of his future -days. The light was at last extinguished; but he could not rest, and -continued to wander about like a perturbed spirit till the day began to -dawn, and he saw some early peasants coming to their labors. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - "Oh let me now, into a richer soil, - Transplant thee safe, where vernal suns and showers - Diffuse their warmest, largest influence; - And of my garden be the pride and joy."--THOMSON. - - -The moment he thought he could see Amanda, Mortimer hastened to the -cottage; the nurse, as she had promised, would not reproach him, though -she strongly suspected his having done something to offend her child; -that her sullen air declared her dissatisfaction. "Miss Fitzalan was too -ill," she said, "to see company;" (for Lord Mortimer had inquired for -Amanda by her real name, detesting the one of Dunford, to which, in a -great degree, he imputed his unfortunate conduct to her.) The nurse -spoke truth in saying Amanda was ill; her agitation was too much for her -frame, and in the morning she felt so feverish she could not rise; she -had not spirits, indeed, to attempt it. Sunk to the lowest ebb of -dejection, she felt solitude alone congenial to her feelings. Hitherto -the morning had been impatiently expected; for, with Mortimer, she -enjoyed its - - "Cool, its fragrant, and its silent hour." - -But no Mortimer was now desired. In the evening he made another attempt; -and finding Ellen alone, sent in a supplicatory message by her to -Amanda. She was just risen, and Mrs. Edwin was making tea for her; a -flush of indignation overspread her pale face, on receiving his message. -"Tell him," said she, "I am astonished at his request, and never will -grant it. Let him seek elsewhere a heart more like his own, and trouble -my repose no more." - -He heard her words, and in a fit of passion and disappointment flew out -of the house. Howel entered soon after, and heard from Ellen an account -of the quarrel; a secret hope sprung in his heart at this intelligence, -and he desired Ellen to meet him in about half an hour in the valley, -thinking by that time he could dictate some message to send by her to -Amanda. - -As the parson had never paid Miss Fitzalan any of those attentions which -strike a vulgar eye, and had often laughed and familiarly chatted with -Ellen, she took it into her head he was an admirer of hers; and if being -the object of Chip's admiration excited the envy of her neighbors, how -much would that increase when the parson's predilection was known? She -set about adorning herself for her appointment; and while thus employed -the honest, faithful Chip entered, attired in his holiday clothes, to -escort her to a little dance. Ellen bridled up at the first intimation -of it; and, delighted with the message Amanda had sent to Lord Mortimer, -which in her opinion was extremely eloquent, she resolved now to imitate -it. - -"Timothy," said she, drawing back her head, "your request is the most -improperest that can be conceived, and it is by no means convenient for -me to adhere to it. I tell you, Tim," cried she, waving the corner of -her white apron, for white handkerchief she had not, "I wonder at your -presumptioness in making it; cease your flattering expressions of love, -look out amongst the inferiority for a heart more like your own, and -trouble my pleasure no more." - -Chip paused a moment, as if wanting to comprehend her meaning. "The -short and the long of it then, Nell," said he, "is that you and I are to -have nothing more to say to each other." - -"True," cried his coquettish mistress. - -"Well, well, Nell," said he, half crying, "the time may come when you -will repent having served a true-hearted lad in this manner." So saying, -he ran from the house. - -Ellen surveyed herself with great admiration, and expected nothing less -than an immediate offer of the parson's hand. She found him punctual to -his appointment, and after walking some time about the valley, they sat -down together upon a little bank. "Ellen," said he, taking her hand, "do -you think there is any hope for me?" - -"Nay, now intead, Mr. Howel," cried she, with affected coyness, "that is -such a strange question." - -"But the quarrel, perhaps," said he, "may be made up." - -"No, I assure you," replied she, with quickness, "it was entirely on -your account it ever took place." - -"Is it possible!" exclaimed he, pleasure sparkling in his eyes; "then I -may re-urge my passion." - -"Ah, tear now, Mr. Howel, you are so very pressing." - -"Do you think," said he, "she is too ill to see me?" - -"Who too ill?" - -"Why, Miss Fitzalan." (For, the moment Ellen knew Lord Mortimer was -acquainted with Amanda's name, she thought there was no longer reason -for concealing it from any one, and had informed Howel of it.) - -"Miss Fitzalan!" repeated she, staring and changing color. - -"Yes, Ellen, the dear, lovely Miss Fitzalan, whom I adore more than -language can express, or imagination conceive." - -Adieu to Ellen's airy hopes: her chagrin could not be concealed; and -tears burst from her. The curate tenderly inquired the cause of her -emotion; though vain, she was not artful, and could not disguise it. -"Why, really, you made such speeches, I thought--and then you looked so. -But it is no matter: I pelieve all men are teceitful." - -From her tears and disjointed sentences, he began to suspect something, -and his gentle mind was hurt at the idea of giving her pain; anxious, -however, to receive his doom from Amanda, he again asked, if she thought -he could see her. - -Ellen answered him snappishly, she could not tell; and hurried to the -cottage, where a flood of tears soon relieved her distress. To be -dressed so charmingly, and for no purpose, was a pity: she therefore -resolved on going to the dance, consoling herself with the old saying of -having more than one string to her bow; and that if Chip was not as -genteel, he was quite as personable a man as the curate. Walking down -the lane, she met a little boy, who gave her a letter from Chip; full of -the idea of its containing some overtures for a reconciliation, she -hastily broke it open, and read to the following effect:-- - - ELLEN:--After your cruelty, I could not bear to stay in the - village, as I never could work another stroke with a light - heart; and every tree and meadow would remind me of the love my - dear girl once bore her poor Chip. So, before this comes to - hand, I shall be on my way to enter one of the King's ships, and - Heaven knows whether we shall ever meet again; but this I know, - I shall always love Ellen, though she was so cruel to her own - faithful - - TIM CHIP. - -Thus did the vanity of Ellen receive a speedy punishment. Her distress -for some days was unabated; but at last yielded to the mild arguments of -Amanda, and the hopes she inspired of seeing the wandering hero again. - -Howel at last obtained an interview, and ventured to plead his passion. -Amanda thanked him for his regard, but declared her inability of -returning it as he wished; assuring him, however, at the same time, of -her sincere friendship. - -"This then shall suffice," said he. "Neither sorrow nor disappointment -are new to me; and when they oppress me, I will turn to the idea of my -angel friend, and forget, for some moments at least, my heavy burden." - -Lord Mortimer made several attempts for again seeing Amanda, but without -success, he then wrote, but his letters were not successful. In despair -at finding neither letters nor messages received by Amanda, he at last, -by stratagem, effected an interview. Meeting one of the young Edwins -returning from the post-town with a letter, he inquired, and heard it -was for Miss Fitzalan; a little persuasion prevailed on the young man to -relinquish it, and Lord Mortimer flew directly to the cottage. "Now," -cried he, "the inexorable girl must appear, if she wishes to receive her -letter." - -The nurse informed Amanda of it; but she, suspecting it to be a scheme, -refused to appear. "By Heaven, I do not deceive her!" exclaimed Lord -Mortimer; "nor will I give the letter into any hands but hers." "This, -my lord," said Amanda, coming from her chamber, "is really cruel; but -give me the letter," impatiently stretching out her hand for it. -"Another condition remains to be complied with," cried he, seizing her -soft hand, which she, however, instantly withdrew; "you must read it, -Miss Fitzalan, in my presence." "Good Heavens, how you torment me!" she -exclaimed. "Do you comply then?" "Yes," she replied, and received the -letter from him. The pity and compunction of his lordship increased as -he gazed on her pale face, while her eyes eagerly ran over the contents -of the letter, which were as follows:-- - - TO MISS FITZALAN. - - To be able to communicate pleasure to my Amanda, rewards me for - tedious months of wretchedness. Dry up your tears, sweet child - of early sorrow, for the source of grief exists no longer; Lord - Cherbury has been kind beyond my warmest expectations, and has - given me the ineffable delight, as far as pecuniary matters can - do, of rendering the future days of Amanda happy. In my next I - shall be more explicit; at present I have not a moment I can - call my own, which must excuse this laconic letter. The faithful - Edwins will rejoice in the renewed fortune of their dear - Amanda's affectionate father. - - Jermyn Street. AUGUSTUS FITZALAN. - -The emotions of Amanda were irrepressible: the letter dropped from her -trembling hands, and her streaming eyes were raised to heaven. "Oh bless -him!" she exclaimed. "Gracious Heaven, bless the benefactor of my father -for this good deed! May sorrow or misfortune never come across his -path." - -"And who, may I ask," said Lord Mortimer, "merits so sweet a prayer from -Amanda?" - -"See," cried she, presenting him the letter, as if happy at the moment -to have such a proof of the truth of what she had alleged to him. - -Lord Mortimer was affected by the letter: his eyes filled with tears, -and he turned aside to hide his emotion; recovering himself, he again -approached her. "And while you so sweetly pray for the felicity of the -father," said he, "are you resolved on dooming the son to despair? If -sincere penitence can extenuate error, and merit mercy, I deserve to be -forgiven." - -Amanda rose, as if with an intention of retiring, but Lord Mortimer -caught her hand. "Think not," cried he, "I will lose the present -opportunity, which I have so long desired, and with such difficulty -obtained, of entering into a vindication of my conduct: however it may -be received by you, it is a justice I owe my own character to make: for -as I never wilfully injured innocence, so I cannot bear to be considered -as its violator. Amidst the wildness, the extravagance of youth, which -with compunction I acknowledge being too often led into, my heart still -acquitted me of ever committing an act which could entail upon me the -pangs of conscience. Sacred to me has virtue ever been, how lowly soever -in situation." - -The idea of his being able to vindicate himself scarcely afforded less -pleasure to Amanda than it did to Lord Mortimer. She suffered him to -reseat her, while he related the circumstances which had led him astray -in his opinion of her. Oh! how fervent was the rapture that pervaded -Amanda's heart, when, as she listened to him, she found he was still the -amiable, the generous, the noble character her fancy had first conceived -him to be. Tears of pleasure, exquisite as those she had lately shed, -again fell from her; for oh! what delight is there in knowing that an -object we cannot help loving we may still esteem. "Thus," continued Lord -Mortimer, "have I accounted for my error: an error which, except on -account of your displeasure, I know not whether I should regret, as it -has convinced me, more forcibly than any other circumstance could have -done, of the perfections of your mind, and has, besides, removed from -mine prejudices which causelessly I did not entertain against your sex. -Was every woman in a similar situation to act like you, - - ----Such numbers would not in vain, - Of broken vows and faithless men complain. - -To call you mine is the height of my wishes; on your decision I rest for -happiness. Oh! my Amanda, let it be a favorable decision, and suffer me -to write to Mr. Fitzalan, and request him to bestow on me the greatest -treasure one being could possibly receive from another--a woman lovely -and educated as you have been." - -When he mentioned appealing to her father, Amanda could no longer doubt -the sincerity of his intentions. Her own heart pleaded as powerfully as -his solicitations did for pardoning him; and if she did not absolutely -extend her hand, she at least suffered it to be taken without any -reluctance. "I am forgiven, then," said Lord Mortimer, pressing her to -his bosom. "Oh, my Amanda, years of tender attention can never make up -for this goodness!" - -When his transports were a little abated, he insisted on writing -immediately to Fitzalan. As he sealed the letter, he told Amanda he had -requested an expeditious answer. The happiness of the youthful pair was -communicated to the honest rustics, whom Lord Mortimer liberally -rewarded for their fidelity to his Amanda, and whom she readily excused -for their ambiguous expressions to him, knowing they proceeded from -simplicity of heart, and a wish of serving her, yet without injuring -themselves, by betraying the manner in which they had procured their -intelligence of her situation. - -The day after the reconciliation, Lord Mortimer told Amanda he was -compelled, for a short time, to leave her; with that reluctance, he -hoped, he said, she could readily conceive; but the visit, which he had -come into Wales for the purpose of paying, had been so long deferred, -his friend was growing impatient, and threatened to come to Tudor Hall -to see what detained him there. To prevent such a measure, which he knew -would be a total interruption to the happiness he enjoyed in her -society, Lord Mortimer added he meant to pass a few days with him, -hoping by the time he returned there would be a letter from Mr. -Fitzalan, which would authorize his immediate preparations for their -nuptials. Amanda wished, but could not totally hide, the uneasiness she -felt at the prospect of a separation; the idea, however, of his speedy -return, rendered it but transient, and he departed in a few hours after -he had mentioned his intention. - -Amanda had never before experienced such happiness as she now enjoyed. -She now saw herself on the point of being elevated to a situation, by a -man, too, whom she adored, which would give her ample opportunities of -serving the clearest connections of her heart, and of gratifying the -benevolence of her disposition, and the elegance of her taste. Oh, how -delightful to think she should be able to soothe the declining period of -her father's life, by providing for him all the requisite indulgences of -age! oh, how delightful to think she should be accessory to her dear -Oscar's promotion! how rapturous to imagine at her approach the drooping -children of misery would brighten with pleasing presages of relief, -which she should amply realize! Such were Amanda's anticipations of what -she termed the blessings of an affluent fortune; felicity, in her -opinion, was to be diffused to be enjoyed. Of Lord Cherbury's sanction -to the attachment of his son, she entertained not a doubt; her birth was -little inferior to his, and fortune was entirely out of the -question--for a liberal mind, she thought, could never look to that, -when on one side was already possessed more than sufficient for even the -luxuries of life. Such were the ideas of the innocent and romantic -Amanda--ideas which made her seem to tread on air, and which she -entertained till subsequent experience convinced her of their fallacy. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - "Alas! the story melts away my soul! - That best of fathers, how shall I discharge - The gratitude and duty which I owe him? - --By laying up his counsels in your heart."--CATO. - - -Amanda was sitting in the recess in the garden, the fourth evening of -Lord Mortimer's absence, when suddenly she heard the rattling of a -carriage. Her heart bounded, and she flew into the house; at the very -moment a chaise stopped at the door, from which, to her inexpressible -amazement, her father descended. - -Transfixed to the spot, it was many minutes ere she had power to bid him -welcome, or return the fond caresses he bestowed upon her. "I am come, -Amanda," said he, eagerly interrupting the joyful speeches of the -Edwins, "to take you away with me; and one hour is all I can give you to -prepare yourself." "Good Heaven!" said Amanda, starting, "to take me -away immediately?" "Immediately," he repeated. "And as I know you are -attached to this good girl," turning to Ellen, "I shall be happy, if her -parents permit, to procure her attendance for you." - -The Edwins, who would have followed themselves, or allowed any of their -family to follow Fitzalan and his daughter round the world, gladly -consented to her going; and the girl, exclusive of her attachment to -Amanda, which was very great, having pined ever since her lover's -departure, rejoiced at the idea of a change of scene. - -Not so Amanda: it made her suffer agony; to be torn from Lord Mortimer -in the hour of reconciliation and explanation, was more than she could -support with fortitude. Her father, perhaps, had not received his -letter; it was but justice then to him and Lord Mortimer to reveal her -situation. She left her trunk half-packed, and went out for that -purpose; but as she stood before him with quivering lips and -half-averted eyes, at a loss to begin, he took her hand, and softly -exclaimed: "My love, let us for the present waive every subject; the -moments are precious; hasten to put on your habit, or we shall be too -late at the stage where I propose resting to-night." Amanda turned in -silence to her chamber to comply with his desire; tears ran down her -cheeks, and for the first time she conceived the idea of being hurried -away to avoid Lord Mortimer; but why, she could not think--honor as well -as tenderness, she thought, demanded her acquainting him with the cause -of her precipitate journey; but, when she took up a pen for that -purpose, her hand was unsteady, and she was so much disturbed by the -nurse and her daughters, who ran backwards and forwards in all the -bustle of preparation, that she could not write: her father prevented a -second effort, for he was continually coming to her chamber-door urging -her to be quick, and thus prevented her delivering any message to the -nurse for Lord Mortimer; so great was his eagerness to depart, he would -not suffer the horses to be taken from the chaise, or any refreshment to -be brought him by the Edwins, notwithstanding their pressing entreaties: -neither would he answer their interrogatories as to where he was going, -saying they should know hereafter. The parting embrace was at last given -and received with a heavy heart--Amanda was handed to the -carriage--silence prevailed--all the travellers were equally though -differently affected; the cottage and the spire of the village church -had awakened the most affecting remembrances in the mind of Fitzalan, -and tears fell from him to the memory of his unfortunate Malvina; sighs -burst from Amanda as she viewed the white turrets of Tudor Hall, and -Ellen sobbed on passing the forsaken cottage of poor Chip. From all -these affecting and beloved objects the rapidity of the carriage soon -conveyed them; but the impressions they left upon their minds were not -so easily eradicated. Fitzalan was the first to break the unsocial -silence, and it seemed as if he did so for the purpose of rousing the -dejection of his daughter: a cross road from the cottage shortly brought -them to Conway Ferry, which they were obliged to pass, and here, had -Amanda's mind been at ease, she would have felt truly gratified by -viewing the remains of gothic magnificence which Castle Conway -exhibited; as it was, she could not behold them unmoved, and, whilst she -admired, gave the passing tribute of a sigh to grandeur and decay. They -only continued in Conway till a carriage was provided for them, and soon -came beneath the stupendous projections of Penmaenmawr; this was a scene -as new as awful to Amanda: "Well, Cot in heaven pless their souls," -Ellen said, "what a tefil of a way they should be in if one of them huge -stones rolled down upon the carriage." They stopped not again until they -reached Bangor Ferry, where they were to rest for the night. Amanda's -strength and spirits were now so entirely exhausted, that had not a -glass of wine been immediately procured her, she would have fainted from -weakness; this a little revived her, and the tears she shed relieved in -some degree the oppression of her heart; her father left her and Ellen -together, while he went to give directions about the journey of the -ensuing day. - -Amanda went to the window and threw up the sash; the air from the -mountains she thought refreshed her; the darkness of the hour was -opposed by a bright moon, which cast a trembling radiance upon the -water, and by its partial gleams exhibited a beautiful scene of light -and shade, that had Amanda been in another frame of mind she would -infinitely have admired; the scene too was almost as still as it was -lovely, for no voice was heard except a low murmur from voices below -stairs: while she stood here in a deep reverie, the paddling of oars -suddenly roused her, and she beheld a boat on the opposite shore, which -in a few minutes gained the one where she was, and she saw coming from -it to the inn a large party of gentlemen, whose air and attendants -announced them to be men of fashion; they seemed by their discourse to -be a convivial party; the light was too dim to allow their faces to be -discerned, but in the figure of one Amanda thought she perceived a -strong resemblance to Lord Mortimer; her heart throbbed, she leaned -forward to endeavor to distinguish more plainly, and at the moment heard -his well-known voice ordering his groom to have the horses ready at -twelve o'clock, as he would take the advantage of such fine weather to -set off at that hour for Tudor Hall; the party were then ushered into a -room contiguous to the one occupied by Amanda, while the bustling of the -waiters, and the clattering of knives, forks, and plates, announced the -preparations for a late dinner. Oh! what were now the agitations of -Amanda, to think that in one moment she could inform Lord Mortimer of -her situation; but the transport the idea gave was relinquished almost -as soon as felt, as such a measure she thought might perhaps for ever -disoblige her father. In this tumult of doubt and perplexity he found -her; and by his conduct convinced her that he not only knew of Lord -Mortimer's being in the house, but wished her to avoid him; for he -instantly led her from the window, and, shutting it down, darted, for -the first time in his life, a severe frown at her; a dagger in the -breast of Amanda could scarcely have given her more pain--a cold horror -ran through her veins, and she was oppressed by as many fears as if she -had been conscious of offending him. The supper he had ordered was a -little retarded by the late dinner of his gay neighbors; he would have -had it in another room had another been disengaged; vainly did his timid -companions try to eat--Amanda was sick, and Ellen frightened, though she -knew not why; the waiter was dismissed, and the most unsocial silence -prevailed. - -Unbounded gayety reigned in the next apartment, from which every sound -could plainly be distinguished. Dinner over, the exhilarating juice went -round, and bumper toasts were called. Lord Mortimer at last was asked -for a fair nymph. "I will give you," exclaimed he, in a voice which -denoted his being uncommonly elevated, "an Angel!"--Amanda's heart beat -violently and her cheeks glowed. "A name for this celestial beauty!" -demanded one of the party: "Amanda," cried his lordship. "Oh, faith, -Mortimer, that won't do;" said another of his companions; "this angel -shall not pass without the rest of her name." "Miss Fitzalan, then," -exclaimed his lordship. "Oh! oh!" cried a new voice, with a loud laugh, -after clue honor had been paid to the toast, "I being to unravel a -mystery; upon my soul I could not conceive till this instant what had -kept you so long at the hall; for I had seen the maiden part of the -household, and knew the metal there not very attractive; but this -Amanda, I suppose, is the rosy daughter of some poor curate in its -vicinity, who for"--"Beware!" interrupted Lord Mortimer in an agitated -voice, "of what you say; give me no reason to repent having introduced a -name so valued into this company--the situation of Miss Fitzalan is not -exactly what you suppose: but let this suffice for you to know--it is -such as secures her from every species of impertinence and were it even -less protected, her own elegance and propriety would elevate her above -receiving any." The face of Fitzalan, during this conversation, was -crimsoned over, and he again darted a frown at the trembling Amanda, -which almost petrified her, he told her that she and Ellen must retire -immediately to rest, as they had a long journey before them the ensuing -day, which would require their rising early. Amanda, for the first time -in her life, wished to be relieved from his presence, and gladly rose to -obey him; he attended her himself to the room prepared for her, which -was directly over that where the gentlemen sat; to think of rest was -impossible; the severity of her father's looks, and her precipitate -journey--she knew not whither--but evidently for the purpose of avoiding -Lord Mortimer, filled the thoughts of Amanda with confusion and -distress: Ellen essayed artless consolation: "What the tefil do you -think," said she, "if I was to go down to give his lortship an -intimation of your peing here; you could easily contrive to see him in -the garden, or else we could pring him up here, and if the captain -surprised us, we could pop him in a moment behind the curtain." Amanda -motioned her to silence, unwilling to lose the smallest sound of Lord -Mortimer's voice, and determined, anxious as she was to see him, never -to act in opposition to her father. At length the horses were led from -the stable, and the convivial party descended to them. Amanda softly -raised the window, and saw Lord Mortimer eagerly vault upon the saddle; -he gave a hasty adieu to the friends, and galloped off; they mounted at -the same time, but took a contrary direction. Amanda leaned out till she -could no longer hear the clattering of the horses' hoofs; her heart sunk -as the sound died upon her ear; she wept as she retired from the window; -the idea of Mortimer's disappointment aggravated her grief; she no -longer opposed Ellen's efforts to undress her; exhausted by fatigue, -sleep soon closed her eyes, and fancy again transported her to Tudor -Hall and Mortimer. - -By the first dawn of day a knock at her chamber-door roused her from -this pleasing illusion, and she heard her father desiring her to rise -immediately. Drowsy as she was, she instantly obeyed the summons, and -awaking Ellen, they were ready to attend him in a few minutes; a boat -was already prepared, and on gaining the opposite side they found a -carriage in waiting. Day was now just dawning; a gray mist enveloped the -mountains, and cast a shade of obscurity upon all the inferior objects; -at length the atmosphere began to brighten--the lucid clouds in the cast -were tinged with golden radiance, and the sun in beautiful and refulgent -majesty arose, gladdening the face of nature with its potent beams; the -trees, the shrubs, seemed waving their dewy heads in sign of grateful -homage, while their winged inhabitants, as they soared in the air, -poured forth the softest notes of melody. Amanda, in spite of sadness, -beheld the charming scene with admiration; and Fitzalan contemplated it -with delight. "All nature," he exclaimed, "points out to man the -gratitude due to the Divine dispenser of good; hardened must that heart -be against the feelings of sensibility, which the harmony and fragrance -of this early hour awakens not to a perfect sense of it!" Amanda -assented to his remark more by a smile than words, for she was ill able -to speak. They stopped not till they reached Gwintey, where they -breakfasted, and then proceeded, without resting again, to Holyhead, -which place Fitzalan announced as they entered it. And now, Amanda first -conceived the idea of being brought to another kingdom, which her father -soon confirmed her in--for, as soon as they alighted, he inquired when -a packet would sail, and heard with evident pleasure about six in the -afternoon. He directly desired three passages to be engaged; and, having -ordered an early dinner, dismissed Ellen into another room; and seating -himself by Amanda, he took her hand, and with a tender voice thus -addressed her: "To give pain to your gentle heart has inflicted torture -on mine; but honor compelled me to the conduct which I have adopted, and -which, I trust and believe, Amanda will excuse when she knows my motive -for it, which in due order she shall hear. - -"On Lord Cherbury's arrival in town, I was immediately informed of it, -according to the promise of his domestics, and directly sent him my -letter; scarcely had he read it, ere, with all the ardor of true -friendship, he came and brought me to his house, where we might securely -reflect on what was to be done. His lordship soon formed a plan that at -once inspired me with gratitude and pleasure, as it promised me -competence without depriving me of independence--this was to accept the -agency of a considerable estate in the north of Ireland, which he -possessed in right of his wife, the late Countess of Cherbury, who was -an Irish heiress. He proposed my residing in the mansion house, offering -to advance a sum sufficient to answer all demands and exigencies; and -striving to lighten the obligations he conferred upon me, by declaring -he had long been seeking a man of well-known probity, as his last agent -had gone off considerably in arrears to him. I accepted his generous -offer, and soon freed myself from the power of Belgrave. I now felt a -tranquillity I was long a stranger to, and was busied in preparing to -come down to you, when Lord Mortimer's letter, like a clap of thunder, -broke the happy calm I enjoyed. Gracious heaven! I shuddered to think, -that at the very period Lord Cherbury was building up my fortunes, the -hopes he entertained for this darling son were in a way of being -destroyed, through means of a connection of mine; he had hinted to me -his having already settled upon a splendid alliance for Lord Mortimer, -which he also hinted his heart was set on: this the infatuated young man -had himself some knowledge of; for in his rash letter he entreated my -secrecy relative to his proposal for you till beyond the reach of -mortals to separate you: no doubt he would never have asked my consent, -had he thought he could have procured you without it; he took me, I -suppose, for some needy and ambitious creature, who would, though at the -expense of integrity, grasp an opportunity of elevating a child to rank -and fortune; but never was an erring mortal more mistaken, though -dearer to me than the air I breath--though the lovely child of my lost -Malvina--though a cherubim, whose innocent endearments often raised in -me, as Prospero says-- - - An undergoing stomach--to bear up - Against what should ensue. - -I would rather see you breathless at my feet, than, by conscious and -apparent meanness, deserve and incur the malevolence of calumny. I -committed the letter to the flames, and requested Lord Cherbury's final -commands; being desirous to commence my journey without longer delay, as -your delicate state of health, I said, made me anxious to have you -immediately under my own care; he complied with my request, and I -travelled post, resolved to separate you and Lord Mortimer--even if -prepared for the altar: nor was I alone actuated to this by gratitude to -Lord Cherbury, or consideration for my own honor--no, with these, a -regard for your peace equally influenced me--a soul of sensibility and -refinement like yours could never, I know, be happy if treated with -repulsive coldness by the family of her husband; particularly if her -conscience told her she merited that coldness by entering it -clandestinely. Could I bear to think that of you--so lovely in -person--so amiable in manners--so illustrious in descent--should be -called an artful and necessitous contriver? an imputation, which, most -undoubtedly, your union with Lord Mortimer would have incurred. No, to -the God who gave you to my care, I hold myself responsible, as far as in -my power, for preserving your peace--to the mother, whose last words -implored my tenderness for her offspring, I hold myself accountable--to -me she still exists--I think her ever near--and ere I act, always -reflect whether such an action would meet her approbation. Such is the -respect virtue excites--it lives when the frail texture of mortality is -dissolved. Your attachment, when repelled by reason and fortitude, will -soon vanish; as for Lord Mortimer, removed from the flame which warmed -his heart, he will soon forget it ever played around it--should he, -however, be daring enough to persevere, he will find my resolution -unalterable. Honor is the only hereditary possession that ever came to -me uninjured; to preserve it in the same state has been ever my -unremitted study--it irradiated the gloomy morning of care, and I trust -it will gild the setting hours of existence." - -Amanda's emotions deprived her of speech or acting--she sat a pale -statue, listening to her father's firm and rapid language, which -announced the abolition of her hopes; ignorant of her inability to -speak, he felt hurt at her silence; and rising abruptly, walked about -the room with a disordered air. "I see--I see," cried he at last, -looking mournfully upon her, "I am destined to be unhappy; the little -treasure which remained from the wreck of felicity, I had hoped (vain -hope!) would have comforted and consoled me for what then was lost." "O! -my father!" exclaimed Amanda, suddenly starting and sighing deeply, "how -you pierce my heart!" His pale, emaciated looks seemed to declare him -sinking beneath a burden of care; she started up, and flung herself into -his arms. "Dearest, best of fathers!" she exclaimed, in a voice broken -by sobs, "what is all the world to me in comparison of you? Shall I put -Lord Mortimer, so lately a stranger, in competition with your happiness? -Oh no! I will henceforth try to regulate every impulse of my heart -according to your wishes." Fitzalan burst into tears--the enthusiasm of -virtue warmed them both--hallowed are her raptures, and amply do they -recompense the pain attendant on her sacrifices. - -Dinner was brought in, to which they sat down in their usual social -manner; and Amanda, happy in her father's smiles, felt a ray of -returning cheerfulness. The evening was delightfully serene when they -went on board, and the vessel, with a gentle motion, glided over the -glittering waves; sickness soon compelled Amanda and Ellen to retire -from the deck; yet without a sigh, the former could not relinquish the -prospect of the Welsh mountains. By the dawn of next morning the vessel -entered the bay of Dublin, and Fitzalan shortly after brought Amanda -from the cabin to contemplate a scene which far surpassed all her ideas -of sublimity and beauty, a scene which the rising sun soon heightened to -the most glowing radiance; they landed at the Marine Hotel, where they -breakfasted, and then proceeded in a carriage to a hotel in Capel -street, where they proposed staying a few days for the purpose of -enjoying Oscar's company, whose regiment was quartered in Dublin, and -making some requisite purchases for their journey to the north. As the -carriage drove down Capel street, Amanda saw a young officer standing at -the corner of Mary's Abbey, whose air very much resembled Oscar's; her -heart palpitated; she looked out and perceived the resemblance was a -just one, for it was Oscar himself--the carriage passed too swiftly for -him to recognize her face; but he was astonished to see a fair hand -waving to him; he walked down the street, and reached the hotel just as -they were entering it. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - "And whence, unhappy youth, he cried, - The sorrow of thy breast?"--GOLDSMITH. - - -The raptures of this meeting surpassed description: to Oscar they were -heightened by surprise; he was unfortunately that day on guard at the -Bank--therefore could only pay them a few short and stolen visits; but -the next morning, the moment he was relieved, he came to them. Fitzalan -had given Amanda money to purchase whatever she deemed necessary for her -convenience and amusement, and Oscar attended her to the most celebrated -shops to make her purchases: having supplied herself with a pretty -fashionable assortment for her wardrobe, she procured a small collection -of books, sufficient, however, from their excellence, to form a little -library in themselves, and every requisite for drawing; nor did she -forget the little wants and vanities of Ellen; they returned about -dinner time to the hotel, where they found their father, who had been -transacting business for Lord Cherbury in different parts of the town. -We may now suppose him in the possession of happiness, blessed as he was -in the society of his children, and the certainty of a competence; but, -alas! happiness has almost ever an attendant drawback, and he now -experienced one of the most corroding kind from the alteration he -witnessed in his son. Oscar was improved in his person, but his eyes no -longer beamed with animation, and the rose upon his cheek was pale; his -cheerfulness no longer appeared spontaneous, but constrained, as if -assumed for the purpose of veiling deep and heartfelt sorrow. - -Fitzalan, with all the anxiety and tenderness of a parent, delicately -expressed his wish of learning the source of his uneasiness, that by so -doing he might be better qualified to alleviate it, hinting at the same -time, in indirect terms, that if occasioned by any of the imprudences -which youth is sometimes inadvertently led into, he would readily excuse -them, from a certainty that he who repented never would again commit -them. Oscar started from the remotest hint of divulging his uneasiness: -he begged his father, however, to believe (since he had unfortunately -perceived it) that it was not derived from imprudence: he pretended to -say it was but a slight chagrin, which would soon wear away of itself -if not renewed by inquiries. Fitzalan, however, was too much affected by -the subject to drop it as readily as Oscar wished. After regarding him -for a few minutes with an attention as mournful as fixed, while they sat -round the table after dinner, he suddenly exclaimed, "Alas! my dear boy, -I fear things are worse within than you will allow." "Now, indeed, -Oscar" cried Amanda, sweetly smiling on him, anxious to relieve him from -the embarrassment these words had involved him in, and to dissipate the -deep gloom of her father's brow, "though never in the wars, I fancy you -are not quite heart whole." He answered her with affected gayety, but, -as if wishing to change the discourse, suddenly spoke of Colonel -Belgrave, who, at present, he said, was absent of the regiment; occupied -by his own feelings, he observed not the glow which mantled the cheeks -of his father and sister at that name. - -"You know Mrs. Belgrave," said Amanda, endeavoring to regain her -composure. "Know her!" repeated he, with an involuntary sigh, "oh, yes!" -Then, after the pause of a few minutes, turning to his father, "I -believe I have already informed you, sir," he said, "that she is the -daughter of your brave old friend, General Honeywood, who, I assure you, -paid me no little attention on your account; his house is quite the -temple of hospitality, and she the little presiding goddess." "She is -happy, I hope," said Amanda. "Oh, surely," replied Oscar, little -thinking of the secret motive his sister had for asking such a question, -"she possesses what the world thinks necessary to constitute felicity." - -Fitzalan had accounted to his son for leaving Devonshire, by saying the -air had disagreed with Amanda; he told him of the friendship of Lord -Cherbury, from which he said he trusted shortly to be able to have him -promoted. "Be assured, my dear Oscar," he cried, "most willingly would I -relinquish many of the comforts of life to attain the ability of -hastening your advancement, or adding to your happiness." "My -happiness!" Oscar mournfully repeated; tears filled his eyes; he could -no longer restrain them; and starting up, hurried to a window. Amanda -followed, unutterably affected at his emotion: "Oscar, my dear Oscar," -said she as she flung her arms round his neck, "you distress me beyond -example." He sat down, and leaning his head on her bosom, as she stood -before him, his tears fell through her handkerchief. "Oh, heavens!" -exclaimed Fitzalan, clasping his hands together, "what a sight is this! -Oh! my children, from your felicity alone could I ever derive any; if -the hope I entertained of that felicity is disappointed, the heart which -cherished it must soon be silent." He arose and went to them: "yet," -continued he, "amidst the anguish of this moment, I feel a ray of -pleasure at perceiving an affection so strong and tender between you; it -will be a mutual consolation and support when the feeble help and -protection I can give is finally removed; oh! then, my Oscar," he -proceeded, while he folded their united hands in his, "become the -soothing friend and guardian of this dear, this amiable, this too lovely -girl--let her not too severely feel--too bitterly mourn--the loss of an -unhappy father!" - -Amanda's tears began to stream, and Oscar's for a few minutes were -increased. "Excuse me," at last he said, making an effort to exert -himself, to his father, "and be assured, to the utmost of my ability, I -will ever obey your wishes, and fulfil your expectations; I am ashamed -of the weakness I have betrayed--I will yield to it no more--forget -therefore your having seen it, or at least remember it with pain, as I -solemnly assure you, no effort on my part shall be untried to conquer it -entirely; and now let the short time we have to continue together be -devoted to cheerfulness." - -Soon after this he mentioned Parker's performance in Marlborough Green, -and proposed, as it was now the hour, taking Amanda there; the proposal -was not objected to, and Ellen, who they knew would particularly delight -in such an amusement, was committed to the care of Oscar's servant, a -smart young soldier, who escorted her with much gallantry; the Green was -extremely crowded, particularly with officers, whose wandering glances -were soon attracted to Amanda, as one of the most elegant girls present. -Oscar was soon surrounded by them, and compelled, not only to gratify -their curiosity by discovering who she was, but their gallantry by -introducing them to her. Their compliments soon diverted her attention -from the exhibition, and Ellen, who sat behind her on a bench, afforded -innocent mirth by her remarks. "Pless her soul and poty too," she said, -"it was the most comical and wonderfulest sight she had ever seen in her -porn days." A string of redcoats would have attended Amanda to the hotel -had not Oscar prevented it. - -The next day was devoted to visiting the public buildings, the park, and -a few of the most beautiful places in its vicinage. On the ensuing morn -Fitzalan and Amanda continued their journey to the north, where Oscar -assured them he expected leave to visit them the following summer, after -the reviews were over: as he helped his sister in the carriage she put -a pocket-book into his hand (given by her father for that purpose), -which contained something to replenish his purse. - -Ere we attend the travellers, or rather while they are journeying along, -we shall endeavor to account for the dejection of Oscar. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - "From the loud camp retired and noisy court, - In honorable ease and rural sport; - The remnant of his days he safely passed, - Nor found they lagged too slow nor flew too fast. - He made his wish with his estate comply, - Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die: - One child he had--a daughter chaste and fair, - His age's comfort, and his fortune's heir."--PRIOR. - - -Oscar's regiment, on his first joining it in Ireland, was quartered in -Enniskillen, the corps was agreeable, and the inhabitants of the town -hospitable and polite. He felt all the delight of a young and -enterprising mind, at entering, what appeared to him, the road to glory -and pleasure, many of his idle mornings were spent in rambling about the -country, sometimes accompanied by a party of officers, and sometimes -alone. - -In one of his solitary excursions along the beautiful banks of Lough -Erne, with a light fusee on his shoulder, as the woods, that almost -descended to the very edge of the water, abounded in game; after -proceeding a few miles he felt quite exhausted by the heat, which, as it -was now the middle of summer, was intense; at a little distance he -perceived an orchard, whose glowing apples promised a delightful repast; -knowing that the fruit in many of the neighboring places was kept for -sale, he resolved on trying if any was to be purchased here, and -accordingly opened a small gate, and ascended through a grass-grown path -in the orchard, to a very plain white cottage, which stood upon a gentle -sloping lawn, surrounded by a rude paling, he knocked against the door -with his fusee, and immediately a little rosy girl appeared; "tell me, -my pretty lass," cried he, "whether I can purchase any of the fine -apples I see here." "Anan!" exclaimed the girl with a foolish stare. -Oscar glancing at that moment into the passage, saw, from a half-opened -door, nearly opposite to the one at which he stood, a beautiful fair -face peeping out; he involuntarily started, and pushing aside the girl, -made a step into the passage; the room door directly opened, and an -elderly woman, of a genteel figure and pleasing countenance, appeared. -"Good Heaven!" cried Oscar, taking off his hat, and retreating, "I fear -I have been guilty of the highest impertinence; the only apology I can -offer for it is by saying it was not intentional. I am quite a stranger -here, and having been informed most of the orchards hereabouts contained -fruits for sale, I intruded under that idea." "Your mistake, sir," she -replied with a benevolent smile, "is too trifling to require an apology; -nor shall it be attended with any disappointment to you." - -She then politely showed him into the parlor, where, with equal pleasure -and admiration, he contemplated the fair being of whom before he had but -a transient glance: she appeared to be scarcely seventeen, and was, both -as to face and figure, what a painter would have chosen to copy for the -portrait of a little playful Hebe; though below even the middle size, -she was formed with the nicest symmetry; her skin was of a dazzling -fairness, and so transparent, that the veins were clearly discernible; -the softest blush of nature shaded her beautifully-rounded cheeks; her -mouth was small and pouting, and whenever she smiled a thousand graces -sported round it; her eyes were full and of a heavenly blue, soft, yet -animated, giving, like the expression of her whole countenance, at once -an idea of innocence, spirit, and sensibility; her hair, of the palest -and most glossy brown, hung carelessly about her, and, though dressed in -a loose morning-gown of muslin, she possessed an air of fashion and even -consequence; the easy manner in which she bore the looks of Oscar, -proclaimed her at once not unaccustomed to admiration, nor displeased -with that she now received; for that Oscar admired her could not but be -visible, and he sometimes fancied he saw an arch smile playing over her -features, at the involuntary glances he directed towards her. - -A fine basket of apples, and some delicious cider, was brought to Oscar, -and he found his entertainer as hospitable in deposition as she was -pleasing in conversation. - -The beautiful interior of the cottage by no means corresponded with the -plainness of the exterior; the furniture was elegantly neat, and the -room ornamented with a variety of fine prints and landscapes; a large -folding glass door opened from it into a pleasure-garden. - -Adela, so was the charming young stranger called, chatted in the most -lively and familiar terms, and at last running over to the basket, -tossed the apples all about the table, and picking out the finest -presented them to Oscar. It is scarcely necessary to say he received -them with emotion: but how transient is all sublunary bliss! A -cuckoo-clock, over Oscar's head, by striking three, reminded him that he -had passed near two hours in the cottage. "Oh, Heavens!" cried he, -starting, "I have made a most unconscionable intrusion; you see, my dear -ladies," bowing respectfully to both, "the consequence of being too -polite and too fascinating." He repeated his thanks in the most animated -manner, and snatching up his hat, departed, yet not without casting - - "One longing, lingering look behind." - -The sound of footsteps after him in the lawn made him turn, and he -perceived the ladies had followed him thither. He stopped again to speak -to them, and extolled the lovely prospect they had from that eminence of -the lake and its scattered islands. "I presume," said Adela, handling -the fusee on which he leaned, "you were trying your success to-day in -fowling?" "Yes; but, as you may perceive, I have been unsuccessful." -"Then, I assure you," said she, with an arch smile, "there is choice -game to be found in our woods." "Delicious game, indeed!" cried he, -interpreting the archness of her look, and animated by it to touch her -hand, "but only tantalizing to a keen sportsman, who sees it elevated -above his reach." "Come, come," exclaimed the old lady, with a sudden -gravity, "we are detaining the gentleman." She took her fair companion -by the arm, and hastily turned to the cottage. Oscar gazed after them a -moment, then, with a half-smothered sigh, descended to the road. He -could not help thinking this incident of the morning very like the novel -adventures he had sometimes read to his sister Amanda as she sat at -work; and, to complete the resemblance, thought he, I must fall in love -with the little heroine. Ah! Oscar, beware of such imprudence! guard -your heart with all your care against tender impressions, till fortune -has been more propitious to you! Thus would my father speak, mused -Oscar, and set his own misfortunes in terrible array before me, were he -now present: well, I must endeavor to act as if he were here to exhort -me. Heigh ho! proceeded he, shouldering his fusee, glory for some time -to come must be my mistress! - -The next morning the fusee was again taken down, and he sallied out, -carefully avoiding the officers, lest any of them should offer to -accompany him; for he felt a strange reluctance to their participating -in either the smiles of Adela or the apples of the old lady. Upon his -arrival at the orchard, finding the gate open, he advanced a few steps -up the path, and had a glimpse of the cottage, but no object was -visible. Oscar was too modest to attempt entering it uninvited; he -therefore turned back, yet often cast a look behind him; no one, -however, was to be seen. He now began to feel the heat oppressive, and -himself fatigued with his walk, and sat down upon a moss-covered stone, -on the margin of the lake, at a little distance from the cottage, -beneath the spreading branches of a hawthorn; his hat and fusee were -laid at his feet, and a cool breeze from the water refreshed him; upon -its smooth surface a number of boats and small sail-vessels were now -gliding about in various directions, and enlivened the enchanting -prospect which was spread upon the bosom of the lake; from contemplating -it he was suddenly roused by the warble of a female voice; he started, -turned, and beheld Adela just by him. "Bless me!" cried she, "who would -have thought of seeing you here; why, you look quite fatigued, and, I -believe, want apples to-day as much as you did yesterday?" Then, sitting -down on the seat he had resigned, she tossed off her bonnet, declaring -it was insupportably warm, and began rummaging a small work-bag she held -on her arm. Oscar snatching the bonnet from the ground, Adela flung -apples into it, observing it would make an excellent basket. He sat down -at her feet, and never, perhaps, felt such a variety of emotions as at -the present moment: his cheeks glowed with a brighter color, and his -eyes were raised to hers with the most ardent admiration; yet not to -them alone could he confine the expression of his feelings; they broke -in half-formed sentences from his lips, which Adela heard with the most -perfect composure, desiring him either to eat or pocket his apples -quickly, as she wanted her bonnet, being in a great hurry to return to -the cottage, from which she had made a kind of stolen march. The apples -were instantly committed to his pocket, and he was permitted to tie on -the bonnet. A depraved man might have misinterpreted the gayety of -Adela, or at least endeavored to take advantage of it; but the sacred -impression of virtue, which nature and education had stamped upon the -heart of Oscar, was indelibly fixed, and he neither suspected, nor, for -worlds, would have attempted injuring, the innocence of Adela: he beheld -her (in what indeed was a true light) as a little playful nymph, whose -actions were the offspring of innocence. - -"I assure you," exclaimed she, rising, "I am very loath to quit this -pleasant seat; but, if I make a much longer delay, I shall find the lady -of the cottage in anxious expectation." "May I advance?" said Oscar, as -he pushed open the gate for her. "If you do," replied she, "the least -that will be said from seeing us together, is, that we were in search of -each other the whole of the morning." "Well," cried Oscar, laughing at -this careless speech, "and if they do say so, it would not be doing me -injustice." "Adieu, adieu," said she, waving her hand, "not another word -for a kingdom." - -What a compound of beauty and giddiness it is! thought Oscar, watching -her till she entered the cottage. As he returned from the sweet spot he -met some laborers, from whom he inquired concerning its owner, and -learned she was a respectable widow lady of the name of Marlowe. - -On Oscar's return from Enniskillen, he heard from the officers that -General Honeywood, an old veteran, who had a fine estate about fourteen -miles from the town, was that morning to pay his compliments to them, -and that cards had been left for a grand _fête_ and ball, which he -annually gave on the 1st of July, to commemorate one of the glorious -victories of King William. Every person of any fashion in and about the -neighborhood was on such occasions sure of an invitation; and the -officers were pleased with theirs, as they had for some time wished for -an opportunity of seeing the general's daughter, who was very much -admired. - -The general, like a true veteran, retained an enthusiastic attachment -for the profession of arms, to which not only the morning, but the -meridian of his life had been devoted, and which he had not quitted till -compelled by a debilitated constitution. Seated in his paternal mansion -he began to experience the want of a faithful companion, who would -heighten the enjoyments of the tranquil hour, and soothe the infirmities -of age: this want was soon supplied by his union with a young lady in -the neighborhood, whose only dowry was innocence and beauty. From the -great disparity of their ages it was concluded she had married for -convenience; but the tenor of her conduct changed this opinion, by -proving the general possessed her tenderest affections: a happier couple -were not known; but this happiness was terminated as suddenly as fatally -by her death, which happened two years after the birth of her daughter; -all the general's love was then centred in her child. Many of the ladies -in the neighborhood, induced by the well-known felicity his lady had -enjoyed, or by the largeness of his fortune, made attempts to engage him -again in matrimonial toils; but he fought shy of them all, solemnly -declaring, he would never bring a stepmother over his dear girl. In her -infancy, she was his plaything, and as she grew up his comfort; -caressed, flattered, adored from her childhood, she scarcely knew the -meaning of harshness and contradiction; a naturally sweet disposition, -and the superintending care of an excellent woman, prevented any -pernicious effect from such excessive indulgence as she received; to -disguise or duplicity she was a perfect stranger; her own feelings were -never concealed, and others she supposed equally sincere in revealing -theirs: true, the open avowal of her regard or contempt often incurred -the imputation of imprudence; but had she even heard it she would have -only laughed at it--for the general declared whatever she said was -right, and her own heart assured her of the innocence of her intentions. -As she grew up the house again became the seat of gayety; the general, -though very infirm, felt his convivial spirit revive; he delighted in -the society of his friends, and could still - - "Shoulder his crutch, and show how fields were won!" - -Oscar, actuated by an impulse, which if he could, he, at least, did not -strive to account for, continued daily to parade before the orchard, but -without again seeing Adela. - -At length the day for General Honeywood's entertainment arrived, and the -officers, accompanied by a large party, set off early for Woodlawn, the -name of the general's seat. It was situated on the borders of the lake, -where they found barges waiting to convey them to a small island, which -was the scene of the morning's amusement: the breakfast was laid out -amidst the ruins of an ancient building, which, from the venerable -remains of its gothic elegance, was most probably, in the days of -religious enthusiasm, the seat of sacred piety: the old trees in groups -formed a thick canopy overhead, and the ivy that crept along the walls -filled up many of the niches where the windows had formerly been; those -that still remained open, by descending to the ground, afforded a most -enchanting prospect of the lake; the long succession of arches, which -composed the body of the chapel, were in many places covered with -creeping moss, and scattered over with wall-flowers, blue hair-bells, -and other spontaneous productions of nature; while between them were -placed seats and breakfast-tables, ornamented in a fanciful manner. - -The officers experienced a most agreeable surprise on entering; but how -inferior were their feelings to the sensations which Oscar felt, when, -introduced with the party by the general to his daughter, he beheld in -Miss Honeywood the lovely Adela! She seemed to enjoy his surprise, and -Mrs. Marlowe, from the opposite side of the table, beckoned him to her -with an arch look; he flew round, and she made room for him by herself: -"Well, my friend," cried she, "do you think you shall find the general's -fruit as tempting as mine?" "Ah!" exclaimed Oscar, half sighing, half -smiling, "Hesperian fruit, I fear, which I can never hope to obtain." -Adela's attention, during breakfast, was too much engrossed by the -company to allow her to notice Oscar more than by a few hasty words and -smiles. There being no dancing till the evening, the company, after -breakfast, dispersed according to their various inclinations. - -The island was diversified with little acclivities, and scattered over -with wild shrubs, which embalmed the air; temporary arbors of laurel, -intermingled with lilies, were erected and laid out with fruits, ices, -and other refreshments; upon the edge of the water a marquee was pitched -for the regimental band, which Colonel Belgrave had politely -complimented the general with: a flag was hoisted on it, and upon a low -eminence a few small field-pieces were mounted: attendants were -everywhere dispersed, dressed in white streamers, ornamented with a -profusion of orange-colored ribbons; the boatmen were dressed in the -same livery; and the barges, in which several of the party were to visit -the other islands, made a picturesque appearance with their gay -streamers fluttering in the breeze; the music, now softly dying away -upon the water, now gradually swelling on the breeze, and echoed back by -the neighboring hills, added to the pleasures of the scene. - -Oscar followed the footsteps of Adela; but at the very moment in which -he saw her disengaged from a large party, the general hallooed to him -from a shady bank on which he sat; Oscar could not refuse the summons; -and, as he approached, the general, extending his hand, gave him a -cordial squeeze, and welcomed him as the son of a brave man he had once -intimately known. "I recollected the name of Fitzalan," said he, "the -moment I heard it mentioned; and had the happiness of learning from -Colonel Belgrave I was not mistaken in believing you to be the son of my -old friend." He now made several inquiries concerning Fitzalan, and the -affectionate manner in which he mentioned him was truly pleasing to -Oscar. "He had once," he said, "saved his life at the imminent danger of -his own, and it was an obligation, while that life remained, he could -not forget." - -Like Don Guzman in Gil Blas, the general delighted in fighting over his -battles, and now proceeded to enumerate many incidents which happened -during the American war, when he and Fitzalan served in the same -regiment. Oscar could well have dispensed with such an enumeration; but -the general, who had no idea that he was not as much delighted in -listening as he was in speaking, still went on. Adela had been watching -them some time; her patience at length, like Oscar's, being exhausted, -she ran forward and told her father "he must not detain him another -minute, for they were going upon the lake; and you know, papa," cried -she, "against we come back, you can have all your battles arranged in -proper form, though, by the bye, I don't think it is the business of an -old soldier to intimidate a young one with such dreadful tales of iron -wars." The general called her saucy baggage, kissed her with rapture, -and saw her trip off with his young friend, who seized the favorable -opportunity to engage her for the first set in the evening. About four -the company assembled in the Abbey to dinner; the band played during the -repast, the toasts were proclaimed by sound of trumpet, and answered by -an immediate discharge from the Mount. At six the ladies returned to -Woodlawn to change their dresses for the ball, and now - - "Awful beauty put on all its charms." - -Tea and coffee were served in the respective rooms, and by eleven the -ballroom was completely crowded with company, at once brilliant and -lively, particularly the gentlemen, who were not a little elevated by -the general's potent libations to the glorious memory of him whose -victory they were celebrating. - -Adela, adorned in a style superior to what Oscar had yet seen, appeared -more lovely than he had even at first thought her; her dress, which was -of thin muslin, spangled, was so contrived as to give a kind of aerial -lightness to her figure. Oscar reminded her of the promise of the -morning, at the very moment the colonel approached for the purpose of -engaging her. She instantly informed him of her engagement to Mr. -Fitzalan. "Mr. Fitzalan!" repeated the colonel, with the haughty air of -a man who thought he had reason to be offended: "he has been rather -precipitate, indeed; but, though we may envy, who shall wonder at his -anxiety to engage Miss Honeywood?" - -Dancing now commenced, and the elegant figure of Adela never appeared to -greater advantage; the transported general watched every movement, and, -"incomparable, by Jove!--what a sweet angel she is!" were expressions -of admiration which involuntarily broke from him in the pride and -fondness of his heart. Oscar, too, whose figure was remarkably fine, -shared his admiration, and he declared to Colonel Belgrave, he did not -think the world could produce such another couple. This assertion was by -no means pleasing to the Colonel; he possessed as much vanity, perhaps, -as ever fell to the share of a young belle conscious of perfections, and -detested the idea of having any competitor (at least such a powerful one -as Oscar) in the good graces of the ladies. Adela, having concluded the -dance, complained of fatigue, and retired to an alcove, whither Oscar -followed her. The window commanded a view of the lake, the little -island, and the ruined Abbey; the moon in full splendor cast her silvery -light over all those objects, giving a softness to the landscape, even -more pleasing than the glowing charms it had derived from the radiancy -of day. Adela in dancing had dropped the bandeau from her hair; Oscar -took it up, and still retained it. Adela now stretched forth her hand to -take it. "Allow me," cried he, gently taking her hand, "to keep it; -to-morrow you would cast it away as a trifle, but I would treasure it as -a relic of inestimable value; let me have some memento of the charming -hours I have passed to-day." "Oh, a truce," said Adela, "with such -expressions (who did not, however, oppose his putting her bandeau in his -bosom); they are quite commonplace, and have already been repeated to -hundreds, and will again, I make no doubt." "This is your opinion?" -"Yes, really." "Oh, would to Heaven," exclaimed Oscar, "I durst convince -you how mistaken a one it is." Adela, laughing, assured him that would -be a difficult matter. Oscar grew pensive. "I think," cried he, "if -oppressed by misfortune, I should of all places on earth like a -seclusion in the old Abbey." "Why, really," said Adela, "it is tolerably -calculated for a hermitage; and if you take a solitary whim, I beg I may -be apprised of it in time, as I should receive peculiar pleasure in -preparing your mossy couch and frugal fare." "The reason for my liking -it," replied he, "would be the prospect I should have from it of -Woodlawn." "And does Woodlawn," asked Adela, "contain such particular -charms, as to render a view of it so very delightful?" - -At this moment they were summoned to call a new dance--a summons, -perhaps, not agreeable to either, as it interrupted an interesting -_tete-à-tete_. The colonel engaged Adela for the next set; and though -Oscar had no longer an inclination to dance, to avoid particularity he -stood up, and with a young lady who was esteemed extremely handsome. -Adela, as if fatigued, no longer moved with animation, and suddenly -interrupted the colonel in a gallant speech he was making to her, to -inquire, if he thought Miss O'Neal (Oscar's partner) pretty--so very -pretty as she was generally thought? The colonel was too keen not to -discover at once the motive which suggested this inquiry. "Why, faith," -cried he after examining Miss O'Neal some minutes through an opera -glass, "the girl has charms, but so totally eclipsed," looking -languishingly at Adela, "in my eyes, that I cannot do them the justice -they may perhaps merit: Fitzalan, however, by the homage he pays her, -seems as if he would make up for the deficiency of every other person." -Adela turned pale, and took the first opportunity of demanding her -bandeau from Oscar; he, smilingly, refused it, declaring it was a trophy -of the happiness he had enjoyed that day, and that the general should -have informed her a soldier never relinquished such a glorious memento. -"Resign mine," replied Adela, "and procure one from Miss O'Neal."--"No!" -cried he, "I would not pay her charms and my own sincerity so bad a -compliment, as to ask what I should not in the least degree value." -Adela's spirits revived, and she repeated her request no more. - -The dancing continued after supper, with little intermission, till -seven, when the company repaired to the saloon to breakfast, after which -they dispersed. The general particularly and affectionately bid Oscar -farewell, and charged him to consider Woodlawn as his head-quarters. "Be -assured," said the good-natured old man, "the son of my brave, worthy, -and long-respected friend, will ever be valuable to my heart and welcome -to my home; and would to heaven, in the calm evening of life, your -father and I had pitched our tents nearer each other." - -From this period Oscar became almost an inmate of his house, and the -general shortly grew so attached to him, that he felt unhappy if -deprived of his society; the attentions he received from Oscar were such -as an affectionate son would pay a tender father; he supported his -venerable friend whenever he attempted to walk, attended him in all the -excursions he made about his domain, read to him when he wanted to be -lulled to sleep, and listened, without betraying any symptoms of -fatigue, to his long and often truly tiresome stories of former battles -and campaigns; in paying these attentions Oscar obeyed the dictates of -gratitude and esteem, and also gratified a benevolent disposition, happy -in being able - - "To rock the cradle of declining age." - -But his time was not so entirely engrossed by the general as to prevent -his having many hours to devote to Adela; with her he alternately -conversed, read, and sung, rambled with her through romantic paths, or -rode along the beautiful borders of Lough Erne; was almost her constant -escort to all the parties she went to in the neighborhood, and -frequently accompanied her to the hovels of wretchedness, where the woes -which extorted the soft tear of commiseration he saw amply relieved by -her generous hand; admiring her as he did before, how impossible was it -for Oscar, in these dangerous _tete-à-tetes_, to resist the progress of -a tender passion--a passion, however, confined (as far at least as -silence could confine it) to his own heart. The confidence which he -thought the general reposed in him, by allowing such an intercourse with -his daughter, was too sacred in his estimation to be abused; but though -his honor resisted, his health yielded to his feelings. - -Adela, from delighting in company, suddenly took a pensive turn; she -declined the constant society she had hitherto kept up, and seemed in a -solitary ramble with Oscar to enjoy more pleasure than the gayest party -appeared to afford her; the favorite spot they visited almost every -evening was a path on the margin of the lake, at the foot of a woody -mountain; here often seated, they viewed the sun sinking behind the -opposite hills; and while they enjoyed the benignancy of his departing -beams, beheld him tinge the trembling waves with gold and purple; the -low whistle of the ploughman returning to his humble cottage, the -plaintive carol of birds from the adjacent grove, and the low bleating -of cattle from pastures which swelled above the water, all these, by -giving the softest and most pleasing charms of nature to the hour, -contrived to touch, yet more sensibly, hearts already prepossessed in -favor of each other. Adela would sometimes sing a little simple air, and -carelessly leaning on the arm of Oscar, appear to enjoy perfect -felicity. Not so poor Oscar: the feelings of his soul at these moments -trembled on his lips, and to repress them was agony. - -An incident soon occurred which endeared him yet more to the general. -Driving one day in a low phaeton along a road cut over a mountain, the -horses, frightened by a sudden firing from the lake, began rearing in -the most frightful manner; the carriage stood near a tremendous -precipice, and the servants, appalled by terror, had not power to move. -Oscar saw that nothing but an effort of desperate resolution could keep -them from destruction; he leaped out, and, rushing before the horses, -seized their heads, at the eminent hazard of being tumbled down the -precipice, on whose very verge he stood; the servants, a little relieved -from their terror, hastened to his assistance; the traces were cut, and -the poor general, whose infirmities had weakened his spirits, conveyed -home in almost a state of insensibility. Adela, perceiving him from her -dressing-room window, flew down, and learning his danger, fell upon his -neck in an agony of mingled joy and terror; her caresses soon revived -him, and as he returned them, his eyes eagerly sought his deliverer. -Oscar stood near, with mingled tenderness and anxiety in his looks; the -general took his hand, and whilst he pressed it along with Adela's to -his bosom, tears fell on them. "You are both my children!" he exclaimed; -"the children of my love, and from your felicity I must derive mine." -This expression Oscar conceived to be a mere effusion of gratitude, -little thinking what a project relative to him had entered the general's -head, who had first, however, consulted and learned from his daughter it -would be agreeable to her. This generous, some will say romantic, old -man, felt for Oscar the most unbounded love and gratitude, and as the -best proof of both, he resolved to bestow on this young soldier his rich -and lovely heiress, who had acknowledged to her father her predilection -for him. He knew his birth to be noble, his disposition amiable, and his -spirit brave; besides, by this union he should secure the society of -Adela. He wished her married, yet dreaded, whenever that event took -place, he should be deprived of her; but Oscar, he supposed, bound to -him by gratitude, would, unlike others, accede to his wishes of residing -at Woodlawn during his lifetime. His project he resolved on -communicating to Colonel Belgrave, whom, on Oscar's account, he -regarded, as Oscar had said (what indeed he believed), that he was -partly indebted to him for his commission. - -What a thunder-stroke was this to Belgrave, who arrived at Woodlawn the -morning after the resolution was finally settled, and was asked to -accompany the general, about a little business, to the summer-house in -the garden. Poor Oscar trembled; he felt a presentiment he should be the -subject of discourse, and had no doubt but the general meant to complain -to Colonel Belgrave, as a person who had some authority over him, about -his great particularity to Miss Honeywood. - -Rage, envy, and surprise, kept the colonel silent some minutes after the -general had ended speaking; dissimulation then came to his aid, and he -attempted, though in faltering accents, to express his admiration of -such generosity; yet to bestow such a treasure, so inestimable, on such -a man, when so many of equal rank and fortune sighed for its -possession; upon a man, too, or rather a boy, from whose age it might be -expected his affections would be variable. "Let me tell you, colonel," -said the general, hastily interrupting him, and striking his stick upon -the ground, as he rose to return to the house, "there can be little -danger of his affections changing when such a girl as Adela is his wife; -so touch no more upon that subject, I entreat you; but you must break -the affair to the young fellow, for I should be in such a confounded -flurry I should set all in confusion, and beat an alarm at the first -onset." - -The gloom and embarrassment which appeared in the countenance of the -colonel, filled Oscar with alarms; he imagined them excited by -friendship for him. After what the general had said, he sighed to hear -particulars, and longed, for the first time, to quit Woodlawn. The -colonel was indeed in a state of torture; he had long meditated the -conquest of Adela, whose fortune and beauty rendered her a truly -desirable object; to resign her without one effort of circumventing -Oscar was not to be thought of. To blast his promised joys, even if it -did not lead to the accomplishment of his own wishes, he felt would give -him some comfort, and he resolved to leave no means untried for doing -so. - -They set off early in the morning for Enniskillen, and Belgrave sent his -servant on before them, that there might be no restraint on the -conversation he found Oscar inclined to begin. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - "Sincerity! - Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave - Thy onward path, although the earth should gape, - And from the gulf of hell destruction cry - To take dissimulation's winding way."--DOUGLAS. - - -"Well, colonel," said Oscar, "I fancy I was not mistaken in thinking the -general wanted to speak with you concerning me; I am convinced you will -not conceal any particulars of a conversation it may be so essential to -my honor to hear." "Why, faith," cried the colonel, delighted to -commence his operations, "he was making a kind of complaint about you; -he acknowledges you a brave lad, yet, hang him, he has not generosity -enough to reward that bravery with his daughter, or any of his -treasure." "Heaven is my witness!" exclaimed the unsuspicious Oscar, "I -never aspired to either; I always knew my passion for his daughter as -hopeless as fervent, and my esteem for him as disinterested as sincere; -I would have sooner died than abused the confidence he reposed in me, by -revealing my attachment; I see, however, in future, I must be an exile -to Woodlawn." "Not so, neither," replied the colonel; "only avoid such -particularity to the girl; I believe in my soul she has more pride than -susceptibility in her nature; in your next visit, therefore, which, for -that purpose, I would have you soon make, declare, in a cavalier manner, -your affections being engaged previous to your coming to Ireland; this -declaration will set all to rights with the general; he will no longer -dread you on his daughter's account; you will be as welcome as ever to -Woodlawn, and enjoy, during your continuance in the country, the society -you have hitherto been accustomed to." "No," said Oscar, "I cannot -assert so great a falsehood." "How ridiculous!" replied the colonel; -"for heaven's sake, my dear boy, drop such romantic notions; I should be -the last man in the world to desire you to invent a falsehood which -could injure any one; but no priest in Christendom would blame you for -this." "And suppose I venture it, what will it do but bind faster round -my heart chains already too galling, and destroy in the end all remains -of peace." - -"Faith, Fitzalan," said the colonel, "by the time you have had a few -more love affairs with some of the pretty girls of this kingdom, you -will talk no more in this way; consider, and be not too scrupulous, how -disagreeable it will be to resign the general's friendship, and the -pleasing society you enjoyed at Woodlawn; besides, it will appear -strange to those who knew your former intimacy: in honor, too, you are -bound to do as I desire you, for should the girl have been imprudent -enough to conceive an attachment for you, this will certainly remove it; -for pride would not allow its continuance after hearing of a favorite -rival; and the general will be essentially served." "My dear colonel," -said Oscar, his eyes suddenly sparkling, "do you think she has been -imprudent enough to conceive a partiality for me?" "I am sure," said the -colonel, "that is a question I cannot possibly answer; but, to give my -opinion, I think, from her gay, unembarrassed manner, she has not." "I -suppose not, indeed," cried Oscar, mournfully sighing; "why then should -I be guilty of a falsehood for a person who is already indifferent to -me?" "I have told you my reason," replied the colonel, coldly; "do as -you please." They were now both silent, but the conversation was soon -renewed, and many arguments passed on both sides. Oscar's heart secretly -favored the colonel's plan, as it promised the indulgence of Adela's -society; to be an exile from Woodlawn was insupportable to his thoughts; -reason yielded to the vehemence of passion, and he at last fell into the -snare the perfidious Belgrave had spread, thus, by a deviation from -truth, forfeiting the blessings a bounteous Providence had prepared for -him. - -Oh! never let the child of integrity be seduced from the plain and -undeviating path of sincerity: oh! never let him hope by illicit means -to attain a real pleasure; the hope of obtaining any good through such -means will, like a meteor of the night, allure but to deceive. - -Soon after his fatal promise to the colonel, a self-devoted victim, he -accompanied him to Woodlawn; on their arrival, Miss Honeywood was in the -garden, and Oscar, trembling, went to seek her; he found her sitting in -a flower-woven arbor-- - - "Herself the fairest flower." - -Never had she looked more lovely; the natural bloom of her cheeks was -heightened by the heat, and glowed beneath the careless curls that fell -over them; and her eyes, the moment she beheld Oscar, beamed with the -softest tenderness, the most bewitching sensibility. "My dear, dear -Fitzalan!" cried she, throwing aside the book she had been reading, and -extending her hand, "I am glad to see you; I hope you are come to take -up your residence for some time at Woodlawn." "You hope!" repeated -Oscar, mournfully. "I do, indeed! but, bless me, what is the matter? You -look so pale and thin, you look but the shadow of yourself, or rather -like a despairing shepherd, ready to hang himself on the first willow -tree he meets." "I am indeed unhappy!" cried Oscar; "nor will you wonder -at my being so when I acknowledge I at this present time feel a passion -which I must believe hopeless." "Hopeless! well, now, I insist on being -your confidant, and then," smiling somewhat archly, "I shall see what -reason you have to despair," "Agreed," exclaimed Oscar; "and now to my -story:" then pausing a minute, he started up. "No," continued he, "I -find it impossible to tell it----; let this dear, this estimable -object," drawing a miniature of his sister from his bosom, "speak for -me, and declare whether he who loves such a being can ever lose that -love, or help being wretched at knowing it is without hope." - -Adela snatched if hastily from him, and by a sudden start betrayed her -surprise; words indeed are inadequate to express her heart-rending -emotions as she contemplated the beautiful countenance of her imaginary -rival: and was Oscar, then--that Oscar whom she adored--whose happiness -she had hoped to constitute--whose fortune she delighted to think she -should advance--really attached to another; alas! too true, he was--of -the attachment she held a convincing proof in her hand; she examined it -again and again, and in its mild beauties thought she beheld a striking -proof of the superiority over the charms she herself possessed; the -roses forsook her cheeks, a mist overspread her eyes, and with a -shivering horror she dropped it from her hand. Oscar had quitted the -arbor to conceal his agonies. "Well," said he, now returning with forced -calmness, "is it not worthy of inspiring the passion I feel?" Unable to -answer him, she could only point to the place where it lay, and hastened -to the house. "Sweet image!" cried Oscar, taking it from the ground, -"what an unworthy purpose have I made you answer!--alas! all is now -over--Adela--my Adela!--is lost forever!--lost--ah, heavens! had I ever -hopes of possessing her?--oh, no! to such happiness never did I dare to -look forward." - -Adela, on reaching the parlor which opened into the garden, found her -father there. "Ah! you little baggage, do I not deserve a kiss for not -disturbing your _tete-à-tete_? Where is that young rogue, Fitzalan?" "I -beg, I entreat, sir," said Adela, whose tears could no longer be -restrained, "you will never mention him again to me; too much has -already been said about him." "Nay, pr'ythee, my little girl," exclaimed -the general, regarding her with surprise, "cease thy sighs and tears, -and tell me what's the matter." "I am hurt," replied she, in a voice -scarcely articulate, "that so much has been said about Mr. Fitzalan, -whom I can never regard in any other light than that of a common -acquaintance." The colonel, who had purposely lingered about the wood, -now entered. Adela started, and precipitately retreated through another -door. "Faith, my dear colonel," said the general, "I am glad you are -come; the boy and girl have had a little skirmish; but, like other love -quarrels, I suppose it will soon be made up--so let me know how the lad -bore the announcement of his good fortune." "It fills a rational mind -with regret," exclaimed the colonel, seating himself gravely, and -inwardly rejoicing at the success of his stratagem, "to find such a -fatality prevalent among mankind as makes them reject a proffered good, -and sigh for that which is unattainable; like wayward children, -neglecting their sports to pursue a rainbow, and weeping as the airy -pageant mocks their grasp." "Very true, indeed," said the general; "very -excellent, upon my word; I doubt if the chaplain of a regiment ever -delivered such a pretty piece of morality; but, dear colonel," laying -his hand on his knee, "what did the boy say?" "I am sorry, sir," he -replied, "that what I have just said is so applicable to him. He -acknowledged the lady's merit, extolled her generosity--but pleaded a -prior attachment against accepting your offer, which even one more -exalted would not tempt him to forego, though he knows not whether he -will ever succeed in it." "The devil he did!" exclaimed the general, as -soon as rage and surprise would allow him to speak. "The little -impertinent puppy! the ungrateful young dog! a prior attachment!--reject -my girl--my Adela--who has had such suitors already; so, I suppose I -shall have the whole affair blazed about the country; I shall hear from -every quarter how my daughter was refused; and by whom?--why, by a -little ensign, whose whole fortune lies in his sword-knot. A fine game I -have played, truly; but if the jackanapes opens his lips about the -matter, may powder be my poison if I do not trim his jacket for him!" -"Dear general," said the colonel, "you may depend on his honor; but even -supposing he did mention the affair, surely you should know it would not -be in his power to injure Miss Honeywood--amiable--accomplished--in -short, possessed, as she is, of every perfection. I know men, at least -one man of consequence, both from birth and fortune, who has long sighed -for her, and who would, if he received the least encouragement, openly -avow his sentiments." "Well," cried the general, still panting for -breath, "we will talk about him at some future time; for I am resolved -on soon having my little girl married, and to her own liking, too." - -Oscar and Adela did not appear till dinner time; both had been -endeavoring to regain composure; but poor Oscar had been far less -successful than Adela in the attempt; not that she loved less, for -indeed her passion for him was of the tenderest nature, and she -flattered herself with having inspired one equally ardent in his breast. -Sanctioned by her father, she thought it would constitute the felicity -of their lives, and looked forward with a generous delight to the period -when she should render her beloved Fitzalan prosperous and independent. -The disappointment she experienced, as the first she had ever met, sat -heavy on her heart, and the gay visions of youth were in one moment -clouded by melancholy; but her pride was as great as sensibility, and as -its powerful impulse, pervaded her mind. She resolved to afford Oscar -no triumph by letting him witness her dejection; she therefore wiped -away all traces of tears from her eyes, checked the vain sigh that -struggled at her heart, and dressed herself with as much attention as -ever. Her heavy eyes, her colorless cheeks, however, denoted her -feelings; she tried, as she sat at table, to appear cheerful, but in -vain; and, on the removal of the cloth, immediately retired, as no -ladies were present. - -The general was a stranger to dissimulation, and as he no longer felt, -he no longer treated Oscar with his usual kindness. When pale, -trembling, and disordered, he appeared before him, he received him with -a stern frown, and an air scarcely complaisant. This increased the -agitation of Oscar: every feeling of his soul was in commotion; he was -no longer the life of their company; their happiness and mirth formed a -striking contrast to his misery and dejection; he felt a forlorn -wretch--a mere child of sorrow and dependence; scalding tears dropped -from him as he bent over his plate; he could have cursed himself for -such weakness: fortunately it was unnoticed. In losing the general's -attention, he seemed to lose that of his guests; his situation grew too -irksome to be borne; he rose, unregarded, and a secret impulse led him -to the drawing-room. Here Adela, oppressed by the dejection of her -spirits, had flung! herself upon a couch, and gradually sunk into a -slumber: Oscar stepped lightly forward, and gazed on her with a -tenderness as exquisite as a mother would have felt in viewing her -sleeping babe; her cheek, which rested on her fair hand, was tinged with -a blush, by the reflection of a crimson curtain through which the sun -darted, and the traces of a tear were yet discernible upon it. "Never!" -cried Oscar, with folded hands; as he hung over the interesting figure, -"never may any tear, except that of soft sensibility for the woes of -others, bedew the cheek of Adela--perfect as her goodness be her -felicity--may every blessing she now enjoys be rendered permanent by -that Power who smiles benignly upon innocence like hers! Oh! Adela, he -who now prays for your felicity never will lose your idea, he will -cherish it in his heart, to ameliorate his sorrows, and, from the dreary -path which may be appointed for him to tread, sometimes look back to -happier scenes!" Adela began to stir; she murmured out some inarticulate -words, and, suddenly rising from the couch, beheld the motionless form -of Fitzalan: haughtily regarding him, she asked the meaning of such an -intrusion. "I did not mean indeed to intrude," said he; "but when I came -and found you, can you wonder at my being fascinated to the spot?" The -plaintive tone of his voice sunk deep into Adela's heart; she sighed -heavily, and turning away seated herself in a window. Oscar followed; he -forgot the character he had assumed in the morning, and gently seizing -her hand, pressed it to his bosom: at this critical minute, when mutual -sympathy appeared on the point of triumphing over duplicity, the door -opened, and Colonel Belgrave appeared; from the instant of Oscar's -departure, he had been on thorns to follow him, fearful of the -consequences of a _tete-à-tete_, which was attended by the rest of the -gentlemen. - -Oscar was determined on not staying another night at Woodlawn, and -declared his intention by asking Colonel Belgrave if he had any commands -for Enniskillen, whither he meant to return immediately. "Why, hang it, -boy," cried the general, in a rough grumbling voice, "since you have -stayed so long, you may as well stay the night; the clouds look heavy -over the lake, and threaten a storm." "No, sir," said Oscar, coloring, -and speaking in the agitation of his heart, "the raging of a tempest -would not make me stay." Adela sighed, but pride prevented her speaking. -Fitzalan approached her: "Miss Honeywood," said he--he stopped--his -voice was quite stifled. Adela, equally unable to speak, could only -encourage him to proceed by a cold glance. "Lest I should not," resumed -he, "have the happiness of again visiting Woodlawn, I cannot neglect -this opportunity of assuring you that the attention, the obligations I -have received in it, never can be forgotten by me; and that the severest -pang my heart could possibly experience would result from thinking I -lost any part of the friendship you and the general honored me with." -Adela bent her head, and Oscar, seeing that she either would not, or -could not speak, bowed to the general, and hurried from the room; the -tears he had painfully suppressed gushed forth, and at the bottom of the -stairs he leaned against the banisters for support; while he cast his -eyes around, as if bidding a melancholy farewell to the scene of former -happiness, a hasty footstep advanced, he started, and was precipitately -retreating, when the voice of the butler stopped him; this was an old -veteran, much attached to Oscar, and his usual attendant in all his -fowling and fishing parties. As he waited at tea, he heard Oscar's -declaration of departing with surprise, and followed him for the purpose -of expressing that and his concern. "Why, Lord now, Mr. Fitzalan," cried -he, "what do you mean by leaving us so oddly? But if you are so positive -about going to Enniskillen to-night, let me order Standard to be -prepared for you." Oscar for some time had had the command of the -stables; but knowing as he did that he had lost the general's favor, he -could no longer think of taking those liberties which kindness had once -invited him to: he wrung the hand of his humble friend, and snatching -his hat from the hall table, darted out of the house: he ran till he -came to the mountain path, on the margin of the lake. "Never," cried he, -distractedly striking his breast, "shall I see her here again! oh, -never, never, my beloved Adela! shall your unfortunate Fitzalan wander -with you through those enchanting scenes: oh, how transient was this -gleam of felicity!" - -Exhausted by the violence of his feelings, he fell into a kind of torpid -state against the side of the mountain; the shadows of night were -thickened by a coming storm; a cool blast howled amongst the hills, and -agitated the gloomy waters of the lake; the rain, accompanied by sleet, -began to fall, but the tempest raged unregarded around the child of -sorrow, the wanderer of the night. Adela alone, - - "Heard, felt, or seen," - -pervaded every thought. Some fishermen approaching to secure their -boats, drove him from this situation, and he flew to the woods which -screened one side of the house: by the time he reached it the storm had -abated, and the moon, with a watery lustre, breaking through the clouds, -rendered, by her feeble rays, the surrounding and beloved scenes just -visible. - -Adela's chamber looked into the wood, and the light from it riveted -Oscar to a spot exactly opposite the window. "My Adela," he exclaimed, -extending his arms as if she could have heard and flown into them; then -dejectedly dropping them, "she thinks not on such a forlorn wretch as -me; oh, what comfort to lay my poor distracted head for one moment on -her soft bosom, and hear her sweet voice speak pity to my tortured -heart!" Sinking with weakness from the conflicts of his mind, he sought -an old roofless root-house in the centre of the wood, where he and Adela -had often sat. "Well," said he, as he flung himself upon the damp -ground, "many a brave fellow has had a worse bed; but God particularly -protects the unsheltered head of the soldier and the afflicted." The -twittering of the birds roused him from an uneasy slumber, or rather -lethargy, into which he had fallen; and starting up he hastened to the -road, fearful, as day was beginning to dawn, of being seen by any of -General Honeywood's workmen. It was late ere he arrived at Enniskillen, -and before he gained his room he was met by some of the officers, who -viewed him with evident astonishment; his regimentals were quite -spoiled; his fine hair, from which the rain had washed all the powder, -hung dishevelled about his shoulders; the feather of his hat was broken, -and the disorder of his countenance was not less suspicious than that of -his dress; to their inquiries he stammered out something of a fall, and -extricated himself with difficulty from them. - -In an obscure village, fifteen miles from Enniskillen, a detachment of -the regiment lay; the officer who commanded it disliked his situation -extremely; but company being irksome to Oscar, it was just such a one as -he desired, and he obtained leave to relieve him: the agitation of his -mind, aided by the effects of the storm he had been exposed to, was too -much for his constitution: immediately on arriving at his new quarters -he was seized with a violent fever; an officer was obliged to be sent to -do duty in his place, and it was long ere any symptoms appeared which -could flatter those who attended him with hopes of his recovery; when -able to sit up he was ordered to return to Enniskillen, where he could -be immediately under the care of the regimental surgeon. - -Oscar's servant accompanied him in the carriage, and as it drove slowly -along he was agreeably surprised by a view of Mrs. Marlowe's orchard; he -could not resist the wish of seeing her, and making inquiries relative -to the inhabitants of Woodlawn; for with Mrs. Marlowe, I should -previously say, he had not only formed an intimacy, but a sincere -friendship. She was a woman of the most pleasing manners, and to her -superintending care Adela was indebted for many of the graces she -possessed, and at her cottage passed many delightful hours with Oscar. - -The evening was far advanced when Oscar reached the orchard, and leaning -on his servant, slowly walked up the hill: had a spectre appeared before -the old lady, she could not have seemed more shocked than she now did, -at the unexpected and emaciated appearance of her young friend. With all -the tenderness of a fond mother, she pressed his cold hands between her -own, and seated him by the cheerful fire which blazed on her hearth, -then procured him refreshments that, joined to her conversation, a -little revived his spirits; yet, at this moment the recollection of the -first interview he ever had with her, recurred with pain to his heart. -"Our friends at Woodlawn, I hope," cried he--he paused--but his eye -expressed the inquiry his tongue was unable to make. "They are well and -happy," replied Mrs. Marlowe; "and you know, I suppose, of all that has -lately happened there?" "No, I know nothing; I am as one awoke from the -slumbers of the grave." "Ere I inform you, then," cried Mrs. Marlowe, -"let me, my noble Oscar, express my approbation, my admiration of your -conduct, of that disinterested nature which preferred the preservation -of constancy to the splendid independency offered to your acceptance." -"What splendid independency did I refuse?" asked Oscar, wildly staring -at her. "That which the general offered." "The general!" "Yes, and -appointed Colonel Belgrave to declare his intentions." "Oh Heavens!" -exclaimed Oscar, starting from his chair; "did the general indeed form -such intentions, and has Belgrave then deceived me? He told me my -attentions to Miss Honeywood were noticed and disliked! he filled my -soul with unutterable anguish, and persuaded me to a false-hood which -has plunged me into despair!" "He is a monster!" cried Mrs. Marlowe, -"and you are a victim to his treachery." "Oh no! I will fly to the -general, and open my whole soul to him; at his feet I will declare the -false ideas of honor which misled me; I shall obtain his forgiveness, -and Adela will yet be mine." "Alas! my child," cried Mrs. Marlowe, -stopping him as he was hurrying from the room, "it is now too late; -Adela can never be yours; she is married, and married unto Belgrave." -Oscar staggered back a few paces, uttered a deep groan, and fell -senseless at her feet. Mrs. Marlowe's cries brought in his servant, as -well as her own, to his assistance; he was laid upon a bed, but it was -long ere he showed any signs of recovery; at length, opening his heavy -eyes, he sighed deeply, and exclaimed, "she is lost to me forever!" - -The servants were dismissed, and the tender-hearted Mrs. Marlowe knelt -beside him. "Oh! my friend," said she, "my heart sympathizes in your -sorrow; but it is from your own fortitude, more than my sympathy, you -must now derive resources of support." "Oh, horrible! to know the cup of -happiness was at my lips, and that it was my own hand dashed it from -me." "Such, alas!" said Mrs. Marlowe, sighing, as if touched at the -moment with a similar pang of self-regret, "is the way-wardness of -mortals; too often do they deprive themselves of the blessings of a -bounteous Providence by their own folly and imprudence--oh! my friend, -born as you were with a noble ingenuity of soul, never let that soul -again be sullied by the smallest deviation from sincerity." "Do not -aggravate my sufferings," said Oscar, "by dwelling on my error." "No, I -would sooner die than be guilty of such barbarity; but admonition never -sinks so deeply on the heart as in the hour of trial. Young, amiable as -you are, life teems, I doubt not, with various blessings to -you--blessings which you will know how to value properly, for early -disappointment is the nurse of wisdom." "Alas!" exclaimed he, "what -blessings?" "These, at least," cried Mrs. Marlowe, "are in your own -power--the peace, the happiness, which ever proceeds from a mind -conscious of having discharged the incumbent duties of life, and -patiently submitted to its trials." "But do you think I will calmly -submit to his baseness?" said Oscar, interrupting her. "No; Belgrave -shall never triumph over me with impunity!" He started from the bed, -and, rushing into the outer room, snatched his sword from the table on -which he had flung it at his entrance. Mrs. Marlowe caught his arm. -"Rash young man!" exclaimed she, "whither would you go--is it to scatter -ruin and desolation around you? Suppose your vengeance was gratified, -would that restore your happiness? Think you that Adela, the child of -virtue and propriety, would ever notice the murderer of her husband, how -unworthy, soever, that husband might be? Or that the old general, who so -fondly planned your felicity, would forgive, if he could survive, the -evils of his house, occasioned by you?" The sword dropped from the hand -of the trembling Oscar. "I have been blameable," cried he, "in allowing -myself to be transported to such an effort of revenge; I forgot -everything but that; and as to my own life, deprived of Adela, it -appears so gloomy as to be scarcely worth preserving." - -Mrs. Marlowe seized this moment of yielding softness to advise and -reason with him; her tears mingled with his, as she listened to his -relation of Belgrave's perfidy; tears augmented by reflecting that -Adela, the darling of her care and affections, was also a victim to it. -She convinced Oscar, however, that it would be prudent to confine the -fatal secret to their own breasts; the agitation of his mind was too -much for the weak state of his health; the fever returned, and he felt -unable to quit the cottage; Mrs. Marlowe prepared a bed for him, -trusting he would soon be able to remove, but she was disappointed; it -was long ere Oscar could quit the bed of sickness; she watched over him -with maternal tenderness, while he, like a blasted flower, seemed -hastening to decay. - -The general was stung to the soul by the rejection of his offer, which -he thought would have inspired the soul of Oscar with rapture and -gratitude; never had his pride been so severely wounded--never before -had he felt humbled in his own eyes: his mortifying reflections the -colonel soon found means to remove, by the most delicate flattery, and -the most assiduous attention, assuring the general that his conduct -merited not the censure, but the applause of the world. The sophistry -which can reconcile us to ourselves is truly pleasing; the colonel -gradually became a favorite, and when he insinuated his attachment for -Adela, was assured he should have all the general's interest with her. -He was now more anxious than ever to have her advantageously settled; -there was something so humiliating in the idea of her being rejected, -that it drove him at times almost to madness: the colonel possessed all -the advantages of fortune; but these weighed little in his favor with -the general (whose notions we have already proved very disinterested), -and much less with his daughter; on the first overture about him she -requested the subject might be entirely dropped; the mention of love was -extremely painful to her. Wounded by her disappointment in the severest -manner, her heart required time to heal it; her feelings delicacy -confined to her own bosom; but her languid eyes, and faded cheeks, -denoted their poignancy. She avoided company, and was perpetually -wandering through the romantic and solitary paths which she and Oscar -had trod together; here more than ever she thought of him, and feared -she had treated her poor companion unkindly; she saw him oppressed with -sadness, and yet she had driven him from her by the repulsive coldness -of her manner--a manner, too, which, from its being so suddenly assumed, -could not fail of conveying an idea of her disappointment; this hurt her -delicacy as much as her tenderness, and she would have given worlds, had -she possessed them, to recall the time when she could have afforded -consolation to Oscar, and convinced him that solely as a friend she -regarded him. The colonel was not discouraged by her coldness; he was in -the habit of conquering difficulties, and doubted not that he should -overcome any she threw in his way; he sometimes, as if by chance, -contrived to meet her in her rambles; his conversation was always -amusing, and confined within the limits she had prescribed; but his -eyes, by the tenderest expression, declared the pain he suffered from -this proscription, and secretly pleased Adela, as it convinced her of -the implicit deference he paid to her will. - -Some weeks had elapsed since Oscar's voluntary exile from Woodlawn, and -sanguine as were the colonel's hopes, he found without a stratagem they -would not be realized, at least as soon as he expected: fertile in -invention, he was not long in concerting one. He followed Adela one -morning into the garden, and found her reading in the arbor; she laid -aside the book at his entrance, and they chatted for some time on -indifferent subjects. The colonel's servant at last appeared with a -large packet of letters, which he presented to his master, who, with a -hesitating air, was about putting them into his pocket, when Adela -prevented him:--"Make no ceremony, colonel," said she, "with me; I shall -resume my book till you have perused your letters." The colonel bowed -for her permission and began; her attention was soon drawn from her book -by the sudden emotion he betrayed; he started, and exclaimed, "Oh -heavens! what a wretch!" then, as if suddenly recollecting his -situation, looked at Adela, appeared confused, stammered out a few -inarticulate words, and resumed his letter; when finished, he seemed to -put it into his pocket, but in reality dropped it at his feet for the -basest purpose. He ran over the remainder of the letters, and rising, -entreated Adela to excuse his leaving her so abruptly, to answer some of -them. Soon after his departure, Adela perceived an open letter lying at -her feet; she immediately took it up with an intention of returning to -the house with it, when the sight of her own name, in capital letters, -and in the well-known hand of Fitzalan, struck her sight; she threw the -letter on the table; an universal tremor seized her; she would have -given any consideration to know why she was mentioned in a -correspondence between Belgrave and Fitzalan: her eye involuntarily -glanced at the letter; she saw some words in it which excited still more -strongly her curiosity; it could no longer be repressed; she snatched it -up, and read as follows:-- - - TO COLONEL BELGRAVE. - - You accuse me of insensibility to, what you call the matchless - charms of Adela, an accusation I acknowledge I merit; but why, - because I have been too susceptible to those of another, which - in the fond estimation of a lover (at least), appear infinitely - superior. The general's offer was certainly a most generous and - flattering one, and has gratified every feeling of my soul, by - giving me an opportunity of sacrificing, at the shrine of love, - ambition and self-interest; my disinterested conduct has - confirmed me in the affections of my dear girl, whose vanity I - cannot help thinking a little elevated by the triumph I have - told her she obtained over Adela; but this is excusable indeed - when we consider the object I relinquished for her. Would to - heaven the general was propitious to your wishes; it would yield - me much happiness to see you, my first and best friend, in - possession of a treasure you have long sighed for. I shall, no - doubt, receive a long lecture from you for letting the affair - relative to Adela be made known, but faith, I could not resist - telling my charmer. Heaven grant discretion may seal her lips; - if not, I suppose I shall be summoned to formidable combat with - the old general. Adieu! and believe me, - - Dear colonel, ever yours, - - OSCAR FITZALAN. - -"Wretch!" cried the agitated Adela, dropping the letter (which it is -scarcely necessary to say was an infamous forgery) in an agony of grief -and indignation, "is this the base return we meet for our wishes to -raise you to prosperity? Oh! cruel Fitzalan, is it Adela--who thought -you so amiable, and who never thoroughly valued wealth, till she -believed it had given her the power of conducing to your felicity--whom -you hold up as an object of ridicule for unfeeling vanity to triumph -over?" Wounded pride and tenderness raised a whirl of contending -passions in her breast; she sunk upon the bench, her head rested on her -hand, and sighs and tears burst from her. She now resolved to inform -Fitzalan she knew the baseness of his conduct, and sting his heart with -keen reproaches: now resolved to pass it over in silent contempt. While -thus fluctuating, the colonel softly advanced and stood before her: in -the tumult of her mind she had quite forgot the probability of his -returning, and involuntarily screamed and started at his appearance. By -her confusion, she doubted not but he would suspect her of having -perused the fatal letter. Oppressed by the idea, her head sunk on her -bosom, and her face was covered with blushes. "What a careless fellow I -am!" said the colonel, taking up the letter, which he then pretended to -perceive; he glanced at Adela. "Curse it!" continued he, "I would rather -have had all the letters read than this one." He suspects me, thought -Adela; her blushes faded, and she fell back on her seat, unable to -support the oppressive idea of having acted against the rules of -propriety. Belgrave flew to support her: "Loveliest of women!" he -exclaimed, and with all the softness he could assume, "what means this -agitation?" "I have been suddenly affected," answered Adela, a little -recovering, and, rising, she motioned to return to the house. "Thus," -answered the colonel, "you always fly me; but go, Miss Honeywood; I have -no right, no attraction, indeed, to detain you: yet, be assured," and he -summoned a tear to his aid, while he pressed her hand to his bosom, "a -heart more truly devoted to you than mine you can never meet; but I see -the subject is painful, and again I resume the rigid silence you have -imposed on me; go, then, most lovely and beloved, and since I dare not -aspire to a higher, allow me, at least, the title of your friend." -"Most willingly," said Adela, penetrated by his gentleness. She was now -tolerably recovered, and he prevailed on her to walk instead of -returning to the house; she felt soothed by his attention; his insidious -tongue dropped manna; he gradually stole her thoughts from painful -recollections; the implicit respect he paid her will flattered her -wounded pride, and her gratitude was excited by knowing he resented the -disrespectful mention of her name in Fitzalan's letter; in short, she -felt esteem and respect for him--contempt and resentment for Oscar. The -colonel was too penetrating not to discover her sentiments, and too -artful not to take advantage of them. Had Adela, indeed, obeyed the real -feelings of her heart, she would have declared against marrying; but -pride urged her to a step which would prove to Fitzalan his conduct had -not affected her. The general rejoiced at obtaining her consent, and -received a promise that for some time she should not be separated from -him. The most splendid preparations were made for the nuptials; but -though Adela's resentment remained unabated, she soon began to wish she -had not been so precipitate in obeying it; an involuntary repugnance -rose in her mind against the connection she was about forming, and honor -alone kept her from declining it forever: her beloved friend, Mrs. -Marlowe, supported her throughout the trying occasion, and, in an -inauspicious hour, Adela gave her hand to the perfidious Belgrave. - -About a fortnight after her nuptials, she heard from some of the -officers of Oscar's illness; she blushed at his name. "Faith," cried one -of them, "Mrs. Marlowe is a charming woman; it is well he got into such -snug quarters: I really believe elsewhere he would have given up the -ghost." "Poor fellow," said Adela, sighing heavily, yet without being -sensible of it. Belgrave rose, he caught her eye, a dark frown lowered -on his brow, and he looked as if he would pierce into the recesses of -her heart: she shuddered, and for the first time, felt the tyranny she -had imposed upon herself. As Mrs. Marlowe chose to be silent on the -subject, she resolved not to mention it to her; but she sent every day -to invite her to Woodlawn, expecting by this to hear something of Oscar; -but she was disappointed. At the end of a fortnight, Mrs. Marlowe made -her appearance; she looked pale and thin. Adela gently reproved her for -her long absence, trusting this would oblige her to allege the reason of -it; but no such thing. Mrs. Marlowe began to converse on indifferent -subjects; Adela suddenly grew peevish, and sullenly sat at her work. - -In a few days after Mrs. Marlowe's visit, Adela, one evening immediately -after dinner, ordered the carriage to the cottage; by this time she -supposed Oscar had left it, and flattered herself, in the course of -conversation, she should learn whether he was perfectly recovered ere he -departed. Proposing to surprise her friend, she stole by a winding path -to the cottage, and softly opened the parlor door; but what were her -feelings, when she perceived Oscar sitting at the fireside with Mrs. -Marlowe, engaged in a deep conversation! She stopped, unable to advance. -Mrs. Marlowe embraced and led her forward. The emotions of Oscar were -not inferior to Adela's. He attempted to rise, but could not. A glance -from the expressive eyes of Mrs. Marlowe, which seemed to conjure him -not to yield to a weakness which would betray his real sentiments to -Adela, somewhat reanimated him. He rose, and tremblingly approached her. -"Allow me, madam," cried he, "to----" The sentence died unfinished on -his lips; he had not power to offer congratulations on an event which -had probably destroyed the happiness of Adela, as well as his own. "Oh! -a truce with compliments," said Mrs. Marlowe, forcing herself to assume -a cheerful air; "prithee, good folks, let us be seated, and enjoy, this -cold evening, the comforts of a good fire." She forced the trembling, -the almost fainting, Adela to take some wine, and by degrees the flutter -of her spirits and Oscar's abated, but the sadness of their -countenances, the anguish of their souls, increased. The cold formality, -the distant reserve they both assumed, filled each with sorrow and -regret. So pale, so emaciated, so woe-begone did Fitzalan appear, so -much the son of sorrow and despair, that had he half murdered Adela, she -could not at that moment have felt for him any other sentiments than -those of pity and compassion. Mrs. Marlowe, in a laughing way, told her -of the troubles she had had with him: "for which, I assure you," said -she, "he rewards me badly; for the moment he was enlarged from the -nursery, he either forgot or neglected all the rules I had laid down for -him. Pray do join your commands to mine, and charge him to take more -care of himself." "I would, most willingly," cried Adela, "if I thought -they would influence him to do so." "Influence!" repeated Oscar, -emphatically; "oh, heavens!" then starting up, he hurried to the window, -as if to hide and to indulge his melancholy. The scene he viewed from it -was dreary and desolate. It was now the latter end of autumn; the -evening was cold, a savage blast howled from the hills, and the sky was -darkened by a coming storm. Mrs. Marlowe roused him from his deep -reverie. "I am sure," said she, "the prospect you view from the window -can have no great attractions at present." "And yet," cried he, "there -is something sadly pleasing in it: the leafless trees, the fading -flowers of autumn, excite in my bosom a kind of mournful sympathy; they -are emblems to me of him whose tenderest hopes have been disappointed; -but, unlike him, they, after a short period, shall again flourish with -primeval beauty." "Nonsense," exclaimed Mrs. Marlowe; "your illness has -affected your spirits; but this gloom will vanish long before my orchard -reassumes its smiling appearance, and haply attracts another smart -redcoat to visit an old woman." "Oh! with what an enthusiasm of -tenderness," cried Oscar, "shall I ever remember the dear, though -dangerous, moment I first entered this cottage!" "Now, no flattery, -Oscar," said Mrs. Marlowe; "I know your fickle sex too well to believe I -have made a lasting impression; why, the very first fine old woman you -meet at your ensuing quarters, will, I dare say, have similar praise -bestowed on her." "No," replied he, with a languid smile; "I can assure -you, solemnly, the impression which has been made on my heart will never -be effaced." He stole a look at Adela; her head sunk upon her bosom, and -her heart began to beat violently. Mrs. Marlowe wished to change the -subject entirely; she felt the truest compassion for the unhappy young -couple, and had fervently desired their union; but since irrevocably -separated, she wished to check any intimation of a mutual attachment, -which now could answer no purpose but that of increasing their misery. -She rung for tea, and endeavored by her conversation to enliven the -tea-table; the effort however, was not seconded. "You have often," cried -she, addressing Adela, as they again drew their chairs round the fire, -"desired to hear the exact particulars of my life; unconquerable -feelings of regret hitherto prevented my acquiescing in your desire; -but, as nothing better now offers for passing away the hours, I will, if -you please, relate them." "You will oblige me by so doing," cried Adela; -"my curiosity, you know, has been long excited." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - "But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, - And well my life shall pay; - I'll seek the solitude he sought, - And stretch me where he lay."--GOLDSMITH. - - -To begin, then, as they say in a novel, without further preface, I was -the only child of a country curate, in the southern part of England, -who, like his wife, was of a good, but reduced family. Contented -dispositions and an agreeable neighborhood, ready on every occasion to -oblige them, rendered them, in their humble situations, completely -happy. I was the idol of both their hearts; every one told my mother I -should grow up a beauty, and she, poor simple woman, believed the -flattering tale. Naturally ambitious, and somewhat romantic, she -expected nothing less than my attaining, by my charms, an elevated -situation; to fit me to it, therefore, according to her idea, she gave -me all the showy, instead of solid, advantages of education. My father -being a meek, or rather an indolent man, submitted entirely to her -direction; thus, without knowing the grammatical part of my own -language, I was taught to gabble bad French by myself; and, instead of -mending or making my clothes, to flourish upon catgut and embroider -satin. I was taught dancing by a man who kept a cheap school for that -purpose in the village; music I could not aspire to, my mother's -finances being insufficient to purchase an instrument; she was therefore -obliged to content herself with my knowing the vocal part of that -delightful science, and instructed me in singing a few old-fashioned -airs, with a thousand graces, in her opinion at least. - -To make me excel by my dress, as well as my accomplishments, all the -misses of the village, the remains of her finery were cut and altered -into every form which art or ingenuity could suggest; and, Heaven -forgive me, but my chief inducement in going to church on a Sunday was -to exhibit my flounced silk petticoat and painted chip hat. - -When I attained my sixteenth year, my mother thought me, and supposed -every one else must do the same, the most perfect creature in the world. -I was lively, thoughtless, vain, and ambitious to an extravagant degree; -yet, truly innocent in my disposition, and often, forgetting the -appearance I had been taught to assume, indulged the natural gayety of -my heart, and in a game of hide-and-go-seek, amongst the haycocks in a -meadow, by moonlight, enjoyed perfect felicity. - -Once a week, accompanied by my mother, I attended the dancing-master's -school, to practise country dances. One evening we had just concluded a -set, and were resting ourselves, when an elegant youth, in a fashionable -riding dress, entered the room. His appearance at once excited -admiration and surprise; never shall I forget the palpitation of my -heart at his approach; every girl experienced the same, every cheek was -flushed, and every eye sparkled with hope and expectation. He walked -round the room, with an easy, unembarrassed air, as if to take a survey -of the company; he stopped by a very pretty girl, the miller's -daughter--good heavens! what were my agonies! My mother, too, who sat -beside me, turned pale, and would actually, I believe, have fainted, had -he taken any farther notice of her; fortunately he did not, but -advanced. My eyes caught his; he again paused, looked surprised and -pleased, and, after a moment, passed in seeming consideration, bowed -with the utmost elegance, and requested the honor of my hand for the -ensuing dance. My politeness had hitherto only been in theory; I arose, -dropped him a profound curtsey, assured him the honor would be all on my -side, and I was happy to grant his request. He smiled, I thought, a -little archly, and coughed to avoid laughing; I blushed, and felt -embarrassed; but he led me to the head of the room to call a dance, and -my triumph over my companions so exhilarated my spirits, that I -immediately lost all confusion. - -I had been engaged to a young farmer, and he was enraged, not only at my -breaking my engagement without his permission, but at the superior -graces of my partner, who threatened to be a formidable rival to him. -"By jingo!" said Clod, coming up to me in a surly manner, "I think, Miss -Fanny, you have not used me quite genteelly; I don't see why this here -fine spark should take the lead of us all." "Creature!" cried I, with an -ineffable look of contempt, which he could not bear, and retired -grumbling. My partner could no longer refrain from laughing; the -simplicity of my manners, notwithstanding the airs I endeavored to -assume, highly delighted him. "No wonder," cried he, "the poor swain -should be mortified at losing the hand of his charming Fanny." - -The dancing over, we rejoined my mother, who was on thorns to begin a -conversation with the stranger, that she might let him know we were not -to be ranked with the present company. "I am sure, sir," said she, "a -gentleman of your elegant appearance must feel rather awkward in the -present party; it is so with us, as, indeed, it must be with every -person of fashion; but, in an obscure little village like this, we must -not be too nice in our society, except, like a hermit, we could do -without any." The stranger assented to whatever she said, and accepted -an invitation to sup with us; my mother instantly sent an intimation of -her will to my father, to have, not the fatted calf, indeed, but the -fatted duck prepared; and he and the maid used such expedition, that, by -the time we returned, a neat, comfortable supper was ready to lay on the -table. Mr. Marlowe, the stranger's name, as he informed me, was all -animation and affability: it is unnecessary to say, that my mother, -father, and myself, were all complaisance, delight, and attention. On -departing, he asked, and obtained, permission, of course, to renew his -visit the next day; and my mother immediately set him down as her future -son-in-law. - -As everything is speedily communicated in such a small village as we -resided in, we learned on the preceding evening he had stopped at the -inn, and, hearing music, had inquired from whence it proceeded, and had -gone out of curiosity to the dance. We also learned that his attendants -reported him to be heir to a large fortune; this report, vain as I was, -was almost enough of itself to engage my heart; judge, then, whether it -was not an easy conquest to a person, who, besides the above-mentioned -attraction, possessed those of a graceful figure and cultivated mind. He -visited continually at our cottage; and I, uncultivated as I was, daily -strengthened myself in his affections. In conversing with him, I forgot -the precepts of vanity and affectation, and obeyed the dictates of -nature and sensibility. He soon declared the motives of his visits to -me--"to have immediately demanded my hand" he said, "would have -gratified the tenderest wish of his soul; but, in his present situation, -that was impossible--left, at an early age, destitute and distressed, by -the death of his parents, an old whimsical uncle, married to a woman -equally capricious, had adopted him as heir to their large -possessions--he found it difficult," he said, "to submit to their -ill-humor, and was confident, if he took any step against their -inclinations, he should forever forfeit their favor; therefore, if my -parents would allow a reciprocal promise to pass between us, binding -each to each, the moment he became master of expected fortune, or -obtained an independence, he would make me a partaker of it." They -consented, and he enjoined us to the strictest secrecy, saying, one of -his attendants was placed about him as a kind of spy. He had hitherto -deceived him with respect to us, declaring my father was an intimate -friend, and that his uncle knew he intended visiting him. But my -unfortunate vanity betrayed the secret it was so material for me to -keep. I was bound indeed not to reveal it. One morning a young girl who -had been an intimate acquaintance of mine till I knew Marlowe, came to -see me, "Why, Fanny," cried she, "you have given us all up for Mr. -Marlowe; take care, my dear, he makes you amends for the loss of your -other friends." "I shall take your advice," said I, with a smile and a -conceited toss of my head. "Faith, for my part," continued she, "I think -you were very foolish not to secure a good settlement for yourself with -Clod." "With Clod!" repeated I, with the utmost haughtiness. "Lord, -child, you forget who I am!" "Who are you?" exclaimed she, provoked at -my insolence; "oh, yes, to be sure, I forget that you are the daughter -of a poor country curate, with more pride in your head than money in -your purse." "Neither do I forget," said I, "that your ignorance is -equal to your impertinence; if I am the daughter of a poor country -curate, I am the affianced wife of a rich man, and as much elevated by -expectation, as spirit, above you." - -Our conversation was repeated throughout the village, and reached the -ears of Marlowe's attendant, who instantly developed the real motive -which detained him so long in the village. He wrote to his uncle an -account of the whole affair; the consequence of this was a letter to -poor Marlowe, full of the bitterest reproaches, charging him, without -delay, to return home. This was like a thunder-stroke to us all; but -there was no alternative between obeying, or forfeiting his uncle's -favor. "I fear, my dear Fanny," cried he, as he folded me to his bosom, -a little before his departure, "it will be long ere we shall meet again; -nay, I also fear I shall be obliged to promise not to write; if both -these fears are realized, impute not either absence or silence to a want -of the tenderest affection for you." He went, and with him all my -happiness! My mother, shortly after his departure, was attacked by a -nervous fever, which terminated her days; my father, naturally of weak -spirits and delicate constitution, was so shocked by the sudden death of -his beloved and faithful companion, that he sunk beneath his grief. The -horrors of my mind I cannot describe; I seemed to stand alone in the -world, without one friendly hand to prevent my sinking into the grave, -which contained the dearest objects of my love. I did not know where -Marlowe lived, and, even if I had, durst not venture an application, -which might be the means of ruining him. The esteem of my neighbors I -had forfeited by my conceit; they paid no attention but what common -humanity dictated, merely to prevent my perishing; and that they made me -sensibly feel. In this distress, I received an invitation from a -school-fellow of mine, who had married a rich farmer about forty miles -from our village, to take up my residence with her till I was -sufficiently recovered to fix on some plan for subsistence. I gladly -accepted the offer, and after paying a farewell visit to the grave of my -regretted parents, I set off in the cheapest conveyance I could find to -her habitation, with all my worldly treasure packed in a portmanteau. - -With my friend I trusted I should enjoy a calm and happy asylum till -Marlowe was able to fulfil his promise, and allow me to reward her -kindness; but this idea she soon put to flight, by informing me, as my -health returned, I must think of some method for supporting myself. I -started, as at the utter annihilation of all my hopes; for, vain and -ignorant of the world, I imagined Marlowe would never think of me if -once disgraced by servitude. I told her I understood little of anything -except fancy work. She was particularly glad, she said, to hear I knew -that, as it would, in all probability, gain me admittance to the service -of a rich old lady in the neighborhood, who had long been seeking for a -person who could read agreeably and do fancy works, with which she -delighted to ornament her house. She was a little whimsical, to be sure, -she added, but well-timed flattery might turn those whims to advantage; -and, if I regarded my reputation, I should not reject so respectable a -protection. There was no alternative; I inquired more particularly about -her, but how great was my emotion, when I learned she was the aunt of -Marlowe. My heart throbbed with exquisite delight at the idea of being -in the same house with him; besides, the service of his aunt would not, -I flattered myself, degrade me as much in his eyes as that of another -person's; it was necessary, however, my name should be concealed, and I -requested my friend to comply with my wish in that respect. She rallied -me about my pride, which she supposed had suggested the request, but -promised to comply with it; she had no doubt but her recommendation -would be sufficient to procure me immediate admittance, and, -accordingly, taking some of my work with me, I proceeded to the -habitation of Marlowe. It was an antique mansion, surrounded with -neat-clipped hedges, level lawns, and formal plantations. Two statues, -cast in the same mould, and resembling nothing either in heaven, earth, -or sea, stood grinning horribly upon the pillars of a massy gate, as if -to guard the entrance from impertinent intrusion. On knocking, an old -porter appeared. I gave him my message, but he, like the statues, seemed -stationary, and would not, I believe, have stirred from his situation to -deliver an embassy from the king. He called, however, to a domestic, -who, happening to be a little deaf, was full half an hour before he -heard him; at last, I was ushered up stairs into an apartment, from the -heat of which one might have conjectured it was under the torrid zone. -Though in the middle of July, a heavy hot fire burned in the grate; a -thick carpet, representing birds, beasts, and flowers, was spread on the -floor, and the windows, closely screwed down, were heavy with woodwork, -and darkened with dust. The master and mistress of the mansion, like -Darby and Joan, sat in arm-chairs on each side of the fire; three dogs, -and as many cats, slumbered at their feet. He was leaning on a -spider-table, poring over a voluminous book, and she was stitching a -counterpane. Sickness and ill-nature were visible in each countenance. -"So!" said she, raising a huge pair of spectacles at my entrance, and -examining me from head to foot, "you are come from Mrs. Wilson's; why, -bless me, child, you are quite too young for any business; pray, what is -your name, and where do you come from?" I was prepared for these -questions, and told her the truth, only concealing my real name, and the -place of my nativity. "Well, let me see those works of yours," cried -she. I produced them, and the spectacles were again drawn down. "Why, -they are neat enough, to be sure," said she, "but the design is -bad--very bad, indeed: there is taste, there is execution!" directing me -to some pictures, in heavy gilt frames, hung round the room. I told her, -with sincerity, "I had never seen anything like them." "To be sure, -child," exclaimed she, pleased at what she considered admiration in me, -"it is running a great risk to take you; but if you think you can -conform to the regulations of my house, I will, from compassion, and as -you are recommended by Mrs. Wilson, venture to engage you; but, -remember, I must have no gad-about, no fly-flapper, no chatterer, in my -family. You must be decent in your dress and carriage, discreet in your -words, industrious at your work, and satisfied with the indulgence of -going to church on a Sunday." I saw I was about entering upon a painful -servitude; but the idea of its being sweetened by the sympathy of -Marlowe a little reconciled me to it. - -On promising all she desired, everything was settled for my admission -into her family, and she took care I should perform the promises I made -her. I shall not recapitulate the various trials I underwent from her -austerity and peevishness; suffice it to say, my patience, as well as -taste, underwent a perfect martyrdom. I was continually seated at a -frame, working pictures of her own invention, which were everything that -was hideous in nature. I was never allowed to go out, except on a Sunday -to church, or on a chance evening when it was too dark to distinguish -colors. - -Marlowe was absent on my entering the family, nor durst I ask when he -was expected. My health and spirits gradually declined from my close -confinement. When allowed, as I have before said, of a chance time to go -out, instead of enjoying the fresh air, I have sat down to weep over -scenes of former happiness. I dined constantly with the old housekeeper. -She informed me, one day, that Mr. Marlowe, her master's young heir, who -had been absent some time on a visit, was expected home on the ensuing -day. Fortunately, the good dame was too busily employed to notice my -agitation. I retired as soon as possible from the table, in a state of -indescribable pleasure. Never shall I forget my emotions, when I heard -the trampling of his horse's feet, and saw him enter the house! Vainly I -endeavored to resume my work; my hands trembled, and I sunk back on my -chair, to indulge the delightful idea of an interview with him, which I -believed to be inevitable. My severe task-mistress soon awakened me from -me delightful dream; she came to tell me: "I must confine myself to my -own and the housekeeper's room, which, to a virtuous, discreet maiden, -such as I appeared to be, she supposed would be no hardship, while her -nephew, who was a young, perhaps rather a wild young man, remained in -the house: when he again left it, which would soon be the case, I should -regain my liberty." My heart sunk within me at her words, but, when the -first shock was over; I consoled myself by thinking I should be able to -elude her vigilance. I was, however, mistaken; she and the housekeeper -were perfect Arguses. To be in the same house with Marlowe, yet without -his knowing it, drove me almost distracted. - -I at last thought of an expedient, which, I hoped, would effect the -discovery I wanted. I had just finished a piece of work, which my -mistress was delighted with. It was an enormous flower-basket, mounted -on the back of a cat, which held beneath its paw a trembling mouse. The -raptures the old lady expressed at seeing her own design so ably -executed encouraged me to ask permission to embroider a picture of my -own designing, for which I had the silks lying by me. She complied, and -I set about it with alacrity. I copied my face and figure as exactly as -I could, and, in mourning drapery and a pensive attitude, placed the -little image by a rustic grave, in the church-yard of my native village, -at the head of which, half embowered in trees, appeared the lovely -cottage of my departed parents. These well-known objects, I thought, -would revive, if indeed she was absent from it, the idea of poor Fanny -in the mind of Marlowe. I presented the picture to my mistress, who was -pleased with the present, and promised to have it framed. The next day -while I sat at dinner, the door suddenly opened, and Marlowe entered the -room. I thought I should have fainted. My companion dropped her knife -and fork with great precipitation, and Marlowe told her he was very ill, -and wanted a cordial from her. She rose with a dissatisfied air, to -comply with his request. He, taking this opportunity of approaching a -little nearer, darted a glance of pity and tenderness, and softly -whispered--"To-night, at eleven o'clock, meet me in the front parlor." - -You may conceive how tardily the hours passed till the appointed time -came, when, stealing to the parlor, I found Marlowe expecting me. He -folded me to his heart, and his tears mingled with mine, as I related my -melancholy tale. "You are now, my Fanny!" he cried, "entirely mine; -deprived of the protection of your tender parents I shall endeavor to -fulfil the sacred trust they reposed in my honor, by securing mine to -you, as far as lies in my power. I was not mistaken," continued he, "in -the idea I had formed of the treatment I should receive from my -flinty-hearted relations on leaving you. Had I not promised to drop all -correspondence with you, I must have relinquished all hopes of their -favor. Bitter, indeed," cried he, while a tear started in his eye, "is -the bread of dependence. Ill could my soul submit to the indignities I -received; but I consoled myself throughout them, by the idea of future -happiness with my Fanny. Had I known her situation (which, indeed, it -was impossible I should, as my uncle's spy attended me wherever I went), -no dictate of prudence would have prevented my flying to her aid!" -"Thank Heaven, then, you were ignorant of it," said I. "My aunt," he -proceeded, "showed me your work, lavishing the highest encomiums on it. -I glanced my eye carelessly upon it, but, in a moment, how was that -careless eye attracted by the well known objects presented to it! this, -I said to my heart, can only be Fanny's work. I tried to discover from -my aunt whether my conjectures were wrong, but without success. When I -retired to dress, I asked my servant if there had been any addition to -the family during my absence; he said a young woman was hired to do fine -works, but she never appeared among the servants." - -Marlowe proceeded to say, "he could not bear I should longer continue in -servitude, and that without delay he was resolved to unite his fate to -mine." I opposed this resolution a little; but soon, too -self-interested, I fear, acquiesced in it. It was agreed I should inform -his aunt my health would no longer permit my continuing in her family, -and that I should retire to a village six miles off, where Marlowe -undertook to bring a young clergyman, a particular friend of his, to -perform the ceremony. Our plan, as settled, was carried into execution, -and I became the wife of Marlowe. I was now, you will suppose, elevated -to the pinnacle of happiness; I was so, indeed, but my own folly -precipitated me from it. The secrecy I was compelled to observe -mortified me exceedingly, as I panted to emerge from the invidious cloud -which had so long concealed my beauty and accomplishments from a world -that I was confident, if seen, would pay them the homage they merited. -The people with whom I lodged had been obliged by Marlowe, and, -therefore, from interest and gratitude, obeyed the injunction he gave -them, of keeping my residence at their house a secret; they believed, or -affected to believe, I was an orphan committed to his care, whom his -uncle would be displeased to know he had taken under his protection. -Three or four times a week I received stolen visits from Marlowe, when, -one day (after a month had elapsed in this manner) standing at the -parlor window, I saw Mrs. Wilson walking down the village. I started -back, but too late to escape her observation; she immediately bolted -into the room with all the eagerness of curiosity. I bore her first -interrogatories tolerably well, but when she upbraided me for leaving -the excellent service she had procured for me, for duplicity in saying I -was going to another, and for my indiscretion in respect to Marlowe, I -lost all command of my temper, and, remembering the inhumanity with -which she had forced me into servitude, I resolved to mortify her -completely, by assuming all the airs I had heretofore so ridiculously -aspired to. Lolling in my chair, with an air of the most careless -indifference, I bid her no longer petrify me with her discourse. This -raised all the violence of rage, and she plainly told me, "from my -conduct with Marlowe, I was unworthy her notice." "Therefore," cried I, -forgetting every dictate of prudence, "his wife will neither desire nor -receive it in future." "His wife!" she repeated, with a look of scorn -and incredulity. I produced the certificate of my marriage; thus, from -an impulse of vanity and resentment, putting myself in the power of a -woman, a stranger to every liberal feeling, and whose mind was inflamed -with envy towards me. The hint I forced myself at parting to give her, -to keep the affair secret, only determined her more strongly to reveal -it. The day after her visit, Marlowe entered my apartment--pale, -agitated, and breathless, he sunk into a chair. A pang, like conscious -guilt, smote my heart, and I trembled as I approached him. He repulsed -me when I attempted to touch his hand. "Cruel, inconsiderate woman!" he -said, "to what dreadful lengths has your vanity hurried you; it has -drawn destruction upon your own head as well as mine!" Shame and remorse -tied my tongue; had I spoken, indeed, I could not have vindicated -myself, and I turned aside and wept. Marlowe, mild, tender, and adoring, -could not long retain resentment; he started from his chair, and clasped -me to his bosom. "Oh, Fanny!" he cried, "though you have ruined me, you -are still dear as ever to me." - -This tenderness affected me even more than reproaches, and tears and -sighs declared my penitence. His expectations relative to his uncle were -finally destroyed, on being informed of our marriage, which Mrs. Wilson -lost no time in telling him. He burned his will, and immediately made -another in favor of a distant relation. On hearing this intelligence, I -was almost distracted; I flung myself at my husband's feet, implored his -pardon, yet declared I could never forgive myself. He grew more composed -upon the increase of my agitation, as if purposely to soothe my spirits, -assuring me, that, though his uncle's favor was lost, he had other -friends on whom he greatly depended. We set off for London, and found -his dependence was not ill-placed; for, soon after his arrival, he -obtained a place of considerable emolument in one of the public offices. -My husband delighted in gratifying me, though I was often both -extravagant and whimsical, and almost ever on the wing for admiration -and amusement. I was reckoned a pretty woman, and received with rapture -the nonsense and adulation addressed to me. I became acquainted with a -young widow, who concealed a depraved heart under a specious appearance -of innocence and virtue, and by aiding the vices of others, procured the -means of gratifying her own; yet so secret were all her transactions, -that calumny had not yet attacked her, and her house was the rendezvous -of the most fashionable people. My husband, who did not dislike her -manner, encouraged our intimacy, and at her parties I was noticed by a -young nobleman, then at the head of the ton. He declared I was one of -the most charming objects he had ever beheld, and, for such a -declaration, I thought him the most polite I had ever known. As Lord T. -condescended to wear my chains, I must certainly, I thought, become -quite the rage. My transports, however, were a little checked by the -grave remonstrances of my husband, who assured me Lord T. was a famous, -or rather an infamous libertine; and that, if I did not avoid his -lordship's particular attentions, he must insist on my relinquishing the -widow's society. This I thought cruel, but I saw him resolute, and -promised to act as he desired--a promise I never adhered to, except when -he was present. I was now in a situation to promise an increase of -family, and Marlowe wished me to nurse the child. The tenderness of my -heart seconding his wish, I resolved on obeying it; but when the widow -heard my intention she laughed at it, and said it was absolutely -ridiculous, for the sake of a squalling brat, to give up all the -pleasures of life; besides, it would be much better taken care of in -some of the villages about London. I denied this; still, however, she -dwelt on the sacrifices I must make, the amusements I must give up, and -at last completely conquered my resolution. I pretended to Marlowe my -health was too delicate to allow me to bear such a fatigue and he -immediately sacrificed his own inclinations to mine. I have often -wondered at the kind of infatuation with which he complied with all my -desires. My little girl, almost as soon as born, was sent from me; but, -on being able to go out again, I received a considerable shock, from -hearing my noble admirer was gone to the Continent, owing to a trifling -derangement in his affairs. The vain pursuits of pleasure and -dissipation were still continued. Three years passed in this manner, -during which I had a son, and my little girl was brought home. I have -since often felt astonished at the cold indifference with which I -regarded my Marlowe, and our lovely babe, on whom he doted with all the -enthusiasm of tenderness. Alas! vanity had then absorbed my heart, and -deadened every feeling of nature and sensibility; it is the parent of -self-love and apathy, and degrades those who harbor it below humanity. - -Lord T. now returned from the Continent; he swore my idea had never been -absent from his mind, and that I was more charming than ever; while I -thought him, if possible, more polite and engaging. Again my husband -remonstrated. Sometimes I seemed to regard these remonstrances, -sometimes protested I would not submit to such unnecessary control. I -knew, indeed, that my intentions were innocent, and I believed I might -safely indulge my vanity, without endangering either my reputation or -peace. About this time Marlowe received a summons to attend a dying -friend four miles from London. Our little girl was then in a slight -fever, which had alarmed her father, and confined me most unwillingly, I -must confess, to the house. Marlowe, on the point of departing, pressed -me to his breast: "My heart, my beloved Fanny!" said he, "feels -unusually heavy. I trust the feeling is no presentiment of approaching -ill. Oh! my Fanny! on you and my babe, I rest for happiness--take care -of our little cherub, and above all (his meek eye encountering mine), -take care of yourself, that, with my accustomed rapture, I may, on my -return, receive you to my arms." There was something so solemn, and so -tender, in this address, that my heart melted, and my tears mingled with -those which trickled down his pale checks. For two days I attended my -child assiduously, when the widow made her appearance. She assured me I -should injure myself by such close confinement, and that my cheeks were -already faded by it. She mentioned a delightful masquerade which was to -be given that night, and for which Lord T. had presented her with -tickets for me and herself; but she declared, except I would accompany -her, she would not go. I had often wished to go to a masquerade; I now, -however, declined this opportunity of gratifying my inclination, but so -faintly, as to prompt a renewal of her solicitations, to which I at last -yielded; and, committing my babe to the care of a servant, set off with -the widow to a warehouse to choose dresses. Lord T. dined with us, and -we were all in the highest spirits imaginable: about twelve we went in -his chariot to the Haymarket, and I was absolutely intoxicated with his -flattery, and the dazzling objects around me. At five we quitted this -scene of gayety. The widow took a chair; I would have followed her -example, but my Lord absolutely lifted me into his chariot, and there -began talking in a strain which provoked my contempt, and excited my -apprehensions. I expressed my displeasure in tears, which checked his -boldness, and convinced him he had some difficulties yet to overcome ere -he completed his designs. He made his apologies with so much humility, -that I was soon appeased, and prevailed on to accept them. We arrived at -the widow's house in as much harmony as we left it; the flags were wet, -and Lord T. insisted on carrying me into the house. At the door I -observed a man muffled up, but as no one noticed him, I thought no more -about it. We sat down to supper in high spirits, and chatted for a -considerable time about our past amusements. His lordship said: "After a -little sleep we should recruit ourselves by a pleasant jaunt to -Richmond, where he had a charming villa." We agreed to his proposal, and -retired to rest. About noon we arose; and, while I was dressing myself -for the projected excursion, a letter was brought in to me. "Good Lord! -Halcot!" exclaimed I, turning to the widow, "if Marlowe is returned, -what will become of me?" "Oh! read, my dear creature!" cried she -impatiently, "and then we can think of excuses." "I have the letter -here," continued Mrs. Marlowe, laying her hand to her breast, and -drawing it forth after a short pause, "I laid it to my heart to guard it -against future folly." - - THE LETTER. - - The presages of my heart were but too true--we parted never to - meet again. Oh! Fanny, beloved of my soul, how are you lost to - yourself and Marlowe! The independence, splendor, riches, which - I gave up for your sake, were mean sacrifices, in my estimation, - to the felicity I fondly expected to have enjoyed with you - through life. Your beauty charmed my mind, but it was your - simplicity captivated my heart. I took, as I thought, the - perfect child of innocence and sincerity to my bosom; resolved, - from duty, as well as from inclination, to shelter you in that - bosom, to the utmost of my power, from every adverse storm. - Whenever you were indisposed, what agonies did I endure! yet, - what I then dreaded, could I have possibly foreseen, would have - been comparative happiness to my present misery; for, oh! my - Fanny, far preferable would it have been to behold you in the - arms of death than infamy. - - I returned immediately after witnessing the last pangs of my - friend--oppressed with the awful scene of death, yet cheering my - spirits by an anticipation of the consolation I should receive - from my Fanny's sympathy. Good God! what was my horror, when I - found my little babe, instead of being restored to health by a - mother's care, nearly expiring through her neglect! The angel - lay gasping on her bed, deserted by the mercenary wretch to - whose care she was consigned. I inquired, and the fatal truth - rushed upon my soul; yet, when the first tumult of passion had - subsided, I felt that, without yet stronger proofs, I could not - abandon you. Alas! too soon did I receive those proofs. I traced - you, Fanny, through your giddy round, till I saw you borne in - the arms of the vile Lord T. into the house of his vile - paramour. You will wonder, perhaps, I did not tear you from his - grasp. Could such a procedure have restored you to me, with all - your unsullied innocence, I should not have hesitated; but that - was impossible, and my eyes then gazed upon Fanny for the last - time. I returned to my motherless babe, and, I am not ashamed to - say, I wept over it with all the agonies of a fond and betrayed - heart. - - Ere I bid an irrevocable adieu, I would, if possible, endeavor - to convince you that conscience cannot always be stifled--that - illicit love is constantly attended by remorse and - disappointment; for, when familiarity, or disease, has - diminished the charms which excited it, the frail fetters of - admiration are broken by him who looks only to an exterior for - delight; if, indeed, your conscience should not be awakened till - this hour of desertion comes, when it does arrive, you may, - perhaps, think of Marlowe. Yes, Fanny, when your cheeks are - faded by care, when your wit is enfeebled by despondency, you - may think of him whose tenderness would have outlived both time - and change, and supported you, without abatement, through every - stage of life. - - To stop short in the career of vice is, they say, the noblest - effort of virtue. May such an effort be yours; and may you yet - give joy to the angels of heaven, who, we are taught to believe, - rejoice over them that truly repent! That want should strew no - thorns in the path of penitence, all that I could take from my - babe I have assigned to you. Oh! my dear culprit, remember the - precepts of your early youth--of those who, sleeping in the - dust, are spared the bitter tear of anguish, such as I now - shed--and, ere too late, expiate your errors. In the solitude to - which I am hastening, I shall continually pray for you; and when - my child raises its spotless hands to Heaven, it shall implore - its mercy for erring mortals; yet, think not it shall ever hear - your story. Oh! never shall the blush of shame, for the - frailties of one so dear, tinge its ingenuous countenance. May - the sincerity of your repentance restore that peace and - brightness to your life, which, at present, I think you must - have forfeited, and support you with fortitude through its - closing period! As a friend, once dear, you will ever exist in - the memory of - - MARLOWE. - -As I concluded the letter, my spirits, which had been gradually -receding, entirely forsook me, and I fell senseless on the floor. Mrs. -Halcot and Lord T. took his opportunity of gratifying their curiosity by -perusing the letter, and when I recovered, I found myself supported -between them. "You see, my dear angel," cried Lord T., "your cruel -husband has entirely abandoned you; but grieve not, for in my arms you -shall find a kinder asylum than he ever afforded you." "True," said Mrs. -Halcot; "for my part, I think she has reason to rejoice at his -desertion." - -I shall not attempt to repeat all I had said to them in the height of my -distraction. Suffice it to say, I reproached them both as the authors of -my shame and misery; and, while I spurned Lord T. indignantly from my -feet, accused Mrs. Halcot of possessing neither delicacy nor feeling. -Alas! accusation or reproach could not lighten the weight on my heart--I -felt a dreadful consciousness of having occasioned my own misery. I -seemed as if awaking from a disordered dream, which had confused my -senses; and the more clearly my perception of what was right returned, -the more bitterly I lamented my deviation from it. To be reinstated in -the esteem and affection of my husband was all of felicity I could -desire to possess. Full of the idea of being able to effect a -reconciliation, I started up; but, ere I reached the door, sunk into an -agony of tears: recollecting that ere this he was probably far distant -from me. My base companions tried to assuage my grief, and make me in -reality the wretch poor Marlowe supposed me to be. I heard them in -silent contempt, unable to move, till a servant informed me a gentleman -below stairs desired to see me. The idea of a relenting husband -instantly occurred, and I flew down; but how great was my disappointment -only to see a particular friend of his! Our meeting was painful in the -extreme. I asked him if he knew anything of Marlowe, and he solemnly -assured me he did not. When my confusion and distress had a little -subsided, he informed me that in the morning he had received a letter -from him, with an account of our separation, and the fatal cause of it. -The letter contained a deed of settlement on me of a small paternal -estate, and a bill of fifty pounds, which Marlowe requested his friend -to present himself to me. He also added my clothes were sent to his -house, as our lodgings had been discharged. I did not find it difficult -to convince this gentleman of my innocence, and, putting myself under -his protection, was immediately conveyed to lodgings in a retired part -of the town. Here he consoled me with assurances of using every effort -to discover the residence of my husband. All, alas! proved unsuccessful; -and my health gradually declined. As time wore away, my hope yet left -still undiminished my desire of seeing him. Change of air was at last -deemed requisite to preserve my existence, and I went to Bristol. I had -the good fortune to lodge in the house with an elderly Irish lady, whose -sweet and benevolent manner soon gained my warmest esteem, and tempted -me to divulge my melancholy tale, where so certain of obtaining pity. -She had also suffered severely from the pressure of sorrow; but hers, as -it proceeded not from imprudence, but the common vicissitudes of life, -was borne without that degree of anguish mine occasioned. As the period -approached for her return to her native country, I felt the deepest -regret at the prospect of our separation, which she, however, removed, -by asking me to reside entirely with her. Eight years had elapsed since -the loss of my husband, and no latent hope of his return remained in my -heart sufficiently strong to tempt me to forego the advantages of such -society. Ere I departed, however, I wrote to several of his friends, -informing them of the step I intended taking, and, if any tidings of -Marlowe occurred, where I was to be found. Five years I passed with my -valuable friend in retirement, and had the pleasure of thinking I -contributed to the ease of her last moments. This cottage, with a few -acres adjoining it, and four hundred pounds, was all her wealth, and to -me she bequeathed it, having no relations whose wants gave them any -claim upon her. - -The events I have just related will, I hope, strengthen the moral so -many wish to impress upon the minds of youth, namely--that, without a -strict adherence to propriety, there can be no permanent pleasure; and -that it is the actions of early life must give to old age either -happiness and comfort, or sorrow and remorse. Had I attended to the -admonitions of wisdom and experience, I should have checked my -wanderings from prudence, and preserved my happiness from being -sacrificed at the shrine of vanity; then, instead of being a solitary in -the world, I might have had my little fireside enlivened by the partner -of my heart, and, perhaps, my children's children sporting around; but -suffering is the proper tax we pay for folly; the frailty of human -nature, the prevalence of example, the allurements of the world, are -mentioned by many as extenuations for misconduct. Though virtue, say -they, is willing, she is often too weak to resist the wishes they -excite. Mistaken idea! and blessed is that virtue which, opposing, ends -them. With every temptation we have the means of escape; and woe be to -us if we neglect those means, or hesitate to disentangle ourselves from -the snare which vice or folly may have spread around us. Sorrow and -disappointment are incident to mortality, and when not occasioned by any -conscious imprudence, should be considered as temporary trials from -Heaven to improve and correct us, and therefore cheerfully be borne. A -sigh stole from Oscar as she spoke, and a tear trickled down the soft -cheek of Adela. "I have," continued Mrs. Marlowe, "given you, like an -old woman, a tedious tale; but that tediousness, with every other -imperfection I have acknowledged, I rest upon your friendship and candor -to excuse." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - "Denied her sight, he often crept - Beneath the hawthorn's shade; - To mark the spot in which she wept-- - In which she wept and prayed."--MALLET. - - -The night was waning fast, and Adela rose to depart as her friend -concluded her story; yet it required an effort of resolution to retire. -Mrs. Marlowe, however, was too well convinced of the expediency and -propriety of this to press her longer stay, though the eyes of Oscar, -suddenly turned to her, seemed to entreat she would do so. The night was -dark and wet, which prevented Mrs. Marlowe from accompanying Adela to -the carriage. Not so Oscar; he took the umbrella from the servant, who -held it for his mistress, and bid him hasten on to have the -carriage-door opened. "Oscar," cried Mrs. Marlowe, extremely unwilling -to allow even this short _tete-à-tete_, "Mrs. Belgrave will dispense -with your gallantry, for you are really too great an invalid to venture -out such a night as this." Adela attempted to dissuade him from it, but -her voice was so low and faltering as scarcely to be articulate. Oscar -gently seized her hand, and pulled it under his arm; he felt it tremble -as he did so. The touch became contagious; an universal tremor affected -his frame, and never, perhaps, had he and Adela experienced a moment of -greater unhappiness. Adela at last found herself obliged to speak, -conscious that her silence must appear particular, and said, she feared -he would be injured by his attentions to her. More fatally injured than -he already was, he might have replied, he could not be; but he checked -the words ready to burst from his lips, and only answered that he would -be unfit for a soldier, if he could not endure the inclemency of the -wintry blast. The light from the globes of the carriage gave him a view -of her pale lovely cheeks, and he saw she was weeping. Confused at the -idea of betraying her distress, she averted her head, and hastily -ascended the steps; yet, for a moment, her trembling hand rested upon -Oscar's, as if, in this manner, she would have given the adieu she had -not the power of pronouncing. Lost in agony, he remained, like a statue, -on the spot where she had left him, till roused by the friendly voice of -Mrs. Marlowe, who, alarmed at his long absence, came to seek him. -Soothed by her kind solicitude, he directly returned with her to the -house, where his indignation against the perfidious Belgrave again broke -forth. He execrated him, not only as the destroyer of his peace, but a -peace infinitely more precious than his own--that of the charming Adela. - -Mrs. Marlowe essayed every art of consolation, and, by sympathy and -mildness, at last subdued the violence of his feelings; she acknowledged -the loss he sustained in being deprived of Adela; but, since -irrevocable, both virtue and reason required him to struggle against his -grief, and conceal it. By their sacred dictates, she entreated him to -avoid seeing Adela. He felt she was right in the entreaty, and solemnly -promised to comply with it; her friendship was balm to his wounded -heart, and her society the only pleasure he was capable of enjoying. -Whenever he could absent himself from quarters he retired to her, and -frequently spent three or four days at a time in her cottage. By -discontinuing his visits in the gay neighborhood of Woodlawn, he avoided -all opportunities of seeing Adela, yet often, on a clear frosty night, -has he stole from the fireside of Mrs. Marlowe to the beloved and -beautiful haunts about the lake, where he and Adela passed so many happy -hours together. Here he indulged in all the luxury of woe; and such are -the pleasures of virtuous melancholy, that Oscar would not have resigned -them for any of the commonplace enjoyments of life. - -Often did he wander to the grove from whence he had a view of Adela's -chamber, and if a lucky chance gave him a glimpse of her, as she passed -through it, a sudden ecstasy would pervade his bosom; he would pray for -her felicity, and return to Mrs. Marlowe, as if his heart was lightened -of an oppressive weight. That tender friend flattered herself, from -youth and the natural gayety of his disposition, his attachment, no -longer fed by hope, would gradually decline; but she was mistaken--the -bloom of his youth was faded, and his gayety converted into deep -despondency. Had he never been undeceived with regard to the general and -Adela, pride, no doubt, would quickly have lessened the poignancy of his -feelings; but when he reflected on the generous intentions of the one, -on the sincere affection of the other, and the supreme happiness he -might have enjoyed, he lost all fortitude. Thus, by perpetually brooding -over the blessings once within his reach, losing all relish for those -which were yet attainable, his sorrow, instead of being ameliorated, was -increased by time. The horror and indignation with which he beheld -Belgrave, after the first knowledge of his baseness, could scarcely be -restrained. Though painful, he was pleased the effort had proved a -successful one, as, exclusive of his sacred promise to Mrs. Marlowe, -delicacy on Adela's account induced him to bear his wrongs in silence. -He could not, however, be so great a hypocrite as to profess any longer -esteem or respect for the colonel, and when they met, it was with cold -politeness on both sides. - -The unfortunate Adela pined in secret. Her interview with Oscar had -destroyed the small remainder of her peace. His pale and emaciated -figure haunted her imagination; in vain, by dwelling on his unkind -letter, did she endeavor to lessen her tenderness. She felt the emotion -of pity stronger than that of resentment, and that the friendship of -Oscar would have been sweeter to her soul than the love or attention of -any other object. By obeying the impulse of passion, she feared she had -doomed herself to wretchedness. Belgrave was a man whom, upon mature -deliberation, she never could have chosen. The softness of his manners -gradually vanished when the purpose for which they had been assumed was -completed. Unfeeling and depraved, the virtues of Adela could excite no -esteem in his bosom, and the love (if it can merit that appellation) -which he felt for her, quickly subsided after their marriage; but as the -general retained the greatest part of his fortune in his own power, he -continued tolerably guarded in his conduct. A slave, however, to the -most violent passions, he was often unable to control them; and, -forgetful of all prudential motives, delighted at those times in -mortifying Adela by sly sarcasms on her attachment for Oscar. Though -deeply wounded, she never complained; she had partly forged her chains, -and resolved to bear them without repining. Tranquil in appearance, the -poor general, who was not penetrating, thought his darling perfectly -happy. Such, however, was not the opinion of those who visited at -Woodlawn. The rose of health no longer spread its beautiful tints on the -cheek of Adela, nor were her eyes irradiated by vivacity. - -The colonel never went to Enniskillen except about military business, -but he made frequent excursions to the metropolis and other parts of the -kingdom in pursuit of pleasure. Adela felt relieved by his absence; and -the general, satisfied at his not attempting to take her along with him, -never murmured at it. The period now arrived for the departure of the -regiment. Adela had not seen Oscar since the interview at Mrs. -Marlowe's. She declined going to the reviews which preceded the change -of garrison, and sincerely hoped no chance would again throw him in her -way. Oscar sickened at the idea of quitting the country without seeing -her. He knew she was not to accompany the colonel. The officers were -going to pay a farewell visit to Woodlawn, and he could not resist being -of the party. They were shown into the drawing-room, where Adela and the -general sat. She was startled at the appearance of Oscar, but though a -blush tinged her pale face, she soon recovered her composure, and -entered into conversation. The general pressed them to stay to dinner, -but they had many visits to pay and begged to be excused. "My dear -Fitzalan," said the general, who had long dropped his displeasure, "I -wish you happiness and success, and hope I shall soon hear of your being -at the head of a company; remember, I say soon--for I am an old veteran, -and should be sorry to drop into the trench till I had heard of the good -fortune of my friends. Your father was a brave fellow, and, in the -speedy advancement of his son, should receive a reward for his past -services." Oscar pressed the general's hand to his breast. He cast his -tearful eyes on Adela; she sighed, and bent hers to the ground. "Be -assured, sir," he cried, "no gratitude can be more fervent than that -your goodness has inspired me with; no wishes can be more sincere than -mine for the happiness of the inhabitants of Woodlawn." "Ineffectual -wishes," softly exclaimed Adela; "happiness, from one of its inhabitants -at least, has, I fear, fled forever." - -The general's wishes for the success of Oscar may be considered as mere -words of course, since not enforced by more substantial proofs of -regard; but, in reality, soon after his daughter's marriage, in his -usual blunt manner, he had mentioned to the colonel his giving a -thousand or two to help the promotion of Oscar. Belgrave, who could not -bear that the man whom he had injured should have a chance of obtaining -equal rank with himself, opposed this truly generous design, by saying, -"Oscar was taken under the patronage of Lord Cherbury, and that the -general's bounty might therefore, at some future period, be better -applied in serving a person without his interest." To this the general -assented, declaring that he never yet met with a brave soldier or his -offspring in distress without feeling and answering the claim they had -upon his heart. - -Oscar obtained a ready promise from Mrs. Marlowe of corresponding with -him. He blushed and faltered as he besought her sometimes to acquaint -him with the health of their friends at Woodlawn. Change of scene -produced no alteration in him. Still pining with regret, and languid -from ill-health, his father and sister found him. The comforts of -sympathy could not be his, as the anguish which preyed on his heart he -considered of too sacred a nature to divulge. He hoarded up his grief, -like a miser hoarding up his treasure, fearful that the eye of suspicion -should glance at it, as he pressed his lovely sister to his heart. Had -he imagined she was the object of Colonel Belgrave's licentious passion, -the bounds he had hitherto prescribed to his resentment would in a -moment have been overturned, and he would, had it been necessary, have -pursued the monster round the world, to avenge the injury he had -meditated, as well as the one he had committed. - -We shall now bid adieu to Oscar for the present, and, drawing on our -boots of seven leagues, step after Fitzalan and Amanda. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - "Confessed from yonder slow extinguished clouds, - All ether softening, sober evening takes - Her wonted station in the middle air; - A thousand shadows at her back."--THOMSON. - - -Castle Carberry, to which our travellers were going, was a large gothic -pile, erected in the rude and distant period when strength more than -elegance was deemed necessary in a building. The depredations of war, as -well as time, were discernible on its exterior; some of its lofty -battlements were broken, and others mouldering to decay, while about its -ancient towers - - "The rank grass waved its head, - And the moss whistled to the wind." - -It stood upon a rocky eminence overhanging the sea, and commanding a -delightful prospect of the opposite coast of Scotland; about it were yet -to be traced irregular fortifications, a moat, and remains of a -drawbridge, with a well, long since dry, which had been dug in the rock -to supply the inhabitants in time of siege with water. On one side rose -a stupendous hill, covered to the very summit with trees, and scattered -over with relics of druidical antiquity; before it stretched an -extensive and gently swelling lawn, sheltered on each side with groves -of intermingled shade, and refreshed by a clear and meandering rivulet, -that took its rise from the adjoining hill, and murmured over a bed of -pebbles. - -After a pleasant journey, on the evening of the fourth day, our -travellers arrived at their destined habitation. An old man and woman, -who had the care of it, were apprised of their coming, and on the first -approach of the carriage, opened the massy door, and waited to receive -them: they reached it when the sober gray of twilight had clad every -object. Amanda viewed the dark and stupendous edifice, whose gloom was -now heightened by the shadows of evening, with venerable awe. The -solitude, the silence which reigned around, the melancholy murmur of the -waves as they dashed against the foot of the rocks, all heightened the -sadness of her mind; yet it was not quite an unpleasing sadness, for -with it was now mingled a degree of that enthusiasm which plaintive and -romantic spirits are so peculiarly subject to feel in viewing the -venerable grandeur of an ancient fabric renowned in history. As she -entered a spacious hall, curiously wainscoted with oak, ornamented with -coats of arms, spears, lances, and old armor, she could not avoid -casting a retrospective eye to former times, when, perhaps, in this very -hall, bards sung the exploits of those heroes, whose useless arms now -hung upon the walls. She wished, in the romance of the moment, some gray -bard near her, to tell the deeds of other times--of kings renowned in -our land--of chiefs we behold no more. In the niches in the hall were -figures of chieftains, large as life, and rudely carved in oak. Their -frowning countenances struck a sudden panic upon the heart of Ellen. -"Cot pless their souls," she said, "what the tefil did they do there, -except to frighten the people from going into the house." - -They were shown into a large parlor, furnished in an old-fashioned -manner, and found a comfortable supper prepared for them. Oppressed with -fatigue, soon after they had partaken of it, they retired to rest. The -next morning, immediately after breakfast, Amanda, attended by the old -woman and Ellen, ranged over the castle. Its interior was quite as -gothic as its exterior; the stairs were winding, the galleries -intricate, the apartments numerous, and mostly hung with old tapestry, -representing Irish battles, in which the chiefs of Castle Carberry were -particularly distinguished. Their portraits, with those of their ladies, -occupied a long gallery, whose arched windows cast a dim religious light -upon them. This was terminated by a small apartment in the centre of -one of the towers that flanked the building. The room was an octagon, -and thus commanded a sea and land prospect, uniting at once the sublime -and beautiful in it. The furniture was not only modern but elegant, and -excited the particular attention and inquiries of Amanda. The old woman -informed her this had been the dressing-room of the late Countess of -Cherbury, both before and after her marriage: "one of the sweetest, -kindest ladies," continued she, "I ever knew; the castle has been quite -deserted since she died--alack-a-day! I thought my poor heart would have -broke when I heard of her death. Ah! I remember the night I heard the -Banshee crying so pitifully." "And pray what is that?" interrupted -Amanda. "Why, a little woman, no higher than a yard, who wears a blue -petticoat, a red cloak, and a handkerchief round her head; and when the -head of any family, especially a great family, is to die, she is always -heard, by some of the old followers, bemoaning herself." "Lort save us!" -cried Ellen, "I hope his lortship, the earl, won't take it into his head -to die while we are here, for I'd as lief see one of the fairies of -Penmaenmawr, as such a little old witch." "Well, proceed," said Amanda. -"So, as I was saying, I heard her crying dismally one night in a corner -of the house. So, says I to my husband, Johnaten, says I, I am sure we -shall hear something about my good lord or lady. And sure enough we did -the next day, and ever since we have seen none of the family." "Did you -ever see the young lord?" asked Amanda, with involuntary precipitation. -"See him! aye, that I did, when he was about eight years old; there is -his picture (pointing to one which hung over the chimney); my lady had -it done by a fine English painter, and brought it over with her. It is -the moral of what he then was." The eager eyes of Amanda were instantly -turned to it, and she traced, or at least imagined she did so, a -resemblance still between it and him. The painter seemed as if he had -had the description of Pity in his mind when he drew the picture; for -Lord Mortimer was portrayed, as she is represented in the beautiful -allegory, sheltering a trembling dove in his bosom from a ferocious -hawk. Oh! Mortimer! thought Amanda, thy feeling nature is here ably -delineated! The distressed, or the helpless, to the utmost of your -power, you would save from the gripe of cruelty and oppression. Her -father had desired her to choose pleasant apartments for her own -immediate use, and she accordingly fixed on this and the room adjoining -it, which had been Lady Cherbury's chamber. Her things were brought -hither, and her books, works, and implements for drawing, deposited in -rich inlaid cabinets. Pleased with the arrangements she had made, she -brought her father, as soon as he was at leisure, to view them. He was -happy to find her spirits somewhat cheerful and composed, and declared -in future he would call this Amanda's Tower. Accompanied by him, she -ascended to the battlements of the castle, and was delighted with the -extensive and variegated prospect she beheld from them. A spacious -edifice, at some distance, embowered in a grove of venerable oaks, -attracted her admiration. Her father told her that was Ulster Lodge, a -seat belonging to the Marquis of Roslin, who was an Irish as well as a -Scotch Peer, and had very extensive possessions in Ireland. Fitzalan -added, he had been inquiring of the old man about the neighborhood, and -learned from him that, at the expiration of every three or four years, -the Marquis usually came over to Ulster Lodge, but had never yet been -accompanied by the Marchioness, or Lady Euphrasia Sutherland, who was -his only child. - -The domestic economy of Castle Carberry was soon settled. A young man -and woman were hired, as Johnaten and his wife, Kate, were considered -little more than supernumeraries. Ellen was appointed to attend Amanda, -and do whatever plain work was required. Fitzalan felt a pleasing -serenity diffused over his mind, from the idea of being in some degree -independent, and in the way of making some provision for his children. -The first shock of a separation from Lord Mortimer being over, the -cheerfulness of Amanda gradually returned, the visions of hope again -revived in her mind, and she indulged a secret pleasure at living in the -house he had once occupied. She considered her father as particularly -connected with his family, and doubted not, from this circumstance, she -should sometimes hear of him. She judged of his constancy by her own, -and believed he would not readily forget her. She acknowledged her -father's motives for separating them were equally just and delicate; but -firmly believed, if Lord Mortimer (as she flattered herself he would) -confessed a partiality in her favor to his father, that, influenced by -tenderness for his son, friendship for her father, and the knowledge of -her descent, he would immediately give up every idea of another -connection, and sanction theirs with his approbation. No obstacle -appeared to such an union but want of fortune, and that want she could -never suppose would be considered as one by the liberal-minded Lord -Cherbury, who had himself an income sufficient to gratify even luxurious -wishes. Her time was agreeably diversified by the sources of amusements -she drew from herself. Her father, whose supreme felicity consisted in -contributing to her pleasure, purchased a delightful harp for her in -Dublin, which arrived a few days after them, at Castle Carberry, and -with its dulcet lays she often charmed, not only his spirit, but her -own, from every mortal care. She loved to rise early, and catch the -first beams of the sun, as she wandered over the dewy lawn, where the -lowing cattle cropped the flowery herbage, and the milkmaid sung her -plaintive ditty. - -With her father she took long walks about the adjacent country. He had -visited every scene before, and now pointed out whatever was worthy her -attention: the spots where the heroes of former ages had fallen, where -the mighty stones of their fame were raised, that the children of the -North might hereafter know the places where their fathers fought; that -the hunter, as he leaned upon a mossy tomb, might say, here fought the -heroes of other years, and their fame shall last forever! - -Amanda, too, often rambled by herself, particularly among the rocks, -where were several natural grottos, strewed with shells and seaweeds. -Here, of a mild day, she loved to read, and listen to the low murmurs of -the tide. The opposite Scottish hills, among which her mother first drew -breath, often attracted and fixed her attention, frequently drawing -tears from her eyes, by awaking in her mind the recollection of that -mother's sufferings. - -On a morning, when she sat at work in her apartment, Ellen, who was -considered more as a friend than a servant, sometimes sat with her; the -conversation not unfrequently turned on nurse Edwin's cottage, from -which Ellen, with an arch simplicity, would advert to Tudor Hall, thence -naturally to Lord Mortimer, and conclude with poor Chip, exclaiming: -"What a pity true love should ever be crossed!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - "Some take him for a tool - That knaves do work with, called a fool; - Fools are known by looking wise, - As men find woodcocks by their eyes."--HUDIBRAS. - - -The solitude of Castle Carberry was interrupted in less than a fortnight -by visits and invitations from the neighboring families. The first they -accepted was to dinner at Mr. Kilcorban's. He was a man of large -fortune, which, in the opinion of many, compensated for the want of -polished manners, and a cultivated mind; but others, of a more liberal -way of thinking, could not possibly excuse those deficiencies, which -were more apparent from his pretending to every excellence; and more -intolerable from his deeming himself authorized, by his wealth and -consequence, to say and do almost whatever he pleased. His lady was, -like himself, a compound of ignorance, pride, and vanity. Their -offspring was numerous, and the three who were sufficiently old to make -their appearance, were considered, by their parents and themselves, as -the very models of elegance and perfection. The young heir had been sent -to the University; but, permitted to be his own master, he had profited -little by his residence there. Enough, however, perhaps he thought for a -man of fortune, who wanted not professional knowledge. His face was -coarse, his person inelegant, and his taste in adorning himself -preposterously ridiculous. Fashion, Hoyle, and the looking-glass, were -his chief studies, and, by his family and self, he was considered quite -the thing. - -The young ladies were supposed to be very accomplished, because they had -instructors in almost every branch of education; but, in reality, they -understood little more than the names of what they were attempted to be -taught. Nature had not been lavish of her gifts. Of this, however, they -were conscious, and patched, powdered, and painted in the very extremity -of the mode. Their mornings were generally spent in rolling about in a -coach and six with their mamma, collecting news and paying visits; their -evenings were constantly devoted to company, without which they declared -they could not exist. They sometimes affected languor and sentiment, -talked of friendship, and professed for numbers, the most sincere; yet, -to the very girls they pretended to regard, delighted in exhibiting -their finery, if certain they could not purchase the same, and would -feel mortified by seeing it. - -Mr. Kilcorban had indulged his family in a trip to Bath one autumn, and, -in so doing, had afforded a never-failing subject for conversation; upon -every occasion this delightful excursion was mentioned--the novelties -they saw, the admiration they excited, the elegant intimacies they -formed, the amazing sum they expended, were all described and -exaggerated. - -Lady Greystock, an ancient widow, was at present on a visit to them. She -had known Fitzalan in his youth, and now, with pleasure, renewed her -intimacy with him; and the account she gave of his family and -connections, prepossessed the neighborhood in his favor. She was a -shrewd, sensible woman; the dignity of her person commanded respect, but -the sarcastic expression of her countenance prevented her conciliating -esteem. - -An old chariot belonging to the Earl of Cherbury, which had been for -years unemployed in the coach-house, was brought forth, for the purpose -of conveying Fitzalan and his daughter on their visits. After a good -deal of rubbing and washing, it was found tolerably decent, and they -proceeded in it to Mr. Kilcorban's, which was about two miles from -Castle Carberry. A numerous party was already assembled. While Amanda -was paying her compliments to Mrs. Kilcorban and Lady Greystock, a -general whisper relative to her took place among the younger part of the -company, who had formed themselves into a group quite distant from the -rest. One gentleman swore, "she was a devilish fine girl!" He was -seconded in the remark by another, who extolled her complexion. "You are -a simpleton," cried a young lady, who was reckoned a great wit; "I would -engage for half a crown to get as fine a color in Dublin." Her -companions laughed, and declared she only spoke truth in saying so. Mr. -Bryan Kilcorban, who leaned on her chair, said, "A bill should be -brought into the house to tax such complexions; for kill me," continued -he, "the ladies are so irresistible from nature, it is quite -unconscionable to call in art as an auxiliary." He then stalked over to -Amanda, who sat by Lady Greystock; lolling over her chair, he declared, -"he thought the tedious hours would never elapse till again blessed with -her presence." "Of her," he said, "it was sufficient to have but one -glimpse to make him pant for the second." A summons to dinner relieved -her from this nonsense. Luxury and ostentation were conspicuous in the -fare and decorations of the table, and Amanda never felt any hours so -tedious as those she passed at it. When the ladies returned to the -drawing-room, the Miss Kilcorbans, and their companions, began to -examine and admire her dress. "What a pretty pattern this gown is worked -in!" said one. "What a sweet, becoming cap this is," cried a second. -"Well, certainly the English milliners have a great deal of taste, my -dear," said Miss Kilcorban, whispering to Amanda. "I have a monstrous -favor to ask of you," drawing her at the same instant to the window. "I -am sure," said Amanda, "any in my power to grant I shall with pleasure." -"Oh! really, then, it is in your power. It is only to refuse the pattern -of your cap to any girls who may ask you for it, and to give it me and -my sister. You cannot conceive how we dote on being the first in the -fashion, one is so stared at, and so envied. I detest anything when it -becomes common. You cannot think how we are teased every summer, when we -return from Dublin, for fashions; but we always make it a point to -refuse. I must tell you a delightful trick I played a friend of mine. -She received a large present of the most beautiful muslins from India, -which she laid by till I returned from town, supposing I would let her -see my things, as I always told her I was extremely fond of her. Well, I -lent her a gown, which was quite old-fashioned, but assured her it was -the very newest mode. She accordingly had her beautiful muslins cut in -imitation of it, and so spoiled them from making any other habit. Well, -we met at an assize ball, where all the elegant people of the county -were assembled, and, I declare, I never saw so ridiculous a figure as -she made. When she found herself unlike every one in the room, I really -thought she would have fainted, and that my poor sister and I should -have expired with laughing. Poor thing! the tears absolutely trickled -down her cheeks. Do not you think it was a charming trick?" "Very much -so," said Amanda; "I think it gave a striking specimen of your humor." -"Well, my dear," exclaimed Miss Kilcorban, without minding the marked -emphasis of Amanda's last words, "if you allow us, my sister and I will -call on you to-morrow to look over your things." "It would be giving -yourselves a great deal of unnecessary trouble," replied Amanda, coolly, -who did not by any means relish this forward proposal; "my things can -boast of little but simplicity, and I am always my own milliner." -"Really! well, I protest you have a great deal of taste; my maid, who is -very handy, would, I think, be able to make up things in pretty much the -same style, if you were obliging enough to give her patterns. If you do, -perhaps you will add to the favor, and allow us to say they are the -newest Bath fashions. Was you ever at Bath?" "No." "Oh! then I assure -you, you have a monstrous pleasure to come; it is the sweetest place on -earth--quite a paradise! I declare I thought I should have died with -grief at leaving it. Papa has been inexorable ever since to our -entreaties for a second trip. He says the first cost too much money. -Indeed, it was an enormous sum; only think how much." "I am the worst -person in the world," said Amanda, "for guessing," sick of her -impertinent volubility, and moving from the window. The evening was -fine, and the grounds about the house beautiful; she therefore proposed -a walk. At this proposal, the young ladies, who had hitherto been in -deep confab, looked at each other, and remained silent for some minutes. -Miss Kilcorban, then, who had no notion of gratifying the inclination of -her guest, by the sacrifice of her own, said, "it blew a little, and -that her hair would be ruined, and the Marchelle powder blown from it by -such a walk." Another young lady, looking down at her white satin -slippers, vowed "she would not venture into the grass for worlds." A -third declared, "when once dressed, she could not bear to be tumbled." -Amanda had too much politeness to repeat her wish, and it was, -therefore, unanimously agreed upon among the fair coterie, that they -should continue in the drawing-room, to be in statu quo for the -reappearance of the beaux. - -Lady Greystock now beckoned to our heroine to take a seat by her. She -gladly obeyed. "Well, my dear," said her ladyship, "I hope you have had -enough of these country misses--those would-be misses of the ton." -Amanda smiled assentingly. "Heaven defend me, or any one I like," -continued her ladyship, "from their clack! The confusion of Babel was, I -really believe, inferior to that their tongues create, yet some people -have the absurdity to reckon these girls accomplished. Poor Mrs. -Kilcorban torments one with the perfections of her daughters; against -they are disposed of, which she imagines will be very soon, she has a -new brood of graces training up to bring out. Mercy on me! what a set of -hoydens. I would lay my life, at this very instant they are galloping -about the nursery like a parcel of wild colts, tearing or tormenting an -unfortunate French governess, who was formerly fille de chambre to a -woman of quality, and does not understand even the grammatical part of -her own language." "Mrs. Kilcorban's opinion of her children," said -Amanda, "is natural, considering the partiality of a parent." "Yes; but -not more bearable on that account," replied her ladyship; "and I should -endeavor to open her eyes to her folly, if I thought her acquaintances -would forgive my depriving them of such a fund of amusement." - -Mr. Brian Kilcorban, with some gentlemen, now entered the room, and -advanced to Amanda. "So," said he, "you have got by the dowager; hang -me, but I would let my beard grow, if all women resembled her in their -dispositions." "By the way of appearing sagacious, I suppose," said her -ladyship, who was extremely quick, and had caught the last words. "Alas! -poor youth, no embellishments on the exterior would ever be able to make -us believe the tenement within well furnished." Her ladyship was now -summoned to a whist-table, and Miss Kilcorban immediately took her -vacant seat. "My dear creature!" said she, "are you not bored to death? -Lady Greystock is a queer piece, I can assure you. I suppose she was -asking some favor from you, such as to work her an apron or -handkerchief. She is noted everywhere for requesting such little jobs, -as she calls them; indeed, we should never put up with the trouble she -gives us, but that she is vastly rich, and papa's relation, and has no -one so nearly connected with her as we are." "All very good reasons for -your complaisance," replied Amanda; "but should you not be more careful -in concealing them?" "Oh, Lord! no; every one knows them as well as we -do ourselves. She was here last summer, and took a fancy to the pattern -of an apron of mine; and made me the reasonable request of working one -like it for her. All this she pretended was to prevent my being idle. -Well, I said I would, and wrote up to the Moravian House in Dublin, -where I had got mine, for one exactly like it. In due time I received -and presented it to the dowager, certain that, in return I should -receive a few of her diamond pins, which she had often heard me admire. -They are the prettiest I ever saw, and quite unfit for her, but she had -the cruelty to disappoint me." "Upon my faith!" cried Mrs. Kilcorban, -who had taken a chair at the other side of Amanda, and listened with -evident pleasure to her daughter's voluble speech, "Lady Greystock is an -odd being; I never met with any one like her in all my travels through -England, Ireland, and Wales; but she is a great orator, and possesses -the gift of the gab in a wonderful degree." - -"Ah, indeed," thought Amanda; "and you and your fair daughters resemble -her in that respect." After tea, she was prevailed on to sit down to -commerce; but she soon grew as tired of the party as of the game, and -lost on purpose to be released. She had hoped for a little more chat -with Lady Greystock; but her ladyship was passionately fond of cards, -and at all times would have preferred the pleasures of a card-table to -the eloquence of a Cicero. Kilcorban, on finding her disengaged, -tormented her with many absurd compliments. A challenge to a brag-table -at length relieved her from his nonsense, and she loitered about the -card-tables till they broke up for supper. - -Amanda always expressed to her father her sentiments of any company she -had been in; and those she now delivered, on quitting the party, -perfectly coincided with his. He laughed at the account which the -Kilcorbans had given of Lady Greystock, to whom he knew they paid the -most extravagant flattery, in hopes of obtaining some of her large -fortune. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - "Remote from man, with God they passed their days, - Prayer all their business, all their pleasure praise."--PARNELL. - - -The following evening they were engaged to spend at a farmer's. The -invitation was given with such humility, yet pressed with such warmth, -that they could not avoid accepting it, and accordingly, soon after -dinner, walked to the house, which was about a mile from Castle -Carberry. It was a low thatched building--every appendage to it bespoke -neatness and comfort. It was situated in a beautiful meadow, enclosed -from the road by a hawthorn hedge, and on the opposite side lay an -extensive common, on which stood the stupendous and venerable ruins of -an abbey, called St. Catherine's. They appeared a melancholy monument of -the power of time over strength and grandeur; and while they attracted -the observation of the curious, excited a sigh in the bosom of -sensibility. - -The farmer's family consisted of three daughters and two sons, who were -now dressed in their best array. They had assembled a number of their -neighbors, among whom was a little fat priest, called Father -O'Gallaghan--considered the life of every party--and a blind piper. The -room was small, and crowded with furniture as well as company. It was -only divided from the kitchen by a short passage, and the steam of hot -cakes, and the smoke of a turf fire, which issued thence, soon rendered -it distressingly warm. Amanda got as near the window as possible, but -still could not procure sufficient air; and as everything for tea was -not quite ready, asked one of the Miss O'Flannaghans if she would -accompany her to St. Catherine's. She answered in the affirmative. The -priest, who had been smirking at her ever since her entrance, now shook -his fat sides, and said he wished he could get her initiated there; "for -it would do my soul good," cried he, "to confess such a pretty little -creature as you are. Though faith, I believe I should find you like -Paddy McDenough, who used to come to confession every Easter, though the -devil a thing the poor man had to confess about at all at all. So, says -I to him, Paddy, my jewel, says I, I believe I must make a saint of you, -and lay you on the altar." "Oh! honey, father!" cried he, "not yet -awhile, till I get a new suit of clothes on, which I shall by next -Michaelmas." Amanda left them all laughing at this story, and her father -engaged in conversation with some farmers, who were desiring his -interest with Lord Cherbury, for new leases on moderate terms. - -Amanda had about a quarter of a mile to walk across the common; the -ground was marshy and uneven, and numerous stumps of trees denoted its -having once been a noble forest, of which no memorial but these stumps, -and a few tall trees immediately near the abbey, remained, that -stretched their venerable arms around it, as if to shade that ruin whose -progress they had witnessed, and which Amanda found well worthy of -inspection. She was equally astonished at its elegance and extent; with -sacred awe traversing the spacious cloisters, the former walks of holy -meditation, she pursued her way through winding passages, where vestiges -of cells were yet discernible, over whose mouldering arches the grass -waved in rank luxuriance, and the creeping ivy spread its gloomy -foliage, and viewed with reverence the graves of those who had once -inhabited them; they surrounded that of the founder's, which was -distinguished by a cross, and Miss O'Flannaghan related the traditions -that were current concerning him. He was a holy monk who had the care of -a pious lady's conscience; she, on her death-bed, had a remarkable -dream, or vision, in which she thought an angel appeared, and charged -her to bequeath her wealth to her confessor, who would, no doubt, make a -much better use of it than those she designed it for. She obeyed the -sacred injunction, and the good man immediately laid the foundation of -this abbey, which he called after his benefactress, and to which he, and -the community he belonged to, removed. The chapel was roofless, but -still retained many relics of superstitious piety, which had escaped, in -a tolerable degree, both time and weather. Saints and martyrs were -curiously cut over the places where the altars and cisterns for holy -water had once stood, to which Amanda passed through a long succession -of elegant arches, among which were a number of tombstones, with curious -devices, and unintelligible inscriptions. Half hid by grass and weeds, -on a flag, which she perceived must have been lately placed there, she -saw some faded flowers strewn, and looking at her companion, saw a tear -dropping from her on them. She gently asked the cause of it, and heard a -favorite brother was interred there. The girl moved from the spot, but -Amanda, detained by an irrepressible emotion, stayed a minute longer to -contemplate the awful scene. All was silent, sad, and solitary; the -grass-grown aisles looked long untrodden by human foot, the green and -mouldering walls appeared ready to crumble into atoms, and the wind, -which howled through their crevices, sounded to the ear of fancy as -sighs of sorrow for the desolation of the place. Full of moralizing -melancholy, the young, the lovely Amanda, hung over the grave of her -companion's youthful brother; and taking up the withered flower, wet -with the tear of sisterly affection, dropped another on it, and cried, -"Oh! how fit an emblem is this of life! how illustrative of these -words-- - - 'Man comes forth as a flower in the field, and is soon cut down.'" - -Miss O'Flannaghan now led her through some more windings, when, suddenly -emerging from them, she found herself, to her great surprise, in a large -garden, entirely encompassed by the ruins, and in the centre of it stood -a long low building, which her companion informed her was a convent; a -folding door at the side opened into the chapel, which they entered, and -found a nun praying. - -Amanda drew back, fearful of disturbing her; but Miss O'Flannaghan -accosted her without ceremony, and the nun returned the salutation with -the most cordial good-humor. She was fifty, as Amanda afterwards heard, -for she never could, from her appearance, have conceived her to be so -much. Her skin was fair, and perfectly free from wrinkle; the bloom and -down upon her cheeks as bright and as soft as that upon a peach; though -her accent at one proclaimed her country, it was not unharmonious; and -the cheerful obligingness of her manner amply compensated the want of -elegance. She wore the religious habit of the house, which was a loose -flannel dress, bound round her waist by a girdle, from which hung her -beads and a cross; a veil of the same stuff descended to the ground, and -a mob cap, and forehead cloth, quite concealed her hair.[A] Miss -O'Flannaghan presented Amanda to her as a stranger, who wished to see -everything curious in the chapel. "Ah! my honey," cried she, "I am sorry -she has come at a time when she will see us all in the dismals, for you -know we are in mourning for our prioress (the altar was hung in black): -but, my dear (turning to Amanda), do you mean to come here next Sunday? -for if you do, you will find us all bright again." Upon Amanda's -answering in the negative, she continued, "Faith, and I am sorry for -that, for I have taken a great fancy to you, and when I like a person, I -always wish them as great a chance of happiness as I have myself." -Amanda, smiling, said, she believed none could desire a greater, and the -nun obligingly proceeded to show her all the relics and finery of the -chapel; among the former was a head belonging to one of the eleven -thousand virgin martyrs, and the latter, a chest full of rich silks, -which pious ladies had given for the purpose of dressing the altar. -Pulling a drawer from under it, she displayed a quantity of artificial -flowers, which she said were made by the sisters and their scholars. -Amanda wished to make a recompense for the trouble she had given, and -finding they were to be sold, purchased a number, and having given some -to Miss O'Flannaghan, whom she observed viewing them with a wishful eye, -she left the rest with the nun, promising to call for them the next day. -"Ay, do," said she, "and you may be sure of a sincere welcome. You will -see a set of happy poor creatures, and none happier than myself. I -entered the convent at ten; I took the vows at fifteen, and from that -time to the present, which is a long stretch, I have passed a contented -life, thanks be to our blessed lady!" raising her sparkling eyes to -heaven. They ascended a few steps to the place where the community sat. -It was divided from the body of the chapel by a slight railing. Here -stood the organ. The nun sighed as she looked at it. "Poor sister -Agatha," cried she, "we shall never get such another organist. She was -always fit indeed for the heavenly choir. Oh! my dear," turning to -Amanda, "had you known her, you would have loved her. She was our late -prioress, and elected to that office at twenty-nine, which is reckoned -an early age for it, on account of the cleverness it requires. She had -held it but two years when she died, and we never were so comfortable as -during her time, she managed so well. The mourning in the chapel, as I -have already told you, will be over for her next Sunday; but that which -is in our hearts will not be so speedily removed." Miss O'Flannaghan now -reminded Amanda it was time to return, to which, with secret reluctance, -she consented. The nun pressed her to stay to tea; but, on hearing of -her engagement, only reminded her of the promised visit. In their walk -back, her companion informed Amanda that the society consisted of twelve -nuns. Their little fortunes, though sunk in one common fund, were -insufficient to supply their necessities, which compelled them to keep a -day-school, in which the neighboring children were instructed in -reading, writing, plain-work, embroidery, and artificial flowers. She -also added, that the nuns were allowed to go out, but few availed -themselves of that liberty, and that, except in fasting, they were -strangers to the austerities practised in foreign convents. - - Footnote A: The Abbey and the Nun, which the Author has - attempted to describe, were such as she really saw, but in a - different part of Ireland from that which she has mentioned. - -For such a society Amanda thought nothing could be better adapted than -their present situation. Sheltered by the ruins, like the living -entombed among the dead, their wishes, like their views, were bounded by -the mouldering walls, as no object appeared beyond them which could -tempt their wandering from their usual limits. The dreary common, which -met their view, could not be more bleak and inhospitable than the world -in general would have proved to these children of poverty and nature. - -Father O'Gallaghan met the ladies at the door, and, familiarly taking -Amanda's hand, said, "Why, you have stayed long enough to be made a nun -of. Here," said he, "the cakes are buttered, the tea made, and we are -all waiting for you. Ah! you little rogue," smirking in her face, "by -the head of St. Patrick, those twinklers of yours were not given for the -good of your soul. Here you are come to play pell-mell among the hearts -of the honest Irish lads. Ah, the devil a doubt but you will have -mischief enough to answer for by and by, and then I suppose you will be -coming to me to confess and absolve you; but remember, my little honey, -if you do, I must be paid beforehand." Amanda disengaged her hand, and -entered the parlor, where the company, by a display of -pocket-handkerchiefs on their laps, seemed prepared to make a downright -meal of the good things before them. The Miss O'Flannaghans, from the -toils of the tea-table, at last grew as red as the ribbon with which -they were profusely ornamented. The table at length removed, the chairs -arranged, and benches placed in the passage for the old folks, the -signal for a dance was given by the piper's playing an Irish jig. The -farmer's eldest son, habited in his sky-blue coat, his hair combed sleek -on his forehead, and his complexion as bright as a full-blown poppy, -advanced to our heroine, and begged, with much modesty, and many bows, -she would do him the favor to stand up with him. She hesitated a little, -when Father O'Gallaghan, giving her a tap, or rather slap, on the -shoulder, made her start suddenly from her seat. He laughed heartily at -this, declaring he liked to see a girl alive and merry. As he could not -join in the dance, he consoled himself with being master of the -ceremonies, and insisted on Amanda's dancing and leading off the priest -in his boots. She felt little inclined to comply; but she was one of -those who can sacrifice their own inclination to that of others. Being -directed in the figure by the priest, she went down the dance, but the -floor being an earthen one, by the time she had concluded it, she begged -they would excuse her sitting the remainder of the evening, she felt so -extremely fatigued. She and Fitzalan would gladly have declined staying -supper, but this they found impossible, without either greatly -mortifying, or absolutely offending their hospitable entertainers. - -The table was covered with a profusion of good country fare, and none -seemed to enjoy it more truly than the priest. In the intervals of -eating, his jests flew about in every direction. The scope he gave to -his vivacity exhilarated the rest, so that, like Falstaff, he was not -only witty himself, but a promoter of wit in others. "Pray, father," -said a young man to him, "what do you give in return for all the good -cheer you get?" "My blessing, to be sure," replied he. "What better -could I give?" "Ay, so you may think, but that is not the case with us -all, I promise you. It is so pithy, I must tell you a story about that -same thing called a priest's blessing. A poor man went one day to a -priest, who had the name of being very rich and very charitable; but as -all we hear is not gospel, so the poor man doubted a little the truth of -the latter report, and resolved on trying him. 'Father,' says he, 'I -have met with great losses. My cabin was burned, my pigs stolen, and my -cow fell into a ditch and broke her neck; so I am come to ask your -reverence, for the love of heaven, to lend me a crown.' 'A crown!' -repeated the angry and astonished priest. 'O! you rogue, where do you -think I could get money to lend, except, like yourself, I had pilfered -and stolen?' 'O! that is neither here nor there,' replied the man. 'You -know I cleared the score on my conscience with you long ago, so tell me, -father, if you will lend me half a crown?' 'No, nor a shilling.' 'Well, -a farthing, then; anything from such a good man as you.' 'No,' said the -priest, 'not a mite.' 'Mayn't I have your blessing?' then asked the man. -'Oh! that you shall, and welcome,' replied he, smiling. 'Why, then, -father,' returned the other, 'I would refuse it if you forced it upon -me; for, do you see, had it been worth one farthing, you would have -refused it to me.'" - -"You have put me in mind of a very curious story," exclaimed another -young man, as this one concluded his. "A young knight went into a chapel -in Spain one morning, where he observed a monk standing in a -supplicating attitude, with a box in his hand. He asked him what this -was for, and learned, to collect money for praying the souls of fifty -Christians out of purgatory, whom the Moors had murdered. The knight -threw a piece of money into the box, and the monk, after repeating a -short prayer, exclaimed, 'There is one soul redeemed.' The knight threw -in a second, and the priest, after the same ceremony, cried, 'There is -another free.' Thus they both went on, one giving, and the other -praying, till, by the monk's account, all the souls were free. 'Are you -sure of this?' inquired the knight. 'Ay,' replied the priest, 'they are -all assembled together at the gate of heaven, which St. Peter gladly -opened for them, and they are now joyfully seated in Paradise.' 'From -whence they cannot be removed, I suppose,' said the knight. 'Removed!' -repeated the astonished priest. 'No, the world itself might be easier -moved.' 'Then, if you please, holy father, return me my ducats; they -have accomplished the purpose for which they were given, and, as I am -only a poor cavalier, without a chance of being as happily situated, at -least for some years, as the souls we have mutually contributed to -release, I stand in great need of them.'" - -Fitzalan was surprised at the freedom with which they treated the -priest; but he laughed as merrily as the rest at their stories, for he -knew that, though they sometimes allowed themselves a little latitude, -they neither wished nor attempted to shake off his power. - -Fitzalan and Amanda withdrew as early as possible from the party, which, -if it wanted every other charm, had that of novelty, at least to them. -The next morning Amanda repaired to the convent, and inquired for Sister -Mary, the good-natured nun she had seen the preceding evening. She -immediately made her appearance, and was delighted at seeing Amanda. She -conducted her to the school-room, where the rest of the nuns and the -pupils were assembled; and Amanda was delighted with the content and -regularity which appeared in the society, as well as the obliging -eagerness they showed to gratify her curiosity. They led her through the -house, which contained a number of apartments, every nun having one to -herself, furnished with a bed, chair, table, and crucifix, and then to -the parlor, where their new prioress sat. She was a woman far advanced -in life. Had a painter wanted to personify benevolence, he might have -chosen her for a model--so soft, so benignant was her countenance. -Sorrow, as well as time, had marked it deeply; but the mild expression -of her eyes announced the most perfect resignation to that sorrow. She -received Amanda with the truest politeness and most friendly warmth; and -Amanda felt impressed with real reverence for her, whilst she -acknowledged in her mind there could not be a happier situation for her -than her present. She thought it a pity the world had been deprived of a -woman who would have proved such an ornament to it. Sister Mary -disappeared, but returned in a few minutes with cake and currant-wine, -which she forced Amanda to take. The good sister was enchanted with her -young visitor, and having no idea of concealing her feelings, she openly -expressed her admiration. "Dear mother," said she, addressing the -prioress, "is she not a lovely creature? What pretty eyes she has got, -and what sweet little hands! Oh, if our blessed lady would but touch her -heart, and make her become one of us, I should be so happy." The -prioress smiled; she was not so great an enthusiast as Sister Mary. "It -would be a pity," said she, "so sweet a flower should be hid amidst the -ruins of St. Catherine's." - -Amanda made an addition to the flowers; she was thanked by the nuns, and -entreated to favor them often with a visit. Just as she reached Castle -Carberry, she saw the Kilcorbans' carriage stop at it, from which Lady -Greystock and the young ladies alighted. They both spoke at once, and so -extremely fast that Amanda scarcely understood what they said. They -declared a thousand impertinent visitors had prevented their coming the -preceding morning and looking at the things she had obligingly promised -to show them. Amanda recollected no such promise, but would not -contradict them, and permitted their taking what patterns they liked. -Lady Greystock smiled sarcastically at her young kinswomen, and -expressed a wish to see the castle. Amanda led her through it. Her -ladyship was particularly pleased with the dressing-room. Here the young -ladies, with rude and eager curiosity, examined everything; but her -ladyship, who was full as curious as themselves, could not condemn -freedoms she took herself. Observing a petticoat in a tambour-frame, -she admired the pattern; and hearing it was designed by Amanda, extolled -her fine taste, and declared she should of all things like to have one -worked in the same. This hint was too plain to pass unnoticed. Amanda -wished to oblige, particularly any one advanced in life, and told her -ladyship she would work one for her. Lady Greystock smiled most -graciously at this, and pressing her hand, declared she was a charming -girl. The Miss Kilcorbans winked slyly, and, taking her hand in turn, -assured her they had conceived a most ardent friendship for her, and -hoped she would often favor them with her company. Amanda answered those -insincere professions with cool civility, and the visitors departed. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - "Oh! fields, oh! woods, when, when, shall I be made - The happy tenant of your shade!"--COWLEY. - - -Solitude to Amanda was a luxury, as it afforded her opportunities of -indulging the ideas on which her heart delighted to dwell; she yet -believed she should see Lord Mortimer, and that Lord Cherbury's -sanctioning their attachment would remove the delicate scruples of her -father. From soothing his passing hours, beguiling her own with the -accomplishments she possessed, and indulging the tender suggestions of -hope, a pleasure arose she thought ill exchanged for the trifling gayety -of the parties she was frequently invited to; she was never at a loss -for amusement within Castle Carberry, or about its domain; the garden -became the object of her peculiar care; its situation was romantic, and -long neglect had added to its natural wildness. Amanda in many places -discovered vestiges of taste, and wished to restore all to primeval -beauty. The fruit-trees were matted together, the alleys grass-grown, -and the flowers choked with weeds; on one side lay a small wilderness, -which surrounded a gothic temple, and on the other green slopes with -masses of naked rock projecting through them; a flight of rugged steps, -cut in the living rock, led to a cave on the summit of one of the -highest, a cross rudely carved upon the wall, and the remains of a -matted couch, denoted this having formerly been a hermitage; it overhung -the sea, and all about it were tremendous crags, against which the -waves beat with violence. Over a low-arched door was a smooth stone, -with the following lines engraved upon it:-- - - "The pilgrim oft - At dead of night, amid his orisons hears - Aghast the voice of time--disparting towers - Tumbling all precipitate down, dashed - Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon."--DYER. - -Under Amanda's superintending care, the garden soon lost its rude -appearance, a new couch was procured for the hermitage, which she -ornamented with shells and sea-weeds, rendering it a most delightful -recess; the trees were pruned, the alleys cleared of opposing brambles, -and over the wall of the gothic temple she hung the flowers she had -purchased at St. Catherine's, in fanciful wreaths. - -She often ascended the devious path of the mountain, which stretched -beyond Castle Carberry, and beheld the waves glittering in the sunbeams, -from which its foliage sheltered her. But no visionary pleasures, no -delightful rambles, no domestic avocations made her forgetful to the -calls of benevolence; she visited the haunts of poverty, and relieved -its necessities to the utmost of her power; the wretchedness so often -conspicuous among many of the lower rank, filled her not only with -compassion, but surprise, as she had imagined that liberty and a -fruitful soil were generally attended with comfort and prosperity. Her -father, to whom she communicated this idea, informed her that the -indigence of the peasants proceeded in a great degree from the -emigration of their land-lords. "Their wealth," said he, "is spent in -foreign lands, instead of enriching those from whence it was drawn; -policy should sometimes induce them to visit their estates; the revenue -of half a year spent on them would necessarily benefit the poor wretches -whose labors have contributed to raise it; and by exciting their -gratitude, add inclination to industry, and consequently augment their -profits. - -"The clouds which are formed by mists and exhalations, return to the -places from whence they were drawn in fertilizing showers and refreshing -dews, and almost every plant enriches the soil from which it sprung. -Nature, indeed, in all her works, is a glorious precedent to man; but -while enslaved by dissipation, he cannot follow her example, and what -exquisite sources of enjoyment does he lose--to enlighten the toils of -labor, to cheer the child of poverty, to raise the drooping head of -merit--oh! how superior to the revels of dissipation, or the ostentation -of wealth. - -"Real happiness is forsaken for a gaudy phantom called pleasure; she is -seldom grasped but for a moment--yet in that moment has power to fix -envenomed stings within the breast. The heart which delights in domestic -joys, which rises in pious gratitude to heaven, which melts at human -woe, can alone experience true pleasure. The fortitude with which the -peasants bear their sufferings should cure discontent of its murmurs; -they support adversity without complaining, and those who possess a pile -of turf against the severity of the winter, a small strip of ground -planted with cabbage and potatoes, a cow, a pig, and some poultry, think -themselves completely happy, though one wretched hovel shelters all -alike." - -Oh! how rapturous! thought Amanda--the idea of Lord Mortimer's feeling -recurring to her mind--to change such scenes; to see the clay-built -hovel vanish, and a dwelling of neatness and convenience rise in its -stead; to wander, continued she, with him whose soul is fraught with -sensibility, and view the projects of benevolence realized by the hand -of charity; see the faded cheek of misery regain the glow of health, - - "The desert blossom as the rose," - -and content and cheerfulness sport beneath its shades. - -From such an ecstatic reverie as this, Amanda was roused one morning by -the entrance of the Kilcorbans and Lady Greystock into the dressing-room -where she was working. "Oh! my dear!" cried the eldest of the young -ladies, "we have such enchanting news to tell you. Only think, who is -coming down here immediately--your uncle and aunt and cousin. An express -came this morning from Dublin, where they now are, to the steward at -Ulster Lodge, to have everything prepared against next week for them." -"I declare," said Miss Alicia, "I shall quite envy you the delightful -amusement you will have with them." Amanda blushed, and felt a little -confused. "You will have no reason, then, I fancy," replied she, "for I -really do not know them." "Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Mrs. Kilcorban, "well, -that is very comical, not to know your own relations; but perhaps they -always lived in Scotland, and you were afraid to cross the sea to pay -them a visit." "If that was the only fear she had," said Lady Greystock, -with a satirical smile, "she could easily have surmounted it: besides, -would it not have held good with respect to one place as well as -another?" "Well, I never thought of that," cried Mrs. Kilcorban: "but -pray, miss, may I ask the reason why you do not know them by letter?" -"It can be of very little consequence to you, madam," replied Amanda, -coolly, "to hear it." "They say Lady Euphrasia Sutherland is very -accomplished," exclaimed Miss Kilcorban; "so a correspondence with her -would have been delightful. I dare say you write sweetly yourself; so if -ever you leave Castle Carberry, I beg you will favor me with letters, -for of all things, I doat on a sentimental correspondence." "No wonder," -said Lady Greystock, "you are so particularly well qualified to support -one." "But, my dear!" resumed Miss Kilcorban, "we are to give the most -enchanting ball that ever was given in this world! Papa says we shall -have full liberty to do as we please respecting it." "It will be a -troublesome affair, I am afraid," said Mrs. Kilcorban. "We are to have -confectioners and French cooks from Dublin," continued her daughter, -without minding this interruption. "Everything is to be quite in style -and prepared against the third night of the marquis and marchioness's -arrival; so, my dear, you and your papa will hold yourselves in -readiness for our summons." Amanda bowed. "My sister and I are to have -dancing dresses from town, but I will not give you an idea of the manner -in which we have ordered them to be made. I assure you, you will be -absolutely surprised and charmed when you see them. All the elegant men -in the country will be at our entertainment. I dare say you will be -vastly busy preparing for it." "Nature," said Lady Greystock, "has been -too bounteous to Miss Fitzalan, to render such preparations necessary." -"Oh, Lord!" cried the young ladies, with a toss of their heads, "Miss -Fitzalan is not such a fool, I suppose, as to wish to appear unlike -every one else in her dress, but," rising with their mamma, and saluting -her much more formally than they had done at their entrance, "she is the -best judge of that." - -Fitzalan had never seen the marchioness since his marriage, nor did he -ever again wish to behold her. The inhumanity with which she had treated -her lovely sister--the malice with which she had augmented her father's -resentment against the poor sufferer, had so strongly prepossessed his -mind with ideas of the selfishness and implacability of hers, as to -excite sentiments of distaste and aversion for her. He considered her as -the usurper of his children's rights--as accessory to the death of his -adored Malvina, and consequently the author of the agonies he -endured--agonies which time, aided by religion, could scarcely conquer. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - "Oh love, how are thy precious, sweetest minutes - Thus ever crossed, thus vexed with disappointments; - Now pride, now fickleness, fantastic quarrels, - And sullen coldness give us pain by turns."--ROWE. - - -At the expected time, the marquis and his family arrived with great -splendor at Ulster Lodge, which was immediately crowded with visitors of -the first consequence in the county, among whom were the Kilcorbans, -whose affluent fortune gave them great respectability. Mr. Kilcorban -wished, indeed, to be first in paying his compliments to the marquis, -who had a borough in his disposal he was desirous of being returned for. -Disappointed the last time he set up as one of the candidates for the -county, this was his only chance of entering that house he had long been -ambitious for a seat in. He knew, indeed, his oratorical powers were not -very great--often saying, he had not the gift of the gab like many of -the honorable gentlemen; but then he could stamp and stare, and look up -to the gods and goddesses[B] for their approbation, with the best of -them; and, besides, his being a member of parliament would increase his -consequence, at least in the country. - - Footnote B: Ladies were admitted to the gallery of the Irish - House of Commons. - -The female part of his family went from Ulster Lodge to Castle Carberry, -which they entered with a more consequential air than ever, as if they -derived new consequence from the visit they had been paying. Instead of -flying up to Amanda, as usual, the young ladies swam into the room, with -what they imagined, a most bewitching elegance, and, making a sliding -curtsey, flung themselves upon a sofa, exactly opposite a glass, and -alternately viewed themselves, and pursued their remarks on Lady -Euphrasia's dress. "Well, certainly, Alicia," said Miss Kilcorban, "I -will have a morning gown made in imitation of her ladyship's: that frill -of fine lace about the neck is the most becoming thing in nature; and -the pale blue lining sweetly adapted for a delicate complexion." "I -think, Charlotte," cried Miss Alicia, "I will have my tambour muslin in -the same style, but lined with pink to set off the work." - -"This aunt' of yours, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Kilcorban, "is really a -personable-looking woman enough, and her daughter a pretty little sort -of body." - -"Oh! they are charming creatures," cried both the young ladies; "so -elegant, so irresistibly genteel." - -"Your ideas and mine, then," said Lady Greystock, "differ widely about -elegance and irresistibility, if you ascribe either to the ladies in -question. Mr. Kilcorban," continued she, turning to Amanda, "feared, I -believe, my Lord Marquis would fly across the sea in a few hours; and -that he might catch him ere he took wing, never ceased tormenting us, -from the time breakfast was over till we entered the carriage, to make -haste, though he might have known it was quite too early for fine folks -to be visible. - -"Well, we posted off to Ulster Lodge, as if life and death depended on -our dispatch. Mr. Kilcorban was ushered into the marquis's study, and we -into an empty room, to amuse ourselves, if we pleased, with portraits of -the marquis's ancestors; whilst bells in all quarters were -tingling--maids and footmen running up and down stairs--and cats, dogs, -monkeys, and parrots, which I found composed part of the travelling -retinue, were scratching, barking, chattering, and screaming, in a room -contiguous to the one we occupied. At length a fine, perfumed jessamy -made his appearance, and saying the ladies were ready to have the honor -of receiving us, skipped up stairs like a harlequin. The marchioness -advanced about two steps from her couch to receive us, and Lady -Euphrasia half rose from her seat, and after contemplating us for a -minute, as if to know whether we were to be considered as human -creatures or not, sunk back into her former attitude of elegant languor, -and continued her conversation with a young nobleman who had accompanied -them from England." - -"Well, I hope you will allow he is a divine creature," exclaimed Miss -Kilcorban, in an accent of rapture. "Oh! what eyes he has," cried her -sister; "what an harmonious voice! I really never beheld any one so -exquisitely handsome!" - -"Lord Mortimer, indeed," said Lady Greystock--Amanda started, blushed, -turned pale, panted as if for breath, and stared as if in amazement. -"Bless me, Miss Fitzalan," asked her ladyship, "are you ill?" "No, -madam," replied Amanda, in a trembling voice; "'tis only--'tis only a -little palpitation of the heart I am subject to. I have interrupted your -ladyship; pray proceed." "Well," continued Lady Greystock, "I was saying -that Lord Mortimer was one of the most elegant and engaging young men I -had ever beheld. His expressive eyes seemed to reprove the folly of his -fair companion; and her neglect made him doubly assiduous, which to me -was a most convincing proof of a noble mind." - -How did the heart of Amanda swell with pleasure at this warm eulogium on -Lord Mortimer! The tear of delight, of refined affection, sprung to her -eye, and could scarcely be prevented falling. - -"Lord, madam," cried Miss Kilcorban, whose pride was mortified at -Amanda's hearing of the cool reception they had met with, "I can't -conceive the reason you ascribe such rudeness and conceit to Lady -Euphrasia; 'tis really quite a misconstruction of the etiquette -necessary to be observed by people of rank." - -"I am glad, my dear," replied Lady Greystock, "you are now beginning to -profit by the many lessons I have given you on humility." - -"I assure you, Miss," said Mrs. Kilcorban, "I did not forget to tell the -marchioness she had a niece in the neighborhood. I thought, indeed, she -seemed a little shy on the subject; so I suppose there has been a -difference in the families, particularly as you don't visit her; but, at -our ball, perhaps, everything may be settled." Amanda made no reply to -this speech, and the ladies departed. - -Her bosom, as may well be supposed, was agitated with the most violent -perturbations on hearing of Lord Mortimer's being in the neighborhood. -The pleasure she felt at the first intelligence gradually subsided on -reflecting he was an inmate, probably a friend, of those relations who -had contributed to the destruction of her mother; and who, from the -character she had heard of them, it was not uncharitable to think, would -feel no great regret, if her children experienced a destiny equally -severe. Might they not infuse some prejudices against her into his -bosom; to know she was the child of the unfortunate Malvina, would be -enough to provoke their enmity; or, if they were silent, might not Lady -Euphrasia, adorned with every advantage of rank and fortune, have won, -or at least soon win, his affections? - -Yet scarcely did these ideas obtrude, ere she reproached herself for -them as injurious to Lord Mortimer, from whose noble nature she thought -she might believe his constancy never would be shaken, except she -herself gave him reason to relinquish it. - -She now cheered her desponding spirits, by recalling the ideas she had -long indulged with delight, as her residence was still a secret to the -Edwins, whose letters to their daughter were, by Fitzalan's orders, -constantly directed to a distant town from whence hers, in return, were -sent. She concluded chance had informed Lord Mortimer of it, and -flattered herself, that to avoid the suspicion which a solitary journey -to Ireland might create in the mind of Lord Cherbury, he had availed -himself of the Marquis's party, and come to try whether she was -unchanged, and her father would sanction their attachment, ere he avowed -it to the earl. - -Whilst fluctuating between hope and fear, Ellen, all pale and -breathless, ran into the room, exclaiming, "He is come! he is come! Lord -Mortimer is come!" - -"Oh, heavens!" sighed Amanda, sinking back in her chair and dropping her -trembling hands before her. Ellen, alarmed, blamed herself for her -precipitation, and, flying to a cabinet snatched a bottle of lavender -water from it, which she plentifully sprinkled over her, and then -assisted her to a window. "I was so flurried," cried the good-natured -girl, as she saw her mistress recovering, "I did not know what I was -about. Heaven knows, the sight of poor Chip himself could not have given -me more pleasure. I was crossing the hall when I saw his lortship -alighting; and to be sure, if one of the old warriors had stepped out of -his niche--and the tefil take them all, I say, for they grin so horribly -they frighten me out of my wits if I go through the hall of a dark -evening--so if one of them old fellows, as I was saying, had jumped out, -I could not have peen more startled, and pack I ran into the little -parlor, and there I heard his lortship inquiring for my master; and to -be sure the sound of his voice did my heart good, for he is an old -friend, as one may say. So as soon as he went into the study, I stole up -stairs; and one may guess what he and my master are talking about, I -think." - -The emotion of Amanda increased. She trembled so she could not stand. -She felt as if her destiny, her future happiness, depended on this -minute. In vain she endeavored to regain composure. Her spirits were -wound up to the highest pitch of expectation, and the agitations -inseparable from such a state were not to be repressed. - -She continued near an hour in this situation, when the voice of Mortimer -struck her ear. She started up, and, standing in the centre of the room, -saw him walking down the lawn with her father, who left him when he had -reached the gate, where his servants and horses were. The chill of -disappointment pervaded the heart of Amanda, and a shower of tears fell -from her. Ellen, who had remained in the room, was almost as much -disappointed as her mistress. She muttered something about the -inconstancy of men. They were all, for her part, she believed, alike; -all like Mr. Chip--captious on every occasion. The dinner-bell now -summoned Amanda. She dried her eyes, and tied on a little straw hat to -conceal their redness. With much confusion she appeared before her -father. His penetrating eye was instantly struck with her agitation and -pallid looks, and he conjectured she knew of the visit he had received. -On receiving that visit, he wondered not at the strength of her -attachment. The noble and ingenuous air of Lord Mortimer had immediately -prepossessed Fitzalan in his favor. He saw him adorned with all those -perfections which are calculated to make a strong and permanent -impression on a heart of sensibility, and he gave a sigh to the cruel -necessity which compelled him to separate two beings of such congenial -loveliness; but as that necessity neither was or could be overcome, he -rejoiced that Lord Mortimer, instead of visiting him on account of his -daughter, had merely come on affairs relative to the castle, and had -inquired for her with a coolness which seemed to declare his love -totally subdued. Not the smallest hint relative to the letter in which -he had proposed for her dropped from him, and Fitzalan concluded his -affections were transferred to some object more the favorite of fortune -than his portionless Amanda. - -This object, he was inclined to believe, was Lady Euphrasia Sutherland, -from what Lord Cherbury had said concerning the splendid alliance he had -in view for his son, and from Lord Mortimer's accompanying the Roslin -family to Ireland. - -He felt he had not fortitude to mention those conjectures to Amanda. He -rather wished she should imbibe them from her own observation; and -pride, he then trusted, would come to her aid, and stimulate her to -overcome her attachment. Dinner passed in silence. When the servant was -withdrawn, he resolved to relieve the anxiety which her looks informed -him pressed upon her heart, by mentioning the visit of Lord Mortimer. He -came, he told her, merely to see the state the castle was in, and thus -proceeded: "Lord Mortimer is, indeed, an elegant and sensible young man, -and will do honor to the house from which he is descended. He had long -wished, he told me, to visit this estate, which was endeared to him by -the remembrance of his juvenile days, but particularly by its being the -place of his mother's nativity, and her favorite residence; and the -opportunity of travelling with an agreeable party, had determined him no -longer to defer gratifying this wish. - -"He mentioned his mother in terms of the truest respect and tenderness; -and his softened voice, his tearful eye, proclaimed his heart the -mansion of sensibility. His virtues, like his praises, will do honor to -her memory. He had been told the castle was in a very ruinous state, and -was agreeably surprised to find it in as good order as could be expected -from its ancient date. He desired to see the garden, which had been laid -out under the direction of his mother. He expected not to have found a -vestige of her taste remaining, and was consequently charmed to find -himself mistaken. Every spot appeared to remind him of some happy hour, -especially the gothic temple. 'How many happy minutes have I passed in -this place,' said his lordship, after a silence for some time, 'with the -best of women.'--Upon my word, Amanda," continued Fitzalan, "you have -ornamented it in a very fanciful manner. I really thought his lordship -would have stolen some of your lilies or roses, he examined them so -accurately." Amanda blushed, and her father still perceiving expectation -in her eyes, thus went on: "His lordship looked at some of the adjacent -grounds; and as he has mentioned what improvements he thought necessary -to be made in them, I fancy he will not repeat his visit, or stay much -longer in the kingdom." - -In a few minutes after this conversation Fitzalan repaired to his -library, and Amanda to the garden. She hastened to the temple. Never had -she before thought it so picturesque, or such an addition to the -landscape. The silence of Lord Mortimer on entering it, she did not, -like her father, believe proceeded altogether from retracing scenes of -former happiness with his mother. "No," said she, "in this spot he also, -perhaps, thought of Amanda." - -True, he had mentioned her with indifference to her father, but that -might (and she would flatter herself it did) proceed from resentment, -excited by her precipitate flight from Wales, at a period when his -received addresses gave him a right to information about all her -actions, and by her total neglect of him since. Their first interview, -she trusted, would effect a reconciliation, by producing an explanation. -Her father then, she flattered herself, tender as he was, depending on -her for happiness, and prepossessed in Lord Mortimer's favor, would no -longer oppose their attachment, but allow Lord Cherbury to be informed -of it, who she doubted not, would, in this as well as every other -instance, prove himself truly feeling and disinterested. - -Thus did Amanda, by encouraging ideas agreeable to her wishes, try to -soften the disappointment she had experienced in the morning. Fitzalan, -on meeting his daughter at tea, was not surprised to hear she had been -in the gothic temple, but he was to see her wear so cheerful an -appearance. He was no stranger to the human heart, and he was convinced -some flattering illusion could alone have enabled her to shake off the -sadness with which, but an hour before, she had been oppressed. The -sooner such an illusion was removed, the better; and to allow her to see -Lord Mortimer, he imagined would be the most effectual measure for such -a purpose. - -The more he reflected on that young nobleman's manner, and what he -himself had heard from Lord Cherbury, the more he was convinced Lady -Euphrasia Sutherland was not only the object destined for Lord Mortimer, -but the one who now possessed his affections; and believed his visit to -Castle Carberry had been purposely made, to announce the alteration of -his sentiments by the coldness of his conduct, and check any hopes which -his appearance in the neighborhood might have created. - -He had hesitated about Amanda's accepting the invitation to the -Kilcorban's ball; but he now determined she should go, impressed with -the idea of her being there convinced of the change in Lord Mortimer's -sentiments--a conviction he deemed necessary to produce one in her own. - -Amanda impatiently longed for this night, which she believed would -realize either her hopes or fears. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - "A crimson blush her beauteous face o'erspread, - Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red; - The driving colors, never at a stay, - Run here and there, and flush and fade away; - Delightful change! thus Indian ivory shows, - With which the bordering paint of purple glows, - Or lilies damasked by the neighboring rose."--DRYDEN. - - -The wished-for night at length arrived, and Amanda arrayed herself for -it with a fluttering heart. The reflection of her mirror did not depress -her spirits; hope had increased the brilliancy of her eyes, and given an -additional glow to her complexion. Ellen, who delighted in the charms of -her dear young lady, declared many of the Irish ladies would have -reason to envy her that night; and Fitzalan when he entered the parlor -was struck with her surpassing loveliness. He gazed on her with a -rapture that brought tears into his eyes, and felt a secret pride at the -idea of the marchioness beholding this sweet descendant of her neglected -sister-- - - "Into such beauty spread and blown so fair, - Though poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain, - Beat keen and heavy on her tender years." - -"No," said he to himself, "the titled Euphrasia, if she equals, cannot -at least surpass my Amanda--meekness and innocence dwell upon the brow -of my child; but the haughty marchioness will teach pride to lower upon -Lady Euphrasia." - -Amanda, on reaching Grangeville, found the avenue full of carriages. The -lights dispersed through the house gave it quite the appearance of an -illumination. It seemed, indeed, the mansion of gayety and splendor. Her -knees trembled as she ascended the stairs. She wished for time to -compose herself, but the door opened, her name was announced, and Mrs. -Kilcorban came forward to receive her. The room, though spacious, was -extremely crowded. It was decorated in a fanciful manner with festoons -of flowers, intermingled with variegated lamps. Immediately over the -entrance was the orchestra, and opposite to it sat the marchioness and -her party. The heart of Amanda beat, if possible, with increased -quickness on the approach of Mrs. Kilcorban, and her voice was lost in -her emotions. Recollecting, however, that the scrutinizing eyes of Lord -Mortimer, and her imperious relations, were now on her, she almost -immediately recovered composure, and with her usual elegance walked up -the room. Most of the company were strangers to her, and she heard a -general buzz of "Who is she?" accompanied with expressions of admiration -from the gentlemen, among whom were the officers of a garrison town near -Grangeville. Confused by the notice she attracted, she hastened to the -first seat she found vacant, which was near the marchioness. - -Universal, indeed, was the admiration she had excited among the male -part of the company, by her beauty, unaffected graces, and simplicity of -dress. - -She wore a robe of plain white lutestring, and a crape turban, -ornamented with a plume of drooping feathers. She had no appearance of -finery, except a chain of pearls about her bosom, from which hung her -mother's picture, and a light wreath of embroidered laurel, intermingled -with silver blossoms, round her petticoat. Her hair, in its own native -and glossy hue, floated on her shoulders, and partly shaded a cheek -where the purity of the lily was tinted with the softest bloom of the -rose. On gaining a seat, her confusion subsided. She looked up, and the -first eyes she met were those of Lord Mortimer (who leaned on Lady -Euphrasia Sutherland's chair), fastened on her face with a scrutinizing -earnestness, as if he wished to penetrate the recesses of her heart, and -discover whether he yet retained a place in it. She blushed, and looking -from him, perceived she was an object of critical attention to the -marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. There was a malignant expression in -their countenances, which absolutely shocked her; and she felt a -sensation of horror at beholding the former, who had so largely -contributed to the sorrows of her mother. "Can it be possible," said -Lady Euphrasia, replying to a young and elegant officer who stood by -her, in a tone of affectation, and with an impertinent sneer, "that you -think her handsome?" "Handsome," exclaimed he with warmth, as if -involuntarily repeating her ladyship's word, "I think her bewitchingly -irresistible. They told me I was coming to the land of saints; but," -glancing his sparkling eyes around, and fixing them on Amanda; "I find -it is the land of goddesses." - -The marchioness haughtily frowned--Lady Euphrasia smiled satirically, -tossed her head, and played with her fan. The propensities to envy and -ill-nature, which the marchioness had shown in her youth, were not less -visible in age. As they were then excited on her own account, so were -they now on her daughter's. To engross praise and admiration for her, -she wished beauty blasted, and merit extirpated; nor did she ever fail, -when in her power, to depreciate one, and cast an invidious cloud of -calumny over the other. She beheld Amanda with envy and hatred. -Notwithstanding her partiality to her daughter, she could not avoid -seeing her vast inferiority, in point of personal charms, to her young -relation. True, Lady Euphrasia possessed a fortune, which would always -insure her attention; but it was that unimpassioned and studied -attention selfishness dictates, the mere tribute of flattery. How -different from the spontaneous attention which Amanda excited, who, -though portionless and untitled, was beheld with admiration, followed -with praise, and courted with assiduity! - -Lady Euphrasia's mind was the counterpart of her mother's; but in figure -she resembled her father. Her stature was low, her features contracted, -and though of the same age as Amanda, their harsh expression made her -appear much older. Though blessed with the abundant gifts of fortune, -she was unhappy, if, from any one's manner, she conceived that they -thought nature had not been quite so liberal to her. In the domestic -circle, constant flattery kept her in good-humor; but when out, she was -frequently chagrined at seeing women, infinitely below her in rank and -fortune, more noticed than herself. - -At the ball she supposed she should have appeared as little less, at -least, than a demi-goddess. Art and fashion were exhausted in adorning -her, and she entered the room with all the insolence of conscious rank -and affectation of beauty. As she walked she appeared scarcely able to -support her delicate frame, and her languishing eyes were half closed. -She could, however, see there was a number of pretty women present, and -felt disconcerted. The respect, however, which she was paid, a little -revived her; and having contrived to detain Lord Mortimer by her chair -and Sir Charles Bingley, the young officer already mentioned, who was -colonel of a regiment quartered in an adjacent town, she soon felt her -spirits uncommonly exhilarated by the attentions of two of the most -elegant men in the room; and like a proud sultana in the midst of her -slaves, was enjoying the compliments she extorted from them by her -prefatory speeches, when the door opened, and Amanda, like an angel of -light, appeared to dissolve the mists of vanity and self-importance. -Lord Mortimer was silent, but his speaking eyes confessed his feelings. -Sir Charles Bingley, who had no secret motive to conceal his, openly -avowed his admiration, to which Lady Euphrasia replied as has been -already mentioned. - -All the rapture Sir Charles expressed Lord Mortimer felt. His soul -seemed on the wing to fly to Amanda--to utter its feelings--to discover -hers and chide her for her conduct. This first emotion of tenderness, -however, quickly subsided, on recollecting what that conduct had -been--how cruelly, how ungratefully she had used him. Fled in the very -moment of hope and expectation, leaving him a prey to distrust, anxiety, -and regret, he dreaded some fatal mystery--some improper attachment -(experience had rendered him suspicious), which neither she nor her -father could avow; for never did he imagine that the scrupulous delicacy -of Fitzalan alone had effected their separation. He still adored Amanda; -he neither could nor desired to drive her from his thoughts, except well -assured she was unworthy of being harbored in them, and felt unutterable -impatience to have her mysterious conduct explained. From Tudor Hall he -had repaired to London, restless and unhappy. Soon after his arrival -there, the marquis proposed his accompanying him to Ireland. This he -declined, having reason to think Lord Cherbury meditated an alliance for -him with his family. The earl expressed regret at his refusal. He said -he wished he would join the marquis's party, as he wanted his opinion -relative to the state of Castle Carberry, where a man of integrity then -resided, who would have any alterations or repairs he might think -necessary executed in the most eligible manner. He mentioned the name of -Fitzalan. Lord Mortimer was surprised and agitated. He concealed his -emotions, however, and with apparent carelessness, asked a few questions -about him, and found that he was indeed the father of Amanda. She was -not mentioned, nor did he dare to inquire concerning her; but he -immediately declared that since his father wished it so much, he would -accompany the marquis. This was extremely pleasing to that nobleman, and -he and Lord Cherbury had in reality agreed upon a union between him and -Lady Euphrasia, and meant soon openly to avow their intention. Lord -Mortimer suspected, and Lady Euphrasia was already apprised of it; and -from vanity, was pleased at the idea of being connected with a man so -universally admired. Love was out of the question, for she had not -sufficient sensibility to experience it. - -He, cautious of creating hopes which he never meant to realize, treated -her only with the attention which common politeness demanded, and on -every occasion seemed to prefer the marchioness's conversation to hers, -intending by this conduct to crush the projected scheme in embryo, and -spare himself the mortification of openly rejecting it. Had his heart -even been disengaged, Lady Euphrasia could never have been his choice. -If Amanda in reality proved as amiable as he had once reason to believe -her, he considered himself bound, by every tie of honor as well as love, -to fulfil the engagement he had entered into with her. He resolved, -however, to resist every plea of tenderness in her favor, except he was -thoroughly convinced she still deserved it. He went to Castle Carberry -purposely to make a display of indifference, and prevent any ideas being -entertained of his having followed her to Ireland. He deemed himself -justifiable in touching her sensibility (if, indeed, she possessed any -for him) by an appearance of coldness and inattention; but determined, -after a little retaliation of this kind on her, for the pain she had -made him endure, to come to an explanation, and be guided by its result -relative to his conduct in future to her. - -The character of a perfect stranger was the one he was to support -throughout the evening; but her loveliness, and the gallantry of Sir -Charles Bingley, tempted him a thousand times to break through the -restraint he had imposed on himself. - -The marchioness and Lady Euphrasia were not the only persons displeased -by the charms of Amanda. The Miss Kilcorbans saw, with evident -mortification, the admiration she excited, which they had flattered -themselves with chiefly engrossing; their disappointment was doubly -severe, after the pain, trouble, and expense they had undergone in -ornamenting their persons; after the suggestions of their vanity, and -the flattering encomiums of their mamma, who presided herself at their -toilet, every moment exclaiming, "Well, well, heaven help the men -to-night, girls!" - -They fluttered across the room to Amanda, sweeping at least two yards of -painted tiffany after them; assured her they were extremely glad to see -her, but were afraid she was unwell, as she never looked so ill. Amanda -assured them she was conscious of no indisposition, and the harmony of -her features remained undisturbed. Miss Kilcorban, in a half whisper, -declared the marchioness had never smiled since she had entered the -room, and feared her mamma had committed a great mistake in inviting -them together. The rudeness of this speech shocked Amanda. An indignant -swell heaved her bosom, and she was about replying to it as it deserved, -when Miss Alicia stopped her by protesting she believed Lord Mortimer -dying for Lady Euphrasia. Amanda involuntarily raised her eyes at this -speech; but, instead of Lord Mortimer, beheld Sir Charles Bingley, who -was standing behind the young ladies. "Am I pardonable," cried he, -smiling, "for disturbing so charming a trio? but a soldier is taught -never to neglect a good opportunity: and one so propitious as the -present for the wish of my heart might not again offer." The Miss -Kilcorbans bridled up at this speech; plied their fans and smiled most -graciously on him, certainly concluding he meant to engage one or other -for the first set. Passing gently between them, he bowed gracefully to -Amanda, and requested the honor of her hand. She gave an assenting -smile, and he seated himself beside her till the dancing commenced. The -sisters cast a malignant glance over them, and swam off with a -contemptuous indifference. - -Lady Euphrasia had expected Sir Charles and Lord Mortimer would have -been competitors for her hand, and was infinitely provoked by the -desertion of the former to her lovely cousin. He was a fashionable and -animated young man, whom she had often honored with her notice in -England, and wished to enlist in the train of her supposed adorers. Lord -Mortimer could scarcely restore her good-humor by engaging her. Almost -immediately after him, young Kilcorban advanced for the same purpose, -and Lord Mortimer sincerely regretted he had been beforehand with him. -The little fop was quite chagrined at finding her ladyship engaged; but -entreated the next set he might have the supreme honor and ecstatic -felicity of her hand. This, with the most impertinent affectation, she -promised, if able to endure the fatigue of another dance. - -Amanda was next couple to Lady Euphrasia, and endeavored therefore to -calm her spirits, which the rudeness of Miss Kilcorban had discomposed, -and attend to the lively conversation of Sir Charles, who was extremely -pleasing and entertaining. Lord Mortimer watched them with jealous -attention. His wandering glances were soon noticed by Lady Euphrasia, -and her frowns and sarcastic speeches evinced her displeasure at them. -He tried to recollect himself, and act as politeness required. She, not -satisfied with fixing his attention, endeavored to attract Sir -Charles's. She spoke to him across Amanda; but all her efforts were here -ineffectual. He spoke and laughed with her ladyship, but his eyes could -not be withdrawn from the angelic countenance of his partner. Amanda's -hand trembled as, in turning, she presented it to Lord Mortimer; but, -though he extended his, he did not touch it. There was a slight in this -which pierced Amanda's heart. She sighed, unconscious of doing so -herself. Not so Sir Charles. He asked her, smiling, to where, or whom, -that sigh was wafted. This made Amanda recall her wandering thoughts. -She assumed an air of sprightliness, and went down the dance with much -animation. When finished, Sir Charles led her to a seat near the one -Lady Euphrasia and Lord Mortimer occupied. She saw the eyes of his -lordship often directed towards her, and her heart fluttered at the -pleasing probability of being asked to dance by him. Sir Charles -regretted that the old-fashioned custom of not changing partners was -over, and declared he could not leave her till she had promised him her -hand for the third set. This she could not refuse, and he left her with -reluctance, as the gentlemen were again standing up, to seek a partner. -At the same moment Lord Mortimer quitted Lady Euphrasia. Oh! how the -bosom of Amanda throbbed when she saw him approach and look at her. He -paused. A faintishness came over her. He cast another glance on her, and -passed on. Her eye followed him, and she saw him take out Miss -Kilcorban. This, indeed, was a disappointment. Propriety, she thought, -demanded his dancing the first set with Lady Euphrasia, but, if not -totally indifferent, surely he would not have neglected engaging her for -the second. "Yes," said she to herself, "he has totally forgotten me. -Lady Euphrasia is now the object, and he only pays attention to those -who can contribute to her amusement." Several gentlemen endeavored to -prevail on her to dance, but she pleaded fatigue, and sat solitary on a -window, apparently regarding the gay assembly, but in reality too much -engrossed by painful thoughts to do so. The woods, silvered by the beams -of the moon, recalled the venerable shades of Tudor Hall to memory, -where she had so often rambled by the same pale beams, and heard vows of -unchangeable regard--vows registered in her heart, yet now without the -hope of having them fulfilled. The dancing over, the company repaired to -another room for refreshments. Amanda, absorbed in thought, heeded not -their almost total desertion, till young Kilcorban, capering up to her, -declared she looked as lonesome as a hermit in his cell, and, laughing -in her face, turned off with a careless impertinence. He had not noticed -her before that night. He was indeed one of those little fluttering -insects who bask in the rays of fortune, and court alone her favorites. -Elated by an acquaintance with the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, he -particularly neglected Amanda, not only from deeming them more worthy of -his attention, but from perceiving he could take no steps more certain -of gaining their favor. His words made Amanda sensible of the -singularity of her situation. She arose immediately, and went to the -other room. Every seat was already occupied. Near the door sat Lady -Euphrasia and the Miss Kilcorbans. Lord Mortimer leaned on the back of -her ladyship's chair, and young Kilcorban occupied one by her side, -which he never attempted offering to Amanda. She stood, therefore, most -unpleasantly by the door, and was exceedingly confused at hearing a -great many, in a whispering way, remarking the strangeness of her not -being noticed by so near a relation as the Marchioness of Roslin. A -general titter at her situation prevailed among Lady Euphrasia's party, -Lord Mortimer excepted. "Upon my word," said young Kilcorban, looking at -Amanda, "some ladies study attitudes which would be as well let alone." -"For the study of propriety," replied her ladyship, who appeared to have -unbended from her haughtiness, "she would do admirably for the figure of -Hope." "If she had but an anchor to recline on," rejoined he. "Yes," -answered her ladyship, "with her floating locks and die-away glances." -"Or else, Patience on a monument," cried he. "Only she has no grief to -smile at," returned Lady Euphrasia. "Pardon me there," said he; "she has -the grief--not, indeed, that I believe she would smile at it--of being -totally eclipsed by your ladyship." "Or, what do you think," cried Lord -Mortimer, whose eyes sparkled with indignation during this dialogue, "of -likening her to Wisdom, pitying the follies of human kind, and smiling -to see the shafts of malice recoiling from the bosom of innocence and -modesty, with contempt, on those who levelled them at it?" - -Amanda heard not these words, which were delivered in rather a low -voice. Her heart swelled with indignation at the impertinence directed -to her, and she would have quitted the room but that the passage was too -much crowded for her to pass. Sir Charles Bingley, occupied in attending -the young lady with whom he had danced, observed not Amanda till the -moment. He instantly flew to her. "Alone--and standing!" said he; "why -did I not see you before?--you look fatigued." She was pale with -emotion. "Kilcorban," continued he, "I must suppose you did not see Miss -Fitzalan, or your seat would not have been kept." Then catching him by -the arm, he raised him nimbly from his chair, and directly carried it to -Amanda; and having procured her refreshments, seated himself at her -feet, exclaiming, "this is my throne, let kings come bow to it." Her -lovely and unaffected graces had excited Sir Charles's admiration; but -it was the neglect with which he saw her treated, diffused such a -soothing tenderness through his manner as he now displayed. It hurt his -sensibility, and had she even been plain in her appearance, would have -rendered her the peculiar object of his attention. He detested the -marchioness and her daughter for their rancorous envy, as much as he -despised the Kilcorbans for their mean insolence. The marchioness told -him a long tale of the shocking conduct of Amanda's parents, whose ill -qualities she declared her looks announced her to possess, and -endeavored to depreciate her in his favor; but that was impossible. - -"Lord!" said Lady Euphrasia, rising as she spoke, "let me pass; this -scene is sickening." Lord Mortimer remained behind her. He loitered -about the room, and his looks were often directed towards Amanda. Her -hopes began to revive. The lustre rekindled in her eyes, and a soft -blush again stole over her cheek. Though engaged to Sir Charles, she -felt she should be pleased to have Lord Mortimer make an overture for -her hand. The company were now returning to the ball-room, and Sir -Charles took her hand to lead her after them. At that moment Lord -Mortimer approached. Amanda paused as if to adjust some part of her -dress. He passed on to a very beautiful girl, whom he immediately -engaged, and led from the room. She followed them with her eyes, and -continued without moving, till the fervent pressure Sir Charles gave her -hand, restored her to recollection. - -When the set with him was finished, she would have left the house -directly, had her servant been there; but after putting up the horses, -he had returned to Castle Carberry, and she did not expect him till a -very late hour. She declared her resolution of dancing no more, and Sir -Charles having avowed the same, they repaired to the card-room, as the -least crowded place they could find. Lady Greystock was playing at the -table, with the marquis and marchioness. She beckoned Amanda to her, and -having had no opportunity of speaking before, expressed her pleasure at -then seeing her. The marquis examined her through his spectacles. The -marchioness frowned, and declared, "she would take care in future, to -avoid parties subject to such disagreeable intruders." This speech was -too pointed not to be remarked. Amanda wished to appear undisturbed, but -her emotions grew too powerful to be suppressed, and she was obliged to -move hastily from the table. Sir Charles followed her. "Cursed -malignity," cried he, endeavoring to screen her from observation, while -tears trickled down her cheeks; "but, my dear Miss Fitzalan, was your -beauty and merit less conspicuous, you would have escaped it; 'tis the -vice of little minds to hate that excellence they cannot reach." "It is -cruel, it is shocking," said Amanda, "to suffer enmity to outlive the -object who excited it, and to hate the offspring on account of the -parent--the original of this picture," and she looked at her mother's, -"merited not such conduct." Sir Charles gazed on it;--it was wet with -the tears of Amanda. He wiped them off, and pressing the handkerchief to -his lips, put it in his bosom. - -At this instant Lord Mortimer appeared. He had, indeed, been for some -time an unnoticed observer of the progress of this _tete-à-tete_. As -soon as he perceived he had attracted their regard, he quitted the room. - -"His lordship is like a troubled spirit to-night, wandering to and fro," -said Sir Charles; "I really believe everything is not right between him -and Lady Euphrasia." "Something, then," cried Amanda, "is in agitation -between him and her ladyship?" "So says the world," replied Sir Charles, -"but I do not always give implicit credit to its reports. I have known -Lord Mortimer this long time; and from my knowledge of him, should never -have supposed Lady Euphrasia Sutherland a woman capable of pleasing him; -nay, to give my real opinion, I think him quite uninterested about her -ladyship. I will not say so much as to all the other females present. I -really imagined several times to-night, from his glances to you, he was -on the point of requesting an introduction, which would not have pleased -me perfectly. Mortimer possesses more graces than those which merely -meet the eye, and is a rival I should by no means like to have." - -Amanda, confused by this discourse, endeavored to change it, and at last -succeeded. They conversed pleasantly together on different subjects, -till they went to supper, when Sir Charles still continued his -attention. Lord Mortimer was, or at least appeared to be, entirely -engrossed with Lady Euphrasia, who from time to time tittered with the -Miss Kilcorbans, and looked satirically at Amanda. On quitting the -supper-room, she found her servant in the hall, and immediately desired -him to have the carriage drawn up. Sir Charles, who held her hand, -requested her to stay a little longer, yet acknowledged it was self -alone which dictated the request, as he knew she would not promote her -own pleasure by complying with it. As he handed her into the carriage, -he told her he should soon follow her example in retiring, as the scene, -so lately delightful, in losing her, would lose all its charms. He -entreated, and obtained permission, to wait on her the next morning. - -How different was now the appearance of Amanda, to what it had been at -her departure from Castle Carberry! Pale, trembling, and languid, her -father received her into his arms--for, till she returned, he could not -think of going to rest--and instantly guessed the cause of her -dejection. His heart mourned for the pangs inflicted on his child's. -When she beheld him gazing on her with mingled woe and tenderness, she -tried to recruit her spirits; and after relating a few particulars of -the ball, answered the minute inquiries he made relative to the conduct -of the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. He appeared unutterably affected -on hearing it. "Merciful power," exclaimed he, "what dispositions! But -you are too lovely, too like your mother, my Amanda, in every -perfection, to escape their malice. Oh! may it never injure you as it -did her. May that Providence, whose protection I daily implore for the -sweet child of my love, the source of earthly comfort, render every -wish, every scheme which may be formed against her, abortive; and oh! -may it yet bless me with the sight of her happiness." - -Amanda retired to her chamber, inexpressibly affected by the language of -her father. "Yes," cried she, her heart swelling with pity and gratitude -to him, "my sorrow in future shall be concealed, to avoid exciting his. -The pain inflicted by thy inconstancy, Mortimer, shall be hid within the -recesses of my heart, and never shall the peace of my father be -disturbed by knowing the loss of mine." - -The gray dawn was now beginning to advance, but Amanda had no -inclination for repose. As she stood at the window, she heard the solemn -stillness of the scene frequently interrupted by the distant noise of -carriages, carrying home the weary sons and daughters of dissipation. -"But a few hours ago," said she, "and how gay, how animated was my soul; -how dull, how cheerless now! Oh! Mortimer, but a few hours ago, and I -believed myself the beloved of thine heart, but the flattering illusion -is now over, and I no longer shall hope, or thou deceive." She changed -her clothes, and, flinging herself on the bed, from mere fatigue, at -length sunk into a slumber. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - "Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart, - Attended on his throne by all his guard - Of furious wishes, fears, and nice suspicions."--OTWAY. - - -The next morning brought Sir Charles Bingley to Castle Carberry. -Fitzalan was out, but Amanda received him in her dressing-room. He told -her, with evident concern, he was on the point of setting off for the -metropolis, to embark from thence immediately for England, having -received letters that morning, which recalled him there. He regretted -that their intimacy, or rather friendship, as with insinuating softness -he entreated permission to call it, was interrupted at its very -commencement--declared it gave him more pain than she could imagine, or -he express--and that his return to Ireland would be expedited, for the -purpose of renewing it, and requested he might be flattered with an -assurance of not being totally forgotten during his absence. Amanda -answered him as if she supposed mere politeness had dictated the -request. Her father, she said, she was sure, would be happy to see him, -if he returned again to their neighborhood. At his entrance, he said he -could stay but a few minutes, yet he remained about two hours, and when -he arose to depart, declared he had reason to think the castle an -enchanted one. He found it difficult to get from it; "yet, unlike the -knights of old," continued he, "I wish not to break the spell which -detained me in it." - -Day after day elapsed, and no Lord Mortimer appeared. Amanda, indeed, -heard frequently of him, and always as the admirer of Lady Euphrasia. -Frequently, too, she heard about the family at Ulster Lodge, their -superb entertainments, and those given in the neighborhood to them. The -Kilcorbans seemed to have given her up entirely. Lady Greystock was the -only one of the family who continued to pay her any attention. She -called once or twice at Castle Carberry to see whether her apron was -finished, and tell all the news she had picked up, to Amanda. The -resolution which Amanda had formed of concealing her melancholy from her -father, she supported tolerably well, but she only indulged it more -freely in solitude. The idea of Lord Mortimer's union with Lady -Euphrasia haunted her imagination and embittered every moment. "Yes," -she would exclaim (as she wandered through the garden, which had been -converted from a rude wilderness into a scene of beauty by her -superintending care), "I have planted flowers, but another shall enjoy -their sweets. I have planted roses for Mortimer to strew in the path of -Lady Euphrasia;--I have adorned the landscape, and she shall enjoy its -beauty!" - -About three weeks after the ball, as she sat at work one morning in the -dressing-room, beguiling her thoughts with a little plaintive song, she -heard the door softly open behind her: she supposed it to be Ellen; but -not finding any one advance, turned round and perceived not Ellen -indeed, but Lord Mortimer himself. She started from her chair:--the work -dropped from her hands, and she had neither power to speak or move. - -"I fear I have surprised and alarmed you," said Lord Mortimer. "I ask -pardon for my intrusion, but I was informed I should find Mr. Fitzalan -here." - -"He is in the study, I believe, my lord," replied Amanda, coolly, and -with restored composure. "I will go and inform him your lordship wishes -to see him." - -"No," exclaimed he, "I will not suffer you to have so much trouble: my -business is not so urgent as to require my seeing him immediately." He -reseated Amanda, and drew a chair near her. - -She pretended to be busy with her work, whilst the eyes of Lord -Mortimer were cast round the room, as if viewing well-known objects, -which at once pleased and pained his sensibility, by awakening the -memory of past delightful days. "This room," said he, softly sighing, "I -well remember; it was the favorite retirement of one of the most amiable -of women." - -"So I have heard," replied Amanda, "the virtues of Lady Cherbury are -remembered with the truest gratitude by many in the vicinity of the -castle." - -"I think," cried Lord Mortimer, gazing upon Amanda with the softest -tenderness, "the apartment is still occupied by a kindred spirit." - -Amanda's eyes were instantly bent on the ground, and a gentle sigh -heaved her bosom; but it was rather the sigh of regret than pleasure; -with such an accent as this Lord Mortimer was wont to address her at -Tudor Hall, but she had now reason to think it only assumed, for the -purpose of discovering whether she yet retained any sensibility for him. -Had he not treated her with the most pointed neglect? was he not the -declared admirer of Lady Euphrasia? had he not confessed, on entering -the room, he came to seek not her, but her father? These ideas rushing -through her mind, determined her to continue no longer with him; -delicacy, as well as pride, urged her to this, for she feared, if she -longer listened to his insinuating language, it might lead her to betray -the feelings of her heart; she therefore arose, and said she would -acquaint her father his lordship waited for him. - -"Cold, insensible Amanda," cried he, snatching her hand, to prevent her -departing, "is it thus you leave me? when we parted in Wales, I could -not have believed we should ever have had such a meeting as this." - -"Perhaps not, my lord," replied she, somewhat haughtily, "but we have -both thought more prudently since that period." - -"Then why," said he, "did not prudence teach you to shun a conduct which -could create suspicion?" - -"Suspicion, my lord!" repeated Amanda, with a kind of horror in her -look. - -"Pardon me," cried he, "the word is disagreeable; but, Miss Fitzalan, -when you reflect on the manner in which you have acted to me;--your -precipitate, your clandestine departure, at the very period when a -mutual acknowledgment of reciprocal feelings should have been attended -with the most explicit candor on both sides, you cannot wonder at -unpleasant conjectures and tormenting doubts obtruding on my mind." - -"Is it possible, my lord," said Amanda, "you never conceived the reason -of my departure? Is it possible reflection never pointed it out?" - -"Never, I solemnly assure you; nor shall I be happy till I know it." He -paused, as if for a reply; but Amanda, agitated by his words, had not -power to speak. Whilst he stood silent, trembling, and apparently -embarrassed, she heard her father's voice, as he ascended the stairs. -This instantly restored hers. "I must go, my lord," cried she, starting, -and struggling to withdraw her hand. "Promise then to meet me," he said, -"this evening at St. Catherine's, by seven, or I will not let you go. My -soul will be in tortures till I have your actions explained." "I do -promise," said Amanda. Lord Mortimer released her, and she retired into -her chamber just time enough to avoid her father. - -Again her hopes began to revive. Again she believed she was not mistaken -in supposing Lord Mortimer had come into Ireland on her account. His -being mentioned as the admirer of Lady Euphrasia, she supposed owing to -his being a resident in the house with her. About herself, had he been -indifferent, he never could have betrayed such emotions. His looks, as -well as language, expressed the feelings of a heart tenderly attached -and truly distressed. Lest any circumstance had happened, which would -prevent a renewal of that attachment, she felt as much impatience as he -manifested, to give the desired explanation of her conduct. - -His lordship was scarcely gone, ere Lady Greystock made her appearance. -Amanda supposed, as usual, she only came to pay a flying visit: how -great then was her mortification and surprise, when her ladyship told -her she was come to spend the day quite in the family way with her, as -the ladies of Grangeville were so busy preparing for a splendid -entertainment they were to be at the ensuing day, that they had excluded -all visitors, and rendered the house quite disagreeable. - -Amanda endeavored to appear pleased, but to converse she found almost -impossible, her thoughts were so engrossed by an absent object. Happily -her ladyship was so very loquacious herself, as at all times to require -a listener more than a speaker. She was, therefore, well satisfied with -the taciturnity of her fair companion. Amanda tried to derive some -comfort from the hope that her ladyship would depart early in the -evening, to which she flattered herself she would be induced by the idea -of a comfortable whist party at home. But six o'clock struck, and she -manifested no inclination to move. Amanda was in agony. Her cheek was -flushed with agitation. She rose and walked to the window, to conceal -her emotion, whilst her father and Lady Greystock were conversing. The -former at last said, he had some letters to write, and begged her -ladyship to excuse his absence for a few minutes. This she most -graciously promised to do, and pulling out her knitting, requested -Amanda to read to her till tea-time. Amanda took up a book, but was so -confused, she scarcely knew what, or how she read. - -"Softly, softly, my dear child," at last exclaimed her ladyship, whose -attention could by no means keep pace with the rapid manner in which she -read. "I protest you post on with as much expedition as my Lady -Blerner's poneys on the circular." Amanda blushed, and began to read -slowly; but when the clock struck seven her feelings could be no longer -repressed. "Good Heaven!" cried she, letting the book drop from her -hand, and starting from her chair, "this is too much." "Bless me! my -dear!" said Lady Greystock, staring at her, "what is the matter?" "Only -a slight headache, madam," answered Amanda, continuing to walk about the -room. - -Her busy fancy represented Lord Mortimer, now impatiently waiting for -her--thinking in every sound which echoed among the desolate ruins of -St. Catherine's he heard her footsteps; his soul melting with tenderness -at the idea of a perfect reconciliation, which an unsatisfied doubt only -retarded. What would he infer from her not keeping an appointment so -ardently desired, so solemnly promised, but that she was unable to -remove that doubt to his satisfaction. Perhaps he would not credit the -reason she could assign for breaking her engagement. Perhaps piqued at -her doing so, he would not afford her an opportunity of accounting for -it, or the apparent mystery of her late conduct. To retain his doubts -would be to lose his tenderness, and, at last, perhaps, expel her from -his heart. She thought of sending Ellen to acquaint him with the -occasion of her detention at home; but this idea existed but for a -moment. An appointment she concealed from her father she could not bear -to divulge to any other person; it would be a breach of duty and -delicacy, she thought. "No," said she to herself, "I will not, from the -thoughtlessness and impetuosity which lead so many of my sex astray, -overstep the bounds of propriety, and to reinstate myself in the esteem -of one person lose that of others; and, above all, that of my own heart. -If Lord Mortimer refuses to hear my justification, he will act neither -agreeably to candor or justice, and pride must aid in repelling my -regret." "You look strangely, indeed, my dear," said Lady Greystock, -who was attentively watching her, whilst those ideas were rising in her -mind. Amanda recollected the remarks which might be made on her -behavior; and apologizing for the manner in which she had acted, took -her seat with some degree of composure. Fitzalan soon after entered the -room, and tea was made; when over, Lady Greystock declared they were a -snug party for three-handed whist. Amanda would gladly have excused -herself from being of the party, but politeness made her conceal her -reluctance; but extreme dejection was noticed both by Fitzalan and her -ladyship. The latter imputed it to regret, at not being permitted by her -father to accept an invitation she had received for a ball the ensuing -evening. - -"Don't fret about it, my dear creature," said she, laying down her -cards, to administer the consolation she supposed Amanda required; "'tis -not by frequenting balls and public places a girl always stands the best -chance of being provided for; I, for my part, have been married three -times, yet never made a conquest of any one of my husbands in a public -place. No, it was the privacy of my life partly obtained for me so many -proofs of good fortune." Fitzalan and Amanda laughed. "I shall never be -dissatisfied with staying at home," said the latter, "though without -either expecting or desiring to have my retirement recompensed as your -ladyship's was." "One prize will satisfy you then," said Fitzalan. "Ah!" -cried Lady Greystock, "it is Lady Euphrasia Sutherland will obtain the -capital one. I don't know where such another young man as Lord Mortimer -is to be found." "Then your ladyship supposes," said Fitzalan, "there is -some truth in the reports circulated, relative to him and Lady -Euphrasia." "I assure you there is," said she; "and I think the -connection will be a very eligible one. Their births, their fortunes, -are equal." But ah, thought Amanda, how unlike their dispositions. "I -dare say," proceeded her ladyship, "Lady Euphrasia will have changed her -title before this time next year." - -Fitzalan glanced at Amanda: her face was deadly pale, and she put him -and Lady Greystock out in the game by the errors she committed. At last -the carriage from Grangeville arrived, and broke up a party Amanda could -not much longer have supported. Her father perceived the painful efforts -she made to conceal her distress. He pitied her from his soul, and, -pretending to think she was only indisposed, entreated her to retire to -her chamber. Amanda gladly complied with this entreaty, and began to -meditate on what Lady Greystock had said. Was there not a probability of -its being true? Might not the indifference Lord Mortimer had manifested -on his first arrival in the neighborhood have really originated from a -change of affections? Might not the tenderness he displayed in the -morning have been concerted with the hope of its inducing her to gratify -his curiosity, by relating the reason of her journey from Wales, or -please his vanity by tempting her to give some proof of attachment? But -she soon receded from this idea. Lady Greystock was not infallible in -her judgment. Reports of approaching nuptials, Amanda knew, had often -been raised without any foundation for them. The present report, -relative to Lord Mortimer and Lady Euphrasia, might be one of that -nature. She could not believe him so egregiously vain, or so -deliberately base, as to counterfeit tenderness merely for the purpose -of having his curiosity or vanity gratified. She felt, however, truly -unhappy, and could derive no consolation but from the hope that her -suspense, at least, would soon be terminated. - -She passed a restless night; nor was her morning more composed. She -could not settle to any of her usual avocations. Every step she heard, -she started in expectation of instantly seeing Lord Mortimer; but he did -not appear. After dinner she walked out alone, and took the road to St. -Catherine's. When she reached the ruins, she felt fatigued, and sat down -upon a flag in the chapel to rest herself. "Here," said she, pensively -leaning her head upon her hand, "Mortimer waited for me; perhaps with -tender impatience. Here, too, he perhaps accused me of neglect or -deceit." She heard a rustling behind her, and turning, perceived Sister -Mary. - -"You are welcome, my dear soul," cried the good-natured nun, running -forward, and sitting down by her; "but why did you not come in to see -us?" continued she, affectionately kissing her. Amanda said, "such was -her intention, but feeling a little indisposed, she had remained in the -air, in hopes of growing better." "Oh, Jesu!" cried the sister, "you do -indeed look ill, I must go and get you a cordial from our prioress, who -is quite a doctress, I assure you." - -Amanda caught her gown as she was running away, and assured her she was -better. - -"Well, then," said she, resuming her seat, "I must tell you of an odd -thing which happened here last night. I came out to walk about the ruins -between the lights--that is, as one may say, when it is neither dark or -light. As the air was cold, I wrapped my veil about me, and had just -turned the cloisters, when I heard a quick foot pacing after me. Well, -I, supposing it to be one of the sisters, walked slowly, that she might -easily overtake me. But you may guess my surprise when I was overtaken, -not by one of them indeed, but by one of the finest and most beautiful -young men I ever beheld. Lord, how he did start when he saw me, just for -all the world as if I was a ghost; he looked quite wild, and flew off -muttering something to himself. Well, I thought all this strange, and -was making all the haste I could to the convent, when he appeared again -coming from under that broken arch; and he bowed and smiled so sweetly, -and held his hat in his hand so respectfully, whilst he begged my pardon -for the alarm he had given me; and then he blushed and strove to hide -his confusion with his handkerchief, while he asked me if I had seen -here a young lady about the ruins that evening, as a particular friend -had informed him she would be there, and desired him to escort her home. -'Why, my dear sir,' says I, 'I have been about this place the whole -evening, and there has neither been man, woman, nor child, but you and -myself; so the young lady changed her mind, and took another ramble.' -'So I suppose,' said he, and he looked so pale, and so melancholy, I -could not help thinking it was a sweetheart he had been seeking; so by -way of giving him a bit of comfort, 'Sir,' says I, 'if you will leave -any marks of the young lady you were seeking with me, I will watch here -myself a little longer for her; and if she comes I will tell her how -uneasy you were at not finding her, and be sure to dispatch her after -you.' 'No, he thanked me,' he said, 'but it was of very little -consequence his not meeting her, or indeed whether he ever met her -again,' and went away." "Did he?" said Amanda. "Bless me!" exclaimed the -nun, "you are worse, instead of better." - -Amanda acknowledged she was, and rising, requested she would excuse her -not paying her compliments that evening at the nunnery. - -Sister Mary pressed her to drink tea with the prioress, or at least take -some of her excellent cordial; but Amanda refused both requests, and the -affectionate nun saw her depart with reluctance. - -Scarcely had she regained the road, ere a coach and six, preceded and -followed by a number of attendants, approached with such quickness that -she was obliged to step aside to avoid it. Looking in at the window as -it passed, she saw Lord Mortimer and Lady Euphrasia seated in it, -opposite to each other; she saw they both perceived her, and that Lady -Euphrasia laughed, and put her head forward to stare impertinently at -her. Amanda was mortified that they had seen her: there was something -at that moment humiliating in the contrast between their situation and -hers--she, dejected and solitary, they adorned and attended with all the -advantages of fortune. But in the estimation of a liberal mind, cried -she, the want of such advantage can never lessen me--such a mind as I -flatter myself Lord Mortimer possesses. Ah! if he thinks as I do, he -would prefer a lonely ramble in the desolate spot I have just quitted, -to all the parade and magnificence he is about witnessing. The night -passed heavily away. The idea of Lord Mortimer's devoting all his -attention to Lady Euphrasia, could not be driven from her mind. - -The next morning, the first object she saw, on going to the window, was -a large frigate lying at anchor near the castle. Ellen entered her -chamber, and sighing heavily, as she always did, indeed, at the sight of -a ship, said, "she wished it contained her wandering sailor." Amanda -indulged a hope that Lord Mortimer would appear in the course of the -day, but she was disappointed. She retired, after tea, in the evening to -her dressing-room, and seated in the window, enjoyed a calm and -beautiful scene. Not a cloud concealed the bright azure of the -firmament; the moon spread a line of silvery radiance over the waves, -that stole with a melancholy murmur upon the shore; and the silence -which reigned around was only interrupted by the faint noise of the -mariners on board the frigate, and their evening drum. At last Amanda -heard the paddling of oars, and perceived a large boat coming from the -ship, rowed by sailors in white shirts and trousers, their voices -keeping time to their oars. The appearance they made was picturesque, -and Amanda watched them till the boat disappeared among the rocks. The -supper-bell soon after summoned her from the window; but scarcely had -she retired to her chamber for the night, ere Ellen, smiling, trembling, -and apparently overcome with joy, appeared. - -"I have seen him," cried she, hastily; "oh, madam, I have seen poor Chip -himself, and he is as kind and as true-hearted as ever. I went this -evening to the village to see old Norah, to whom you sent the linen, for -she is a pleasing kind of poty, and does not laugh like the rest at one -for their Welsh tongue; so when I was returning home, and at a goot -tistance from her cabin, I saw a great number of men coming towards me, -all dressed in white. To pe sure, as I heerd a great teal apout the -white poys, I thought these were nothing else, and I did so quake and -tremble, for there was neither hole, or bush, or tree on the spot, that -would have sheltered one of the little tiny fairies of Penmaenmawr. -Well, they came on, shouting and laughing, and merrier than I thought -such rogues ought to be; and the moment they espied me, they gathered -round me, and began pulling me about; so I gave a great scream, and -tirectly a voice (Lort, how my heart jumped at it) cried out, 'that is -Ellen;' and to pe sure poor Chip soon had me in his arms; and then I -heard they were sailors from the frigate, come to get fresh provisions -at the village; so I turned pack with them, and they had a great bowl of -whiskey punch, and a whole sight of cakes, and Chip told me all his -adventures; and he was so glad when he heard I lived with you, pecause -he said you were a sweet, mild young laty, and he was sure you would -sometimes remind me of him; and he hopes soon to get his tischarge, and -then--" "You are to be married," said Amanda, interpreting the blushes -and hesitation of Ellen. "Yes, matam, and I assure you Chip is not -altered for the worse py a seafaring life. His voice, inteed, is a -little of the roughest, but he told me that was owing to his learning -the poatswain's whistle. Poor fellow, he sails to-morrow night. The ship -is on the Irish station, and they are to coast it to Dublin." - -"Happy Ellen!" said Amanda, as she retired from her chamber, "thy -perturbations and disquietudes are over; assured of the affection of thy -village swain, peace and cheerfulness will resume their empire in thy -breast." - -The next evening at twilight, Amanda went down to the beach with her -father to see the fishermen drawing their seines on shore, on which -their hopes, and the comfort of their families, depended. Whilst -Fitzalan conversed with them, Amanda seated herself on a low rock to -observe their motions. In the murmur of the waves there was a gentle -melancholy, in unison with her present feelings. From a pensive -meditation, which had gradually rendered her inattentive to the scene -before her, she was suddenly roused by voices behind her. She started -from her seat, for in one of them she imagined she distinguished the -accent of Lord Mortimer. Nor was she mistaken. He was descending a -winding path near her, accompanied by a naval officer. To pass without -seeing her was impossible; and as he approached her, he stopped, -apparently hesitating whether or not he should address her. In a few -minutes his hesitation ended, with waving his handkerchief, as if to bid -her adieu, whilst he proceeded to a small boat which had been for some -time lying in a creek among the rocks, and which, on receiving him and -his companion, immediately rowed to the frigate. Amanda trembled. Her -heart beat violently. Ellen had informed her the frigate was to sail -that night; and what could induce Lord Mortimer to visit it at such an -hour, except an intention of departing in it. - -Uncertainty is dreadful. She grew sick with anxiety before her father -returned to the castle. On entering it, she immediately repaired to her -chamber, and calling Ellen hastily, demanded if Chip's intelligence was -true? - -"Alas! yes," said Ellen, weeping violently; "and I know the reason you -inquire. You saw Lord Mortimer going to the ship. I saw him myself, as I -stood on the beech talking to Chip, who was one of the sailors that came -in the boat for his lortship and the captain; and to be sure the sight -left my eyes when I saw my lort departing, pecause I knew he was going -away in anger at the treatment he supposed he received from you." - -"From me?" exclaimed Amanda. - -"Oh! you will never forgive me for acting so padly as I have done by -you," sobbed Ellen; "put inteed the sight of poor Chip drove everything -from my memory put himself. Last night, as I was going to Norah's, I -overtook Lort Mortimer on the road, who was walking quite sorrowfully, -as I may say, py himself; so to pe sure I thought I could do no less in -good manners than drop him a curtsey as I passed; so up he came to me -directly: 'And, my good girl, how are you?' said he; and he smiled so -sweetly, and looked so handsome; and then he took my hand, and to pe -sure his hand was as soft as any velvet. 'And pray, Ellen,' said he, 'is -Miss Fitzalan at home, and disengaged?' I told him you was, and Cot -knows, my Lort, said I, and melancholy enough, too. I left her in the -tressing-room window, looking out at the waves, and listening to the -winds. 'Well, hasten home,' cried he, 'and tell her she will oblige me -greatly py meeting me immediately at the rocks peyond the castle.' I -promised him I would, and he put, nay, inteed, forced five guineas into -my hand, and turned off another road, charging me not to forget; put as -I was so near Norah's, I thought I might just step in to see how she -did, and when I left her, I met poor Chip, and Lort knows I am afraid he -would have made me forget my own tear father and mother." - -"Oh, Ellen!" cried Amanda, "how could you serve me so?" "Oh, tear!" said -Ellen, redoubling her tears, "I am certainly one of the most unfortunate -girls in the world; put, Lort, now, Miss Amanda, why should you be so -sorrowful; for certain my lort loves you too well to pe always angry. -There is poor Chip now, though he thought I loved Parson Howel, he never -forgot me." - -Ellen's efforts at consolation were not successful, and Amanda dismissed -her, that, unnoticed and unrestrained, she might indulge the tears which -flowed at the idea of a long, a lasting separation, perhaps, from Lord -Mortimer. Offended, justly offended, as she supposed, with her, the -probability was she would be banished from his thoughts, or, if -remembered, at least without esteem or tenderness: thus might his heart -soon be qualified for making another choice. She walked to the window, -and saw the ship already under weigh. She saw the white sails fluttering -in the breeze, and heard the shouts of the mariners. "Oh, Mortimer!" -cried she, "is it thus we part? is it thus the expectations you raised -in my heart are disappointed? You go hence, and deem Amanda unworthy a -farewell. You gaze, perhaps, at this moment on Castle Carberry, without -breathing one sigh for its inhabitants. Ah, had you loved sincerely, -never would the impulse of resentment have conquered the emotion of -tenderness. No, Mortimer, you deceived me, and perhaps yourself, in -saying I was dear to you. Had I been so, never could you have acted in -this manner." Her eyes followed the course of the vessel, till it -appeared like a speck in the horizon. "He is gone," said she, weeping -afresh, and withdrawing herself from the window; "he is gone, and if -ever I meet him again, it will probably be as the husband of Lady -Euphrasia." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - "Think'st thou I'll make a life of jealousy, - To follow still the changes of the moon - With fresh surmises? No; to be once in doubt - Is to be resolved. But yet - I'll see before I doubt: when I doubt, prove, - And on the proof there is no more but this-- - Away at once with love or jealousy."--SHAKSPEARE. - - -Lord Mortimer had, in reality, departed with sentiments very unfavorable -to Amanda. He had waited impatiently at St. Catherine's, in the fond -expectation of having all his doubts removed by a candid explanation of -the motives which caused her precipitate journey from Wales. His soul -sighed for a reconciliation: his tenderness was redoubled by being so -long restrained. The idea of folding his beloved Amanda to his bosom, -and hearing that she deserved all the tenderness and sensibility which -glowed in that bosom for her, gave him the highest pleasure; but when -the appointed hour passed, and no Amanda appeared, language cannot -express his disappointment. Almost distracted by it, he ventured to -inquire concerning her from Sister Mary; and, long after the friendly -nun had retired to the convent, continued to wander about the ruins, -till the shadows of night had enveloped every object from his view. "She -fears to come, then," exclaimed he, quitting the desolate spot, -oppressed with the keenest anguish; "she fears to come, because she -cannot satisfy my doubts. I witnessed her agitation, her embarrassment, -this morning, when I hinted at them. The mystery which separated us will -not be explained, and it is in vain to think we shall ever meet, as I -once flattered myself we should." - -This thought seemed to strike at all his hopes. The distress and -disorder of his mind was depicted on his countenance, and escaped not -the observation and raillery of the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia; but -their raillery was in vain, and unanswered by him; he was absorbed in a -train of pensive reflections, which they had neither power to remove or -disturb. - -Most unwillingly he accompanied them the ensuing day to a splendid -entertainment given purposely for them in the neighborhood. The -unexpected sight of Amanda, as she stood on a little elevated bank, to -avoid the carriage, caused a sudden emotion of surprise and delight in -his bosom. The utmost powers of eloquence could not have pleaded her -cause so successfully as her own appearance at that minute did. The -languor of her face, its mild and seraphic expression, her pensive -attitude, and the timid modesty with which she seemed shrinking from -observation, all touched the sensibility of Lord Mortimer, awakened his -softest feelings, revived his hopes, and made him resolve to seek -another opportunity of demanding an explanation from her. The sudden -color which flushed his cheeks, and the sparkling of his eyes, as he -looked from the carriage, attracted the notice of his companions. They -smiled maliciously at each other, and Lady Euphrasia declared, "She -supposed the girl was stationed there to try and attract admiration, -which, perhaps, her silly old father had told her she merited--or else -to meet with adventures." Lord Mortimer drew in his head, and the -contrast between her ladyship and the fair being he had been looking at, -never struck him so forcibly as at that moment, and lessened one as much -as it elevated the other in his estimation. - -He wandered near the castle the next evening, in hopes of meeting -Amanda. His disappointment was diminished by seeing Ellen, who he was -confident, would be faithful to the message intrusted to her. With this -confidence he hastened to the rocks, every moment expecting the -appearance of Amanda. Her image, as it appeared to him the preceding -day, dwelt upon his imagination, and he forcibly felt how essential to -his peace was a reconciliation with her. An hour elapsed, and his -tenderness again began to give way to resentment. It was not Ellen, but -Amanda he doubted. He traversed the beach in an agony of impatience and -anxiety; a feverish heat pervaded his frame, and he trembled with -agitation. At length he heard the distant sound of the supper-bell at -Ulster Lodge, which never rang till a late hour. All hopes of seeing -Amanda were now given up, and every intention of meeting her at a future -period relinquished. She avoided him designedly, it was evident. He -would have cursed himself for betraying such anxiety about her, and his -wounded pride revolted from the idea of seeking another interview. "No! -Amanda!" he exclaimed, as he passed the castle, "you can no longer have -any claim upon me. Mysterious appearances in the most candid mind will -raise suspicions. In giving you an opportunity for accounting for such -appearances, I did all that candor, tenderness, sensibility, and honor -could dictate; and, instead of again making efforts to converse with -you, I must now make others, which, I trust, will be more successful, -entirely to forget you." - -The next morning he accompanied the marquis in his barge to the frigate, -where he was agreeably surprised to find in the commander an old friend -of his, Captain Somerville, who returned to Ulster Lodge with his -visitors, and there, in a half jesting, half serious manner, asked Lord -Mortimer to accompany him on his intended cruise. This his lordship -instantly promised he would, with pleasure. He was completely tired of -the Roslin family, and was, besides, glad of an opportunity of -convincing Amanda he was not quite so fascinated to her as she perhaps -believed, by his quitting the neighborhood ere their departure. As he -descended to the boat, the sight of Amanda shook his resolution. She -seemed destined to cross his path, merely to give him disquietude. An -ardent wish sprung in his heart to address her, but it was instantly -suppressed, by reflecting how premeditately she had avoided him; pride, -therefore, prompted him to pass her in silence; yet, as the boat receded -from the shore, his eyes were riveted to the spot on which she stood, -and when he could no longer see her white gown fluttering in the wind, -he gave a sigh to the remembrance of the happy days he had passed with -her at Tudor Hall; and another to the idea, that such hours would never -more be enjoyed by him. - -The family at Ulster Lodge were both mortified and disappointed by his -departure, though he, perceiving their displeasure, had endeavored to -lessen it, by promising to wait their arrival in Dublin, and return with -them to England. His departure seemed a tacit intimation that he was not -as much attached to Lady Euphrasia as they wished him to be. A suspicion -of this nature had, indeed, for some time pervaded their minds, and also -that his affections were elsewhere disposed of: they had reason to -believe that the person who possessed them dwelt in the vicinity of the -lodge, from the great alteration which took place in his manner, -immediately after his arrival at it. In hopes of discovering who this -was, they watched him critically at all the parties he frequented with -them, but soon found it was not the present, but the absent objects had -the power of exciting emotions in him. At the name of Amanda Fitzalan or -her father they observed him color, and frequently saw him contemplate -Castle Carberry, as if it contained a being infinitely dear to him; to -Amanda, therefore, they feared he was attached, and supposed the -attachment commenced at the Kilcorbans' ball, where they had noticed his -impassioned glances at this hated, because too lovely relation. The most -unbounded rage took possession of their souls; they regretted ever -having come to Ireland, where they supposed Lord Mortimer had first seen -Amanda, as Lord Cherbury had mentioned the children of Fitzalan being -strangers to him or his family. They knew the passions of Lord Cherbury -were impetuous, and that ambition was the leading principle of his soul. -Anxious for an alliance between his family and theirs, they knew he -would ill brook any obstacle which should be thrown in the way of its -completion, and therefore resolved, if Lord Mortimer, at their next -meeting, appeared averse to the wishes of his father, to acquaint the -earl with the occasion of his son's disinclination, and represent -Fitzalan and his daughter as aiding and abetting each other, in an -insidious scheme to entangle the affections of Lord Mortimer, and draw -him into a marriage; a scheme which, to a man of the world (as they knew -Lord Cherbury to be), would appear so very probable as to gain implicit -credit. This they knew would convert the esteem he felt for Fitzalan -into hatred and contempt; his favor would consequently be withdrawn, and -the father and child again sunk into indigent obscurity. To think that -Amanda, by dire necessity, should be reduced to servitude; to think the -elegance of her form should be disguised by the garb of poverty, and the -charms of her face faded by misery, were ideas so grateful, so ecstatic -to their hearts, that to have them realized, they felt they could with -pleasure relinquish the attentions of Lord Mortimer, to have a pretext -for injuring Fitzalan with his father: though not quite assured their -suspicions were well founded, they would never have hesitated -communicating them as such to Lord Cherbury; but for their own -satisfaction they wished to know what reason they had to entertain them. -Lady Greystock was the only person they observed on a footing of -intimacy with Amanda, and through her means flattered themselves they -might make the desired discovery. They therefore began to unbend from -their haughtiness, and make overtures for an intimacy with her; -overtures which she received with delight, and in their present -attention forgot their past neglect, which had given her such disgust. -As they became intimate with her, they were much amused by a shrewd -manner she possessed of telling stories, and placing the foibles and -imperfections of their visitors in the most conspicuous and ludicrous -light; particularly of such visitors as were not agreeable to them. With -the foibles of human nature she was well acquainted, also with the art -of turning those foibles to her own advantage. She perceived the -egregious vanity of the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, and by -administering large portions of what Sterne styles the delicious essence -of the soul, to them, soon became an immense favorite. After an -injunction of secrecy, the marchioness communicated her fears relative -to Lord Mortimer and Amanda, which, she pretended, regard for one and -pity for the other, had excited; as an attachment either of an honorable -or dishonorable nature, she knew Lord Cherbury would never pardon. To -know, therefore, how far matters had proceeded between them, would be -some satisfaction, and might, perhaps, be the means of preventing the -ill consequences she dreaded. Lady Greystock was not to be imposed on; -she perceived it was not pity for Amanda, but envy and jealousy, which -had excited the fears of the marchioness. If Lord Mortimer was attached -to Amanda, from his sentiments and manner, she was convinced it was an -attachment of the purest nature. She carefully concealed her thoughts, -however, affected to enter into all the alarms of the marchioness, and, -as she saw she was expected to do, promised all in her power should be -done for discovering what attachment subsisted between his lordship and -Miss Fitzalan. For this purpose she began to grow constant in her visits -at Castle Carberry, often spending whole days in the most familiar -manner with Amanda, and endeavoring, by various methods, to beguile her -of the secrets of her heart. Sometimes she rallied her on her -melancholy; sometimes expressed pity for it in strains of the most -soothing tenderness; would frequently relate little fictitious and -embellished anecdotes of her own youth, in which she said she had -suffered the most exquisite misery, from an unfortunate entanglement; -would then advert to Lord Mortimer; express her wonder at his -precipitate departure, and her admiration of his virtues, declaring if -ever Lady Euphrasia gained his heart, which she much doubted, she must -be considered as one of the most fortunate of women. - -Delicacy sealed the lips of Amanda and guarded her secret. She believed -her passion to be hopeless, and felt that to be offered consolation on -such a subject, would, to her feelings, be truly humiliating. But though -she could command her words, she could not her feelings, and they were -visibly expressed in her countenance. She blushed whenever Lord Mortimer -was mentioned; looked shocked if a union between him and Lady Euphrasia -was hinted at; and smiled if a probability was suggested of its never -taking place. Lady Greystock, at last, relinquished her attempts at -betraying Amanda into a confession of her sentiments; indeed, she -thought such a confession not very requisite, as her countenance pretty -clearly developed what they were; and she deemed herself authorized to -inform the marchioness that she was sure something had passed between -Lord Mortimer and Amanda, though what she could not discover, from the -circumspection of the latter. The marchioness was enraged, and more -determined than ever on involving Amanda in destruction, if Lord -Mortimer hesitated a moment in obeying the wishes of his father, by -uniting himself to Lady Euphrasia. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - "And to be plain, 'tis not your person - My stomach's set so sharp and fierce on: - But 'tis your better part, your riches. - That my enamored heart bewitches."--HUDIBRAS. - - -A month after the departure of Lord Mortimer the Roslin family left -Ulster Lodge. Amanda sighed, as she saw them pass, at the idea of the -approaching meeting, which might, perhaps, soon be followed by an event -that would render her fond remembrance of Lord Mortimer improper. Many -of the families about the castle were already gone to town for the -winter. Those who remained in the country till after Christmas, among -whom were the Kilcorbans, had so entirely neglected Amanda, from the -time the marchioness arrived in the neighborhood, that they could not -think of renewing their visits, confident as they were, from the proper -dignity of her and Fitzalan's manner, that they would be unwelcome. - -The weather was now often too severe to permit Amanda to take her usual -rambles; and the solitude of the castle was heightened by her own -melancholy ideas, as well as by the dreariness of the season. No more -the magic hand of hope sketched scenes of flattering brightness, to -dissipate the gloominess of the present ones. The prospects of Amanda's -heart were as dreary, as desolate, as those she viewed from the windows -of the castle. Her usual avocations no longer yielded delight. Every -idea, every occupation, was embittered by the reflection of being -lessened in the estimation of Lord Mortimer. Her health declined with -her peace, and again Fitzalan had the anguish of seeing sorrow nipping -his lovely blossom. The rose forsook her cheek, and her form assumed a -fragile delicacy, which threatened the demolition of his earthly -happiness. He was not ignorant of the cause of her dejection, but he -would not shock her feelings by hinting it. Every effort which -tenderness could suggest, he essayed to cheer her, but without any -durable effect; for though she smiled when he expressed a wish to see -her cheerful, it was a smile transient as the gleamings of a wintry sun, -and which only rendered the succeeding gloom more conspicuous. - -At this period of distress, Lady Greystock, who continued her visits at -the castle, made a proposal, which Fitzalan eagerly embraced. This was -to take Amanda with her to London, whither she was obliged to go -directly, about a lawsuit carrying on between her and the nephew of her -late husband. - -Change of scene, Fitzalan trusted, would remove from Amanda's mind the -dejection which oppressed it, and consequently aid the restoration of -her health. Of Lord Mortimer's renewing his addresses, he had not the -slightest apprehension, as he neglected the opportunities he might have -had in the country for such a purpose. Fitzalan, it may be remembered -knew not that his lordship had ever deviated from his indifference, and -he believed it occasioned by a transfer of his affections to Lady -Euphrasia. He was also ignorant of the great intimacy between the Roslin -family and Lady Greystock, and consequently of the probability there -was, from such an intimacy, of Amanda's being often in the way of Lord -Mortimer. If she met him, he was confident it would be as the husband or -favored lover of Lady Euphrasia; and, in either of these characters, he -was certain, from the rectitude and purity of her principles, she would -be more than ever impressed with the necessity of conquering her -attachment; whilst the pain attending such a conviction would be -lessened, and probably soon removed by surrounding objects, and the gay -scenes she must engage in from being the companion of Lady Greystock, -who had a numerous and elegant acquaintance in London. - -Her ladyship appeared to him, as she did to many others, a pleasing, -rational woman--one to whose care his heart's best treasure might safely -be consigned. He was induced to accept her protection for his Amanda, -not only on account of her present but future welfare. His own health -was extremely delicate. He deemed his life very precarious, and -flattered himself Lady Greystock, by having his beloved girl under her -care, would grow so attached to her, as to prove a friend if he should -be snatched away ere his newly-obtained independence enabled him to make -a provision for her. In indulging this hope, his heart could not -reproach him for anything mean or selfish. Her ladyship had frequently -assured him all her relations were very distant ones, and in affluent -circumstances, so that if his Amanda received any proof of kindness from -her, she could neither injure nor encroach on the rights of others. - -This, however, was not the case, though carefully concealed from him, as -well as many others, by her ladyship. Her education had either given -birth to, or strengthened, the artful propensities of her disposition. -She had been one of the numerous offspring of a gentleman in the -southern part of Ireland, whose wife, a complete housewife, knowing his -inability of giving his daughters fortunes, determined to bring them up -so as to save one for their future husbands. - -At the age of nineteen, Miss Bridget, by her reputation for domestic -cleverness, attracted the notice of a man of easy independence in the -neighborhood, who, being a perfect Nimrod, wanted somebody to manage -those concerns at home, which he neglected for the field and kennel; and -in obtaining Miss Bridget, he procured this valuable acquisition. His -love of sport, with his life, was fatally terminated the second year of -his marriage, by his attempting to leap a five-bar gate. A good jointure -devolved to his widow, and the office of consoling her to the rector of -the parish, a little fat elderly man, who might have sat very well for -the picture of Boniface. So successful were his arguments, that he not -only expelled sorrow from her heart, but introduced himself into it, and -had the felicity of receiving her hand as soon as her weeds were laid -aside. Four years they lived in uninterrupted peace, but too free an -enjoyment of the good things of this life undermined the constitution of -the rector. He was ordered to Bath, where his mortal career was shortly -terminated, and his whole fortune was left to his wife. - -In the house where she lodged was an ancient baronet, who had never been -married. His fortune was considerable, but his manner so strange and -whimsical, that he appeared incapable of enjoying the advantages it -would have afforded to others. Notwithstanding his oddities, he was -compassionate; and as the fair relict was unaccompanied by a friend, he -waited on her for the purpose of offering consolation, and any service -in his power. This attention instantly inspired her with an idea of -trying to make him feel tenderer sentiments than those of pity for her. -His title and fortune were so attractive, that neither his capricious -disposition, nor the disparity of their ages, he being sixty, and she -only eight-and-twenty, could prevent her ardently desiring a connection -between them. Her efforts to effect this were long unsuccessful; but -perseverance will almost work miracles. Her constant good-humor, and -unremitted solicitude about him, who was in general an invalid, at last -made an impression on his flinty heart, and in a fit of sudden gratitude -he offered her his hand, which was eagerly accepted. - -The presumptive heir to the baronet's large possessions was the son and -only child of a deceased sister. At the period this unexpected alliance -took place, he was about twenty, pleasing in his person, and engaging in -his manner, and tenderly beloved by his uncle. This love, Lady Greystock -saw, if it continued, would frustrate her wish of possessing the -baronet's whole property. Various schemes fluctuated in her mind -relative to the manner in which she should lay the foundation for -Rushbrook's ruin. Ere she could determine on one, chance discovered a -secret which completely aided her intentions. - -In the neighborhood of the baronet's country residence, Rushbrook had -formed an attachment for the daughter of a man against whom his uncle -entertained the most inveterate enmity. A union with this girl, she was -well convinced, would ruin him. She therefore gave him to understand she -knew of his attachment, and sincerely pitied his situation, encouraging -his love by the most flattering eulogiums on his adored Emily; declared -her regret that hearts so congenial should be separated; and at last -intimated that if they wished to unite, she was convinced she would soon -be able to obtain Sir Geoffry's forgiveness for such a step. Her artful -insinuations hurried the unsuspicious pair into the snare she had spread -for them. The consequence of this was what she expected. - -Sir Geoffry's rage was unappeasable, and he solemnly vowed never more to -behold his nephew. Lady Greystock wished to preserve, if possible, -appearances to the world, and prevailed on him to give her five hundred -pounds for Rushbrook, to which she added five of her own, and presented -the notes to him, with an assurance of pleading his cause whenever she -found a favorable opportunity for doing so. - -He purchased an ensigncy in a regiment on the point of embarking for -America, where he felt he would rather encounter distress than among -those who had known him in affluence. - -Her ladyship now redoubled her attention to Sir Geoffry, and at last -prepossessed him so strongly with the idea of her affection for him, -that he made a will, bequeathing her his whole fortune, which she -flattered herself with soon enjoying. But the constitution of Sir -Geoffry was stronger than she imagined, and policy obliged her to adhere -to a conduct which had gained his favor, as she knew the least -alteration of it would, to his capricious temper, be sufficient to make -him crush all her hopes. - -Fifteen years passed in this manner, when a friend of Rushbrook's -advised him no longer to be deluded by the promises Lady Greystock still -continued to make, of interceding in his favor, but to write himself to -his uncle for forgiveness, which the duty he owed his family, and the -distress of his situation, should prompt him to immediately. Rushbrook -accordingly wrote a most pathetic letter, and his friend, as he had -promised, delivered it himself to the baronet. The contents of the -letter, and the remonstrance of his visitor, produced a great change in -the sentiments of the baronet. Tenderness for a nephew he had adopted as -his heir from his infancy began to revive, and he seriously reflected, -that by leaving his fortune to Lady Greystock, he should enrich a family -unconnected with him, whilst the last branch of his own was left to -obscurity and wretchedness. Pride recoiled from such an idea, and he -told the gentleman he would consider about a reconciliation with his -nephew. - -The conversation between them, which Lady Greystock had contrived to -overhear, filled her with dismay; but this was increased almost to -distraction, when an attorney being sent for, she repaired again to her -hiding-place, and heard a new will dictated entirely in Rushbrook's -favor. - -Sir Geoffry was soon prevailed on to see his nephew, but Mrs. Rushbrook -and the children were not suffered to appear before him. They were, -however, supplied with everything requisite for making a genteel -appearance, and accompanying the regiment (again ordered abroad) with -comfort. - -Soon after their departure, Sir Geoffry sunk into a sudden state of -insensibility, from which no hopes of his ever recovering could be -entertained. The situation was propitious to the designs of Lady -Greystock; none but creatures of her own were admitted to his chamber. -An attorney was sent for, who had often transacted business for her, -relative to her affairs in Ireland; and a good bribe easily prevailed on -him to draw up a will she dictated, similar to that before made in her -favor. The baronet was raised in her arms, whilst the attorney guided -his almost lifeless hand in signing it; and two clerks set their names -as witnesses. Sir Geoffry expired almost immediately after this scheme -was executed. - -Rushbrook's friend, who had been appointed to act for him, if this event -took place whilst he was abroad, now appeared. A will found in Sir -Geoffry's cabinet was read, by which it appeared Mr. Rushbrook was his -sole heir. The exultation of the peruser, however, was of short -continuance; her ladyship's attorney appeared, and declared the will was -rendered null by one of later date, which he had drawn up in Sir -Geoffry's last moments, by his express desire. Consternation and -surprise pervaded the mind of Rushbrook's friend; he saw the will was -too well attested for him to dispute it, yet he suspected foul play, -and lost no time in communicating his suspicion to Rushbrook. - -Her ladyship settled her affairs most expeditiously and returned with -delight to her native country, after a very long absence from it. Most -of her near relations were dead, but she had many distant ones, who, -prompted by the knowledge of her large fortune, eagerly reminded her of -their affinity, and vied with each other in paying her attention. This -was extremely pleasing to her ladyship, who was fond of pleasure at -other people's expense. For herself she had laid down rules of the most -rigid economy, which she strictly adhered to. From the many invitations -she received she was seldom a resident in her own house; she judged of -others by herself, and ascribed the attentions she received to their -real source, self-interest, which she laughed secretly to think she -should disappoint. - -She was remarkable (as Miss Kilcorban informed Amanda) for asking young -people to do little matters for her, such as making her millinery, -working ruffles, aprons, and handkerchiefs. - -The tranquillity she enjoyed for two years after Sir Geoffry's death was -a little interrupted by his nephew's arrival from America, and -commencing a suit directly against her by the advice of his friends and -some eminent lawyers, on the supposition that the will by which she -inherited had been made when his uncle was in a state of imbecility. - -Lady Greystock, however, received but a trifling shock from this; she -knew he had no money to carry on such an affair, and that his advocates -would lose their zeal in his cause, when convinced of the state of his -finances. On being obliged to go to London to attend the suit, it -immediately occurred that Amanda would be a most pleasing companion to -take along with her, as she would not only enliven the hours she must -sometimes pass at home, but do a number of little things in the way of -dress, which would save a great deal of expense. - -Amanda, on the first proposal of accompanying her, warmly opposed it; -she felt unutterable reluctance to leave her father, and assured him she -would, by exerting herself, prove that a change of scene was not -requisite for restoring her cheerfulness. Fitzalan knew her sincerity in -making this promise, but he also knew her inability of performing it; -his happiness, he declared, depended on her complying with this request: -he even said his own health would probably be established by it, as -during her absence he would partake of the amusements of the country, -which he had hitherto declined on her account. This assertion prevailed -on her to consent, and immediate preparations were made for her journey, -as the invitation had not been given till within a few days of her -ladyship's intended departure. As she went by Holyhead, Fitzalan -determined on sending Ellen to her parents till Amanda returned from -England, which determination pleased Ellen exceedingly, as she longed to -see her family, and tell them particulars of Chip. As the hour -approached for quitting her father, the regret and reluctance of Amanda -increased; nor were his feelings less oppressive, though better -concealed: but when the moment of parting came, they could no longer be -suppressed; he held her with a trembling grasp to his heart, as if life -would forsake it. On her departure, the gloom on his mind seemed like a -presentiment of evil; he repented forcing her from him, and scarcely -could he refrain from saying they must not part. - -Lady Greystock, who in every scene and every situation preserved her -composure, hinted to him the injury he was doing his daughter by such -emotions; and mentioned how short their separation would be, and what -benefit would accrue to Amanda from it. - -This last consideration recalled to his mind instantly composed him, and -he handed them to her ladyship's chariot, which was followed by a hired -chaise containing her woman and Ellen; he then sighed her a last adieu, -returned to his solitary habitation to pray, and in spite of all his -efforts, weep for his darling child. - -Amanda's tears streamed down her pale cheek, and never did she -experience a pang of such sorrow as that she felt, when, the chaise -descending a hill, she caught the last glimpse of Castle Carberry. - -She perceived, however, that her ladyship had no relish for a gloomy -companion, and therefore endeavored to recover her spirits, and enter -into conversation. - -Lady Greystock had a number of friends in that part of Ireland, and -therefore never stopped at an inn. - -"I always, my dear," said she to Amanda, "make use of the friendship -professed for me, and thus endeavor to render the great road of life -delightful." - -They arrived the third day in Sackville Street, where her ladyship had a -house, and two days after embarked for England. They slept the first -night they landed at Holyhead, and the next morning pursued their -journey. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - "A song, a flower, a name, at once restore - Those long-connected scenes when first they moved - The attention----."--AKENSIDE. - - -The dejection of Amanda gradually declined, as the idea of seeing Lord -Mortimer again revived. It revived not, however, without hopes, fears, -and agitations. Sometimes she imagined she should find him devoted to -Lady Euphrasia; then again believed his honor and sincerity would not -allow him to give her up so suddenly, and that this apparent -indifference proceeded from resentment, which would vanish if an -opportunity once offered (and she trusted there would) for explaining -her conduct. She endeavored to calm the emotions these ideas gave rise -to, by reflecting that a short time now would most probably terminate -her suspense. - -They stopped for the night, about five o'clock, at an inn about a mile -from Tudor Hall. After dinner, Amanda informed Lady Greystock she wished -to accompany Ellen to her parents. To this her ladyship made no -objection, on finding she did not want the carriage. She charged her, -however, not to forget the hour of tea, by which time she would be -refreshed by a nap, and ready to engage her at a game of picquet. - -They set out unattended, as Ellen refused the ostler's offer of carrying -her portmanteau, saying she would send for it the next day. This she did -by Amanda's desire, who wished, unobserved, to pursue a walk, in which -she promised herself a melancholy indulgence, from reviewing the -well-known scenes endeared by tender recollections. - -A mournful, yet not undelightful, sensation attends the contemplation of -scenes where we once enjoyed felicity--departed joys are ever remembered -with an enthusiasm of tenderness which soothes the sorrow we experience -for their loss. - -Such were the present feelings of Amanda; while Ellen, undisturbed by -regrets for the past, pointed out, with pleasure, the dwellings of her -intimates and friends. Yet when she came to Chip's deserted cottage, she -stopped, and a tear stole from her eye, accompanied at the same time by -a smile, which seemed to say, "though thou art now lonely and cheerless, -the period is approaching when comfort and gayety shall resume their -stations within thee; when the blaze of thy fire and thy taper shall -not only diffuse cheerfulness within, but without, and give a ray to the -desolate or benighted traveller, to guide him to thy hospitable -shelter!" - -Amanda, leaning on Ellen's arm, proceeded slowly in her walk. The -evening was delightful. The blue vault of heaven was spangled with -stars, and the air, without being severely cold, was clear and -refreshing. Their road, on one side, was skirted with the high woods of -Tudor Hall. Amanda gazed on them with emotion; but when she came to the -gate which Lord Mortimer had opened for her departure at their first -interview, the softness of her heart, could no longer be resisted: she -stopped, leaned pensively upon it, and wept. The evergreens, with which -the woods abounded, prevented their wearing a desolate appearance. She -wished to have pierced into their most sequestered gloom, but she had no -time to indulge this wish; nor did she, indeed believe her companion, -who was tinctured with superstitious fears, would have accompanied her. -"When the glow of vegetation again revives," said she to herself; "when -the blossoms and the flowers again spread their spangled foliage to the -sun, and every shade resounds with harmony, where, alas! will Amanda -be?--far distant, in all probability, from these delightful scenes, -perhaps neglected and forgotten by their master!" - -The awful murmurs of the wind rustling through the trees, joined to the -solemn sound of a neighboring waterfall, began to excite fears in -Ellen's breast. She laid her trembling hand on Amanda, and besought her, -for the love of Cot, to hasten to the cottage. The road still wound -round the wood; and lights from a small village, which lay on its -borders, cast various shadows upon the trees; whilst the hum of distant -voices floated upon the gale, and fancy pictured joyous groups of -rustics assembling round their fires, to enjoy refreshment after the -labors of the day. - -"Peaceful people," said Amanda, "when the wants of nature are satisfied, -no care or trouble obtrudes upon your minds. Tired, but not exhausted -with the toils of the day, with preparing the bosom of the earth for the -ethereal mildness of the spring, you seek and enjoy a calm repose." - -In the lane which led to her nurse's cottage, Amanda paused for a -moment. Down this lane Lord Mortimer had once pursued her. She looked -towards the mansion of Tudor Hall. She endeavored to discern the -library, but all was dark and dismal, except the wing, which Ellen -informed her was occupied by the domestics. Through the window of -Edwin's cottage, they saw all the family seated round a blazing fire, -chatting and laughing. The transport of Ellen's heart overcame every -idea of caution. She hastily unlatched the door, and flung herself into -her parents' arms. Their surprise and joy was unbounded, and Amanda was -received and welcomed with as much tenderness as their child, without -ever asking the reason of her sudden appearance. The first question was, -"Would she not stay with them?" and her answer filled them with regret -and disappointment. Perceiving them about procuring her refreshments, -"she declared she had not a minute to stay. The time allotted for her -walk was already exceeded, and she feared Lady Greystock would be -offended at being left so long at an inn by herself." She therefore -hastily presented some little presents she had brought for the family, -and was bidding them farewell, when poor Ellen, who, from so long -residing with her young lady, almost adored her, suddenly flung herself -into her arms, and clinging round her neck, as if to prevent a -separation, which, till the moment of its arrival, she thought she could -have supported, exclaimed:-- - -"Oh, my tear young laty, we are going to part, and my heart sinks within -me at the idea. Even Chip himself, if he was here, could not console me. -I know you are not happy, and that increases my sorrow. Your sweet cheek -is pale, and I have often seen you cry when you thought no poty was -minding you. If you who are so goot are not happy, how can a peing like -me hope to be so? Oh, may I soon pe plest with seeing you return the -mistress of Tudor Hall, married to the sweetest, handsomest of noblemen, -who, I know, in my soul, loves you, as well inteed he may, for where -would he see the fellow of my young laty? Then Chip and I will be so -happy, for I am sure you and my lort will shelter our humble cottage." - -Amanda pressed the affectionate girl to her breast, and mingled tears -with hers, while she softly whispered to her not to hint at such an -event; "but be assured, my dearest Ellen," continued she, "that I shall -ever rejoice at your felicity, which, to the utmost of my power, I would -promote, and hope soon to hear of your union with Chip." - -"Alack-a-tay!" said her nurse; "are you going away, when I thought you -come to stay among us? and then, perhaps, my lort would have come, and -then there would have peen such a happy meeting. Why, I verily thought -he would have gone distracted when he found you, as one may say, run -away; and to pe sure I did pity him, and should have made no scruple to -tell him where you were, had I known it myself, which he suspected, for -he offered me a sight of money if I would discover. Then there is Parson -Howel; why he has peen like unto nothing put a ghost since you went -away; and he does so sigh, and he comes almost every tay to ask me apout -you, and whether I think or know Lord Mortimer is with you. He will pe -in such grief to think you were here without his seeing you." - -"Well," said Amanda, endeavoring to appear cheerful, "we may all yet -have a happy meeting." - -She then repeated her farewell, and, leaning on the arm of old Edwin, -returned to the inn, where she again bid him adieu; and hastening to her -ladyship, found her just awaking from a comfortable slumber. They drank -tea, and, after playing for about an hour at picquet, retired to rest. -Amanda, who enjoyed but little repose, rose early in the morning, and, -finding her ladyship not quite ready, went down to the court to walk -about till she was; where, to her great surprise, the first object she -perceived was Howel, leaning pensively against a gate opposite the -house. He flew over, and, catching her hand, exclaimed, "You are -surprised, but, I trust, not displeased. I could not resist such an -opportunity of seeing you once more, after all I have suffered from your -precipitate journey, and the probability of never more beholding you. I -have been watching here, in expectation of this happiness, since the -first dawn of day." - -"I am sorry," said Amanda, gravely, "your time was so ill employed." - -"How coldly you speak," cried he. "Ah! could you read my heart, you -would see so little presumption in it, that you would, I am confident, -pity, though you could not relieve, its feelings. Every spot you loved -to frequent, I have haunted since your departure. Your mother's grave -has often been the scene of pensive meditation. Nor has it wanted its -vernal offering; the loveliest flowers of my garden I have wove into -wreaths, and hung them over it, in fond remembrance of her angel -daughter." - -The plaintive sound of Howel's voice, the dejection of his countenance, -excited the softest feelings of sensibility in Amanda's bosom. But she -grew confused by the tenderness of his expression, and, saying she was -happy to see him, tried to disengage her hand, that she might retire. - -"Surely," exclaimed he, still detaining it a few moments, "you might -grant me without reluctance--you, who are going to enjoy every -happiness and pleasure, going to meet the favored----" - -Amanda anticipated the name he was about uttering, and her confusion -redoubled. She attempted again, yet in vain, to withdraw her hand, and -turned to see whether any one was observing them. How great was her -mortification, on perceiving Lady Greystock leaning from a window, -exactly over their heads! She smiled significantly at Amanda, on being -seen; and, the carriage being ready, said, "She would attend her below -stairs." Howel now relinquished Amanda's hand. He saw she looked -displeased; and expressed such sorrow, accompanied with such submissive -apologies for offending her, that she could not avoid according him her -pardon. He handed both her and Lady Greystock into the carriage, and -looked a melancholy adieu as it drove off. - -"Upon my word, a pretty smart young fellow!" said Lady Greystock. -"Though impatient this long time to set out, I could not think of -interrupting the interesting _tete-à-tete_ I saw between you and him. I -suppose you have been a resident in this part of the country before, -from your seeming to know this tender swain so well." - -Amanda wished to avoid acknowledging this. If known, she feared it would -lead to a discovery, or at least excite a suspicion of her intimacy with -Lord Mortimer, which she was desirous of concealing, while in this -uncertainty concerning him. - -"Your ladyship has heard, I believe," replied she, "that Ellen's mother -nursed me?" "Yes, my dear," answered her ladyship, with some smartness; -"but if your acquaintance even commenced with this youth in infancy, I -fancy it has been renewed since that period." - -Amanda blushed deeply, and, to hide her confusion, pretended to be -looking at the prospect from the window. Lady Greystock's eyes pursued -hers. Tudor Hall was conspicuous from the road, and Amanda involuntarily -sighed as she viewed it. - -"That is a fine domain," said Lady Greystock; "I presume you have -visited it, and know its owner?" - -Amanda could not assert a falsehood, neither could she evade the -inquiries of Lady Greystock; and therefore not only confessed its being -the estate of Lord Mortimer, but her own residence near it the preceding -summer. Her ladyship immediately conjectured it was then the attachment -between her and Lord Mortimer had commenced; and the blushes, the -hesitation, and the unwillingness of Amanda, in owning her visit to -Wales, all confirmed this conjecture. She tried, however, to insinuate -herself into her full confidence, by warm expressions of esteem, and by -hinting, that from the disposition of Lord Mortimer, she could not -believe he ever did, or ever would, think seriously of Lady Euphrasia; -this, she hoped, would either induce or betray Amanda to open her whole -heart; but she was disappointed. She flattered herself, however, with -thinking she had discovered enough to satisfy the marchioness, if she, -as Lady Greystock feared she would, expressed any disapprobation at -seeing Amanda her companion. She intended saying, that Fitzalan had -absolutely forced her under her protection. - -They arrived late in the evening of the third day at Pall Mall, where -her ladyship's agent had previously taken lodgings for them. - -Lady Greystock, though immersed in business against the approaching -trial, neglected no means of amusement; and, the day after her arrival, -sent a card of inquiry to the Roslin family, as the most eligible mode -of informing them of it. The next morning, as she expected, she received -a visit from them. Amanda was sitting in the window when the carriage -drove up to the door. She instantly arose, and left the room, determined -neither to expose herself to their impertinence, or appear solicitous -for their notice, by staying in their company uninvited. Lady Greystock -soon informed them of Amanda's having accompanied her to London; and -they, as she expected, expressed both surprise and displeasure at it. As -she had settled in her own mind, she, therefore, told them, "that -Fitzalan had urged her to take his daughter under her care, with -entreaties she could not resist. Entreaties," she added, with a -significant look, "she believed he had good reason for making." She then -related all she suspected, or rather had discovered, relative to the -attachment between Lord Mortimer and Amanda having commenced the -preceding summer in Wales. - -The marchioness and Lady Euphrasia instantly concluded she was sent to -London for the purpose of having it completed by a marriage. This, -however, they determined to prevent. The marchioness felt the most -inveterate hatred against her; and also, that, to prevent her being -advantageously settled, even if that settlement threatened not to -interfere with the one she had projected for her daughter, she could -undertake almost any project. Though she abhorred the idea of noticing -her, yet she was tempted now to do so, from the idea that it would -better enable her to watch her actions. This idea she communicated in a -hasty whisper to Lady Euphrasia, who, approving it, she told Lady -Greystock, "as Miss Fitzalan was her guest, she would, on that account, -permit her to be introduced to them." Amanda was accordingly sent for. -On entering the room, Lady Greystock took her hand, and presented her to -the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. The former, half rising, with a -coldness she could not conquer, said, "Whenever Lady Greystock honored -her with a visit, she should be happy to see Miss Fitzalan along with -her." The latter only noticed her by a slight bow; and when Amanda drew -a chair near the sofa on which she sat, or rather reclined, she -continued staring in her face, and alternately humming an Italian air, -and caressing a little dog she had brought with her. The unembarrassed -elegance of Amanda's air and manner surprised and mortified them, as -they expected to have seen her covered with confusion, at an -introduction so unexpected. To their haughty souls, nothing was more -delightful than the awe and deference which vulgar and illiberal minds -are so apt to pay to rank and fortune. They were provoked to see, in -Amanda, conscious dignity, instead of trembling diffidence. As she sat -by Lady Euphrasia, the marchioness could not help secretly confessing -she was a dangerous rival to her daughter; for never did her lovely -features and ingenuous countenance appear to such advantage, as when -contrasted to Lady Euphrasia's. The Marchioness withdrew soon after her -entrance, unable longer to restrain the malignant passions which envy -had excited. - -Both she and Lady Euphrasia were convinced that to communicate their -suspicions at present to Lord Cherbury about her and his son, would not -answer the end proposed, for it could be of little consequence, they -reflected, to withdraw the esteem of the father, if that of the son -continued, who, independent in his notions, and certain of the fortunes -of his ancestors, might not hesitate to gratify himself. The point, -therefore, was, by some deep-laid scheme, to ruin Amanda in the -estimation of Lord Mortimer; and if in the power of mortals to contrive -and execute such a scheme, they gave themselves credit for being able to -effect it. - -The blow at her fond hopes, they resolved, should be followed by one -against the peace of Fitzalan, on whom they knew, whenever they pleased, -they could draw the resentment of Lord Cherbury. Thus should they -completely triumph over the lovely Amanda--plunge two beings they -detested into poverty and wretchedness--destroy expectations which -interfered with their own, and secure an alliance with a man they had -long wished united to their family. - -From the unaltered indifference of Lord Mortimer to Lady Euphrasia, they -were convinced of his predilection for another, flattering themselves -that nothing but a prior attachment could have rendered him insensible -to the attractions of her ladyship. To render the object of this -attachment contemptible in his sight, they believed would produce the -transfer of affections they so long desired. The haughty soul of Lady -Euphrasia would never have permitted her to think of accepting Lord -Mortimer after his neglect of her, but by the opportunity she should -have by such an acceptance of triumphing over Amanda. From this idea, -she entered warmly into all her mother's plans. - -Lord Cherbury had never yet spoken explicitly to his son concerning the -union he had projected for him. He often, indeed, dropped hints about -it, which he always found either neglected, or purposely misunderstood; -and from these circumstances was pretty sensible of the disinclination -Lord Mortimer felt to his wishes. He knew he entertained high notions of -the independence which a rational mind has a right to maintain, and that -in an affair of such consequence, as Mortimer frequently said he -considered a matrimonial connection to be, he would neither be -controlled by the opinion of others or merely allured by the advantages -of fortune. - -To avoid a disagreeable argument with a son he not only loved, but -respected, he sought rather, by indirect means, to involve him in an -entanglement with the Roslin family, than come to an open explanation -with him. For this purpose he contrived parties as often as possible -with them in public; where, by Lord Mortimer's being seen with Lady -Euphrasia, reports might be raised of an intended alliance between -them--reports which he himself propagated among some particular friends, -with a desire of having them circulated, but an injunction of secrecy as -to their author. These reports would, he trusted, on reaching Lord -Mortimer, lead to a discussion of the affair; and then, he meant to say, -as Lord Mortimer had partly contributed to raise them himself by his -attendance on Lady Euphrasia, he could not possibly, with honor, recede -from realizing them; yet often did his lordship fear his scheme would -prove abortive--for he well knew the cool judgment and keen penetration -of his son. This fear always inspired him with horror, for he had a -motive for desiring the union which he durst not avow. - -Lord Mortimer quickly indeed discerned what his father's views were in -promoting his attendance on Lady Euphrasia. He therefore avoided her -society whenever it was possible to do so without absolute rudeness, and -contradicted the reports he almost continually heard of an intended -alliance between them in the most solemn manner. He had always disliked -her, but latterly that dislike was converted into hatred, from the -malevolence of her conduct towards Amanda; and he felt that, even were -his heart free, he never could devote it to her--or give his hand where -it must be unaccompanied with esteem. He wished to avoid a disagreeable -conversation with Lord Cherbury, and flattered himself his unaltered -indifference to her ladyship would at length convince his lordship of -the impossibility of accomplishing his projected scheme; and that -consequently it would be dropped ere openly avowed, and he saved the -painful necessity of absolutely rejecting a proposal of his father's. - -In the evening Lady Greystock and Amanda received cards for dinner the -next day at the Marquis of Roslin's. Amanda made no objection to this -invitation. Her father had often declared, if the marchioness made an -overture for an intimacy with his children, he would not reject it, as -he always deemed family quarrels highly prejudicial to both parties, -with regard to the opinion of the world. Besides, had she objected to -it, she should either have been a restraint on Lady Greystock, or left -to total solitude; and the idea also stole upon her mind that she should -lose a chance of seeing Lord Mortimer, whom she supposed a frequent -guest of the marquis's. Her heart fluttered at the idea of soon -beholding him, and the bright glow of animation which overspread her -countenance in consequence of this idea attracted the observation of -Lady Greystock, who congratulated her on the alteration that was already -visible in her looks; and inferred from thence that she was so well -recovered of her fatigue as to be able to contrive a little trimming for -her against the next day. This Amanda cheerfully undertook, and having a -quick execution as well as an elegant taste, soon made progress in it -which delighted her ladyship, who, to divert her while she worked, -related some of the many entertaining anecdotes with which her memory -was stored. - -Though Amanda submitted her beautiful hair to the hands of a friseur, -she departed not from the elegant simplicity always conspicuous in her -dress. Her little ornaments were all arranged with taste, and an anxious -wish of appearing to advantage. So lovely, indeed, did she appear to -Lady Greystock, that her ladyship began seriously to fear she should -not be forgiven by the marchioness or Lady Euphrasia, for having -introduced such an object to their parties. - -About six they reached Portman Square, and found a large party assembled -in the drawing-room. After the first compliments were over and Amanda -introduced to the marquis--not, indeed, as a near relation, but an utter -stranger--a gentleman stepped up to the marchioness, and addressing her -in a low voice, was immediately presented by her to Amanda, as the Earl -of Cherbury. - -"My dear young lady," said he, "allow me to express the pleasure I feel -at seeing the daughter of my worthy friend, Mr. Fitzalan. Allow me also -to increase that pleasure," continued he, taking her hand, and leading -her to a very lovely girl who sat at some distance, "by presenting Miss -Fitzalan to Lady Araminta Dormer, and desiring their friendship for each -other." - -Surprised, confused, yet delighted by notice so little expected, the -heart of Amanda heaved with emotion; her cheeks mantled with blushes, -and the tear of sensibility trembled in her eye. She was not, however, -so embarrassed as to be incapable of expressing her acknowledgments to -his lordship for his attention, and also to assure him she had early -been taught, and sensibly felt, the claims he had upon her gratitude and -respect. He bowed, as if to prevent a further mention of obligations, -and left her seated by his daughter, who had expressed her pleasure at -being introduced to her, not in the supercilious style of Lady -Euphrasia, but in the sweet accents of affability and tenderness. - -The conduct of Lord Cherbury had drawn all eyes upon Amanda; and the -marchioness and Lady Euphrasia regarded her with peculiar malignancy. -The idea, however, that they could, whenever they pleased, deprive her -of his notice, a little lessened the jealousy and mortification it had -excited. - -"Pray, who is this little creature," exclaimed Miss Malcolm (who was a -relation of the Marquis's, and, from being extremely ugly, extremely -rich, and extremely ill-natured, was an immense favorite of Lady -Euphrasia's), "that puts one in mind of a country miss, on her first -appearance at a country assembly, blushing and trembling at every eye -she meets?" - -"Some kind of a far-off relation of my mother's," replied Lady -Euphrasia, "whom that old dowager, Lady Greystock, picked up in the -wilds of Ireland, and has absolutely forced upon our notice; though I -assure you, from compassion, we should have taken the poor creature long -ago under our protection, but for the shocking conduct of her family to -the marchioness, and the symptoms she has already betrayed of following -their example. It is really ridiculous sending her to London. I dare say -her silly old father has exhausted all his ways and means in trying to -render her decent, comforting himself, no doubt, with the hope of her -entrapping some young fool of quality, who may supply his wants as well -as hers." - -"Ay, I suppose all the stock in the farm was sold to dress her out," -cried young Freelove, a little, trifling fop, who leaned on the back of -her ladyship's chair. He was a ward of Lord Cherbury, and his fortune -considerable; but nature had not been quite as bounteous to him as the -blind goddess. Both his mind and person were effeminate to a degree of -insignificance. All he aimed at was--being a man of fashion. His -manners, like his dress, were therefore regulated by it, and he never -attempted to approve of anything, or any creature, till assured they -were quite the ton. He had danced attendance for some time on Lady -Euphrasia, and she encouraged his assiduities in hopes of effecting a -change in Lord Mortimer's manner. But had his lordship even been a -passionate lover, poor Freelove was not calculated to inspire him with -jealousy. "I declare," continued he, surveying Amanda through an -opera-glass which dangled from his button-hole, "if her father has -nothing to support him but the hope of her making a conquest of -importance, he will be in a sad way, for, 'pon my soul, I can see -nothing the girl has to recommend her, except novelty; and that, you -know, is a charm which will lessen every day. All she can possibly -expect, is an establishment for a few months with some tasteless being -who may like the simplicity of her country look." - -"And more than she merits," exclaimed Miss Malcolm; "I have no patience -with such creatures forcing themselves into society quite above them." - -"I assure you," said Lady Euphrasia, "you would be astonished at her -vanity and conceit, if you knew her. She considers herself a first-rate -beauty, though positively any one may see she is quite the reverse, and -pretends to the greatest gentleness and simplicity. Then she has made -some strange kind of people (to be sure they must be) believe she is -accomplished; though, I dare say, if she can read tolerably, and scrawl -out a decent letter, 'tis the utmost she can do." - -"We will quiz her after dinner about her accomplishments," said -Freelove, "and have a little fun with her." - -"Ay, do," cried Miss Malcolm. "We will ask her to play and sing," said -her ladyship; "for I assure you she pretends to excel in both; though, -from her father's poverty, I am certain she can know little of either. I -shall enjoy her confusion of all things, when her ignorance is -detected." - -Whilst this conversation was passing, Amanda, in conversing with Lady -Araminta, experienced the purest pleasure. Her ladyship was the -"softened image" of Lord Mortimer. Her voice was modulated to the same -harmony as his, and Amanda gazed and listened with rapture. On her -confusion abating, her eye had wandered round the room in quest of his -lordship, but he was not in it. At every stir, near the door, her heart -fluttered at the idea of seeing him; nor was this idea relinquished till -summoned to dinner. She fortunately procured a seat next Lady Araminta, -which prevented her thinking the time spent at dinner tedious. In the -evening the rooms were crowded with company, but Lord Mortimer appeared -not among the brilliant assembly. Yet the pang of disappointment was -softened to Amanda by his absence, intimating that he was not anxious -for the society of Lady Euphrasia. True, business, or a prior -engagement, might have prevented his coming; but she, as is natural, -fixed on the idea most flattering to herself. - -Lady Euphrasia, in pursuance of the plan laid against Amanda, led the -way to the music-room, attended by a large party; as Freelove had -intimated to some of the beaux and belles, her ladyship and he were -going to quiz an ignorant Irish country girl. Lady Euphrasia sat down to -the harpsichord, that she might have a better pretext for asking Amanda -to play. Freelove seated himself by the latter, and began a conversation -which, he thought, would effectually embarrass her; but it had quite a -contrary effect, rendering him so extremely ridiculous as to excite a -universal laugh at his expense. - -Amanda soon perceived his intention in addressing her; and, also, that -Lady Euphrasia and Miss Malcolm were privy to it, having caught the -significant looks which passed among them. Though tremblingly alive to -every feeling of modesty, she had too much sense, and real nobleness of -soul, to allow the illiberal sallies of impertinence to divest her of -composure. - -"Have you seen any of the curiosities of London, my dear?" exclaimed -Freelove, lolling back in his chair, and contemplating the lustre of his -buckles, unconscious of the ridicule he excited. - -"I think I have," said Amanda, somewhat archly, and glancing at him, -"quite an original in its kind." Her look, as well as the emphasis on -her words, excited another laugh at his expense, which threw him into a -momentary confusion. - -"I think," said he, as he recovered from it, "the Monument and the -Tower would be prodigious fine sights to you, and I make it a particular -request that I may be included in your party whenever you visit them, -particularly the last place." - -"And why," replied Amanda, "should I take the trouble of visiting wild -beasts, when every day I may see animals equally strange, and not half -so mischievous?" - -Freelove, insensible as he was, could not mistake the meaning of -Amanda's words, and he left her with a mortified air, being, to use his -own phrase, "completely done up." - -Lady Euphrasia, now rising from the harpsichord, requested Amanda to -take her place at it, saying, with an ironical air, "her performance -(which indeed was shocking) would make hers appear to amazing -advantage." - -Diffident of her own abilities, Amanda begged to be excused. But when -Miss Malcolm, with an earnestness even oppressive, joined her entreaties -to Lady Euphrasia's she could no longer refuse. - -"I suppose," said her ladyship, following her to the instrument, "these -songs," presenting her some trifling ones, "will answer you better than -the Italian music before you?" - -Amanda made no reply, but turned over the leaves of the book to a lesson -much more difficult than that Lady Euphrasia had played. Her touch at -first was tremulous and weak, but she was too susceptible of the powers -of harmony not soon to be inspired by it; and gradually her style became -so masterly and elegant, as to excite universal admiration, except in -the bosoms of those who had hoped to place her in a ludicrous situation. -Their invidious scheme, instead of depressing, had only served to render -excellence conspicuous; and that mortification they destined for -another, fell upon themselves. When the lesson was concluded, some -gentlemen who either were, or pretended to be, musical connoisseurs, -entreated her to sing. She chose a plaintive Italian air, and the -exquisite taste and sweetness with which she sung, equally astonished -and delighted. Nor was admiration confined to the accomplishments she -displayed. The soft expression of her countenance, which seemed -accordant to the harmonious sounds that issued from her lips, was viewed -with pleasure, and praised with energy; and she rose from the -harpsichord covered with blushes from the applause which stole around -her. The gentlemen gathered around Lady Euphrasia, to inquire who the -beautiful stranger was, and she gave them pretty much the same account -she had already done to Miss Malcolm. - -The rage and disappointment of that young lady, and her ladyship, could -scarcely be concealed. "I declare, I never knew anything so monstrously -absurd," exclaimed Lady Euphrasia, "as to let a girl in her situation -learn such things, except, indeed, it was to qualify her for a -governess, or an opera singer." - -"Ay, I suppose," said Miss Malcolm, "we shall soon hear her quavering -away at one of the theatres; for no person of fashion would really -intrust her children to so confident a creature." - -The fair object of their disquietude gladly accompanied Lady Araminta -into another room. Several gentlemen followed, and crowded about her -chair, offering that adulation which they were accustomed to find -acceptable at the shrine of beauty. To Amanda, however, it was irksome, -not only from its absurd extravagance, but as it interrupted her -conversation with Lady Araminta. The marchioness, however, who -critically watched her motions, soon relieved her from the troublesome -assiduities of the beaux, by placing them at card-tables. Not, indeed, -from any good-natured motive, but she could not bear that Amanda should -have so much attention paid her, and flattered herself she would be -vexed by losing it. - -In the course of conversation, Lady Araminta mentioned Ireland. She had -a faint remembrance of Castle Carberry, she said, and had been half -tempted to accompany the marquis and his family in their late excursion. -Her brother, she added, had almost made her promise to visit the castle -with him the ensuing summer. "You have seen Lord Mortimer, to be sure?" -continued her ladyship. - -"Yes, madam," faltered Amanda, while her face was overspread with a -crimson hue. Her ladyship was too penetrating not to perceive her -confusion, and it gave rise to a conjecture of something more than a -slight acquaintance being between his lordship and Amanda. The -melancholy he had betrayed on his return from Ireland had excited the -raillery of her ladyship, till convinced, by the discomposure he showed -whenever she attempted to inquire into the occasion of it, that it -proceeded from a source truly interesting to his feelings. She knew of -the alliance her father had projected for him with the Roslin family--a -project she never approved of, for Lady Euphrasia was truly disagreeable -to her; and a soul like Mortimer's, tender, liberal, and sincere, she -knew could never experience the smallest degree of happiness with a -being so uncongenial in every respect as was Lady Euphrasia to him. She -loved her brother with the truest tenderness, and secretly believed he -was attached in Ireland. She wished to gain his confidence, yet would -not solicit it, because she knew she had it not in her power -essentially to serve him. Her arguments, she was convinced, would have -little weight with Lord Cherbury, who had often expressed to her his -anxiety for a connection with the Roslin family. With the loveliness of -Amanda's person, with the elegance of her manner, she was immediately -charmed. As she conversed with her, esteem was added to admiration, and -she believed that Mortimer would not have omitted mentioning to her the -beautiful daughter of his father's agent, had he not feared betraying -too much emotion at her name. She appeared to Lady Araminta just the -kind of woman he would adore; just the being that would answer all the -ideas of perfection (romantic ideas she had called them) which he had -declared necessary to captivate his heart. Lady Araminta already felt -for her unspeakable tenderness. In the softness of her looks, in the -sweetness of her voice, there were resistless charms; and she felt, that -if oppressed by sorrow, Amanda Fitzalan, above all other beings, was the -one she would select to give her consolation. The confusion she betrayed -at the mention of Mortimer, made her ladyship suspect she was the cause -of his dejection. She involuntarily fastened her eyes upon her face, as -if to penetrate the recesses of her heart, yet with a tenderness which -seemed to say she would pity the secret she might then discover. - -Lord Cherbury, at this moment of embarrassment to Amanda, approached. He -said, "He had just been making a request, and an apology to Lady -Greystock, and was now come to repeat them to her. The former was, to -meet the marquis's family at his house the next day at dinner; and the -latter was, to excuse so unceremonious an invitation, which he had been -induced to make on Lady Araminta's account, who was obliged to leave -town the day after the next, and had, therefore, no time for the usual -etiquette of visiting." - -Amanda bowed. This invitation was more pleasing than one of more form -would have been. It seemed to indicate friendship, and a desire to have -the intimacy between her and his daughter cultivated. It gave her also a -hope of seeing Lord Mortimer. All these suggestions inspired her with -uncommon animation, and she entered into a lively conversation with Lord -Cherbury, who had infinite vivacity in his look and manner. Lady -Araminta observed the attention he paid her with pleasure. A -prepossession in her favor, she trusted, might produce pleasing -consequences. - -Lady Greystock at length rose to depart. Amanda received an affectionate -adieu from Lady Araminta; and Lord Cherbury attended the ladies to their -carriage. On driving off, Lady Greystock observed, what a charming -polite man his lordship was; and, in short, threw out such hints, and -entered into such a warm eulogium on his merits, that Amanda began to -think he would not find it very difficult to prevail on her ladyship to -enter once more the temple of Hymen. - -Amanda retired to her chamber in a state of greater happiness than for a -long period before she had experienced; but it was a happiness which -rather agitated than soothed the feelings, particularly hers, which were -so susceptible of every impression, that - - "They turned at the touch of joy or woe, - And turning trembled too." - -Her present happiness was the offspring of hope, and therefore -peculiarly liable to disappointment; a hope derived from the attention -of Lord Cherbury, and the tenderness of Lady Araminta, that the fond -wishes of her heart might yet be realized; wishes, again believed from -hearing of Lord Mortimer's dejection, which his sister had touched upon, -and from his absenting himself from the marquis's, which were not -uncongenial to those he himself entertained. She sat down to acquaint -her father with the particulars of the day she had passed: for her chief -consolation in her absence from him, was, in the idea of writing and -hearing constantly. Her writing finished, she sat by the fire, -meditating on the interview she expected would take place on the ensuing -day, till the hoarse voice of the watchmen, proclaiming past three -o'clock, roused her from her reverie. She smiled at the abstraction of -her thoughts, and retired to bed to dream of felicity. - -So calm were her slumbers--so delightful her dreams--that Sol had long -shot his timorous ray into her chamber ere she awoke. Her spirits still -continued serene and animated. On descending to the drawing-room, she -found Lady Greystock just entering it. After breakfast, they went out in -her ladyship's carriage to different parts of the town. All was new to -Amanda, who, during her former residence in it, had been entirely -confined to lodgings in a retired street. She wondered at, and was -amused by, the crowds continually passing and repassing. About four they -returned to dress. Amanda began the labors of the toilet with a beating -heart; nor were its quick pulsations decreased on entering Lady -Greystock's carriage, which in a few minutes conveyed her to Lord -Cherbury's house in St. James's Square. She followed her ladyship with -tottering steps; and the first object she saw on entering the -drawing-room was Mortimer standing near the door. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - "Begone my cares; I give you to the winds."--ROWE. - - -In the drawing-room were already assembled the marquis, marchioness, -Lady Euphrasia, Miss Malcolm, and Freelove. Lady Araminta perceived in -the hesitating voice of Amanda the emotions which agitated her, and -which were not diminished when Lord Cherbury, taking her trembling hand, -said-- - -"Mortimer, I presume you have already seen Miss Fitzalan in Ireland?" - -"I have, my lord," replied Mortimer, bowing, and at the same time -approaching to pay his compliments. - -Every eye in the room, except Lord Cherbury's and Freelove's, was now -turned upon his lordship and Amanda, and thought, in the expressive -countenances of both, enough could be read to confirm their suspicions -of a mutual attachment subsisting between them. - -Amanda, when seated, endeavored to recover from her confusion. Miss -Malcolm, to prevent Lord Mortimer's taking a seat by her, which she -thought she perceived him inclined to do, beckoned him to her, and -contrived to engage him in trifling chat, till they were summoned to -dinner. On receiving his hand, which he could not avoid offering, to -lead her to the parlor, she cast a look of exultation at Amanda. Lady -Araminta, perceiving all the gentlemen engaged, good-humoredly put her -arm within Amanda's, and said she would be her chaperon on the present -occasion. Lord Mortimer quitted Miss Malcolm the moment he had procured -her a seat, though she desired him to take one between her and Lady -Euphrasia, and, passing to the other side, placed himself by Amanda. -This action pleased her as much as it mortified them. It embarrassed -her, however, a little; but perceiving the scrutinizing earnestness with -which the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia regarded her, she exerted her -spirits, and was soon able to join in the general conversation which -Lord Mortimer promoted. - -The unexpected arrival of Amanda in London astonished, and, -notwithstanding his resentment, delighted him. His sister, when they -were alone in the morning, had mentioned her with all the fervency of -praise. Her plaudits gave to him a sensation of satisfied pride, which -convinced him he was not less than ever interested about Amanda. Since -his return from Ireland, he had been distracted by incertitude and -anxiety about her. The innocence, the purity, the tenderness she had -displayed, were perpetually recurring to his memory. It was impossible, -he thought, they could be feigned, and he began to think the apparent -mystery of her conduct she could have satisfactorily explained--that -designedly she had not avoided him--and that, but for the impetuosity of -his own passions, which had induced his precipitate departure, he might, -ere this, have had all his doubts removed. Tortured with incessant -regret for this departure, he would have returned immediately to -Ireland, but at this period found it impossible to do so, without -exciting inquiries from Lord Cherbury, which, at present, he did not -choose to answer. He had planned an excursion thither the ensuing summer -with Lady Araminta, determined no longer to endure his suspense. He now -almost believed the peculiar interposition of Providence had brought -Amanda to town, thus affording him another opportunity of having his -anxiety relieved, and the chief obstacle, perhaps to his, and he -flattered himself also, to her happiness, removed; for, if assured her -precipitate journey from Wales was occasioned by no motive she need -blush to avow, he felt he should be better enabled to combat the -difficulties he was convinced his father would throw in the way of their -union. Notwithstanding Lady Araminta's endeavors to gain his implicit -confidence, he resolved to withhold it from her, lest she should incur -even the temporary displeasure of Lord Cherbury, by the warm interest he -knew she would take in his affairs, if once informed of them. - -Amanda looked thinner and paler than when he had seen her in -Ireland--yet, if possible, more interesting from these circumstances; -and, from the soft glance she had involuntarily directed towards him at -her entrance, he was tempted to think he had, in some degree, -contributed to rob her lovely cheek of its bloom; and this idea rendered -her dearer than ever to him. Scarcely could he restrain the rapture he -felt on seeing her within the necessary bounds; scarcely could he -believe the scene which had given rise to his happiness real. His heart, -at the moment melting with tenderness, sighed for the period of -explanation, which he trusted, which he hoped, would also be the period -of reconciliation. - -The gentlemen joined the ladies about teatime, and as no additional -company was expected, Lady Euphrasia proposed a party to the Pantheon. -This was at once agreed to. Amanda was delighted at the proposal, as it -not only promised to gratify her curiosity, but to give Lord Mortimer an -opportunity of addressing her, as she saw he wished, but vainly -attempted, at home. The marquis and Lord Cherbury declined going. Lady -Greystock, who had not ordered her carriage till a much later hour, -accepted a place in the marchioness's. - -Neither Lady Euphrasia nor Miss Malcolm could bear the idea of Lord -Mortimer and Amanda going in the same carriage, as the presence of Lady -Araminta, they were convinced, would not prevent their using an -opportunity so propitious for conversing as they wished. Lady Euphrasia, -therefore, with sudden eagerness, declared she and Miss Malcolm would -resign their seats in the marchioness's carriage to Miss Fitzalan and -Freelove for the pleasure of accompanying Lady Araminta in hers. The -marchioness, who conjectured her daughter's motive for this new -arrangement, seconded it, to the secret regret of Amanda, and the -visible chagrin of Lord Mortimer. Amanda, however, consoled herself for -this disappointment, by reflecting on the pleasure she should enjoy in a -few minutes, when freed from the disagreeable observation of the -marchioness and Lady Euphrasia; her reflections were not in the least -interrupted by any conversation being addressed to her. The marchioness -and Lady Greystock chatted together, and Freelove amused himself humming -a song, as if for the purpose of mortifying Amanda by his inattention. -When the carriage stopped, he assisted the former ladies out; but as if -forgetting such a being existed as Amanda, he went on with them. She was -descending the steps when Lord Mortimer pressed forward, and snatching -her hand, softly exclaimed: "We have met again, and neither envy nor -malice shall again separate us." A beautiful glow overspread the -countenance of Amanda: her hand trembled in his, and she felt, in that -moment, recompensed for her former disappointment, and elevated above -the little insolence of Freelove. Lord Mortimer handed her to his -sister, who was waiting to receive her, and they proceeded to the room. -Lady Euphrasia entered it with a temper unfitted for enjoyment. She was -convinced the whole soul of Mortimer was devoted to Amanda, and she -trembled from the violent and malignant feelings that conviction -excited. From the moment he entered the carriage till he quitted it he -had remained silent, notwithstanding all her efforts and Miss Malcolm's -to force him into conversation. He left them as soon as they reached the -Pantheon to watch the marchioness's carriage, which followed theirs, and -on rejoining Amanda he attached himself entirely to her, without any -longer appearing anxious to conceal his predilection for her. He had, -indeed, forgotten the necessity there was for concealing it; all his -feelings, all his ideas, were engrossed by ecstasy and tenderness. The -novelty, the brilliancy of the scene, excited surprise and pleasure in -Amanda, and he was delighted with the animated description she gave of -the effect it produced upon her mind. In her he found united, exalted -sense, lively fancy, and an uncorrupted taste: he forgot that the eyes -of jealousy and malevolence were on them; he forgot every object but -herself. - -But, alas! poor Amanda was doomed to disappointment this evening. Lady -Greystock, according to a hint she had received, after a few rounds, -stepped up to her, and declared she must accompany her to a seat, as she -was convinced her health was yet too weak to bear much fatigue. Amanda -assured her she was not in the least fatigued, and that she would prefer -walking; besides, she had half-promised Lord Mortimer to dance with him. -This Lady Greystock absolutely declared she would not consent to, though -Lady Araminta, on whose arm Amanda leaned, pleaded for her friend, -assuring her ladyship "she would take care Miss Fitzalan should not -injure herself." - -"Ah, you young people," said Lady Greystock, "are so carried away with -spirits, you never reflect on consequences; but I declare, as she is -intrusted to my care, I could not answer it to my conscience to let her -run into any kind of danger." - -Lady Araminta remonstrated with her ladyship, and Amanda would have -joined, but that she feared her real motive for doing so would have been -discovered. She perceived the party were detained from proceeding on her -account, and immediately offered her arm to Lady Greystock, and -accompanied her and the marchioness to a seat. Lady Euphrasia, catching -hold of Lady Araminta's arm, hurried her, at the same instant, into the -crowd; and Miss Malcolm, as if by chance, laid her hand on Lord -Mortimer, and thus compelled him to attend her party. She saw him, -however, in the course of the round, prepared to fly off; but when they -had completed it, to her inexpressible joy, the situation of Amanda made -him relinquish his intention, as to converse with her was utterly -impossible; for the marchioness had placed her between Lady Greystock -and herself, and, under the pretence of frequently addressing her -ladyship, was continually leaning across Amanda, so as to exclude her -almost from observation, thus rendering her situation, exclusive of the -regret at being separated from Lord Mortimer and Lady Araminta, highly -disagreeable. The marchioness enjoyed a malicious joy in the uneasiness -she saw she gave Amanda. She deemed it but a slight retaliation for the -uneasiness she had given Lady Euphrasia--a trifling punishment for the -admiration she had excited. - -Amanda, indeed, whilst surveying the scene around her with wonder and -delight, had herself been an object of critical attention and inquiry. -She was followed, universally admired, and allowed to be the finest girl -that had appeared for a long season. - -Relieved of her presence, Lady Euphrasia's spirits began to revive, and -her good-humor to return. She laughed maliciously with Miss Malcolm at -the disappointment of Lord Mortimer and Amanda. After a few rounds, Sir -Charles Bingley, in company with another gentleman, passed them. He was, -to use Miss Malcolm's own phrase, "an immense favorite with her," and -she had long meditated and attempted the conquest of his heart. The -attention which politeness obliged him to show, and the compliments she -sometimes compelled him to pay, she flattered herself, were intimations -of the success of her scheme. Lady Euphrasia, notwithstanding her -intentions relative to Lord Mortimer, and her professed friendship for -Miss Malcolm, felt an ardent desire to have Sir Charles enrolled in the -list of her admirers, and both ladies determined he should not again -pass without noticing them. They accordingly watched his approach, and -when they again met addressed him in a manner that, to a man at all -interested about either, would have been truly flattering. As this, -however, was not the young baronet's case, after paying his compliments -in a general way to the whole party, he was making his parting bow, when -his companion, pulling him by the sleeve, bid him observe a beautiful -girl sitting opposite to them. They had stopped near the marchioness's -seat, and it was to Amanda Sir Charles's eyes were directed. - -"Gracious heaven!" cried he, starting, while his cheek was suffused with -a glow of pleasure; "can this be possible? Can this in reality," -advancing to her seat, "be Miss Fitzalan? This surely," continued he, -"is a meeting as fortunate as unexpected. But for it, I should have been -posting back to Ireland in a day or two." - -Amanda blushed deeply at his thus publicly declaring her power of -regulating his actions. Her confusion restored that recollection his -joyful surprise had deprived him of, and he addressed the marchioness -and Lady Greystock. The former haughtily bowed, without speaking; and -the latter, laughing significantly, said, "she really imagined ecstasy -on Miss Fitzalan's account had made him forget any one else was -present." The situation of Amanda was tantalizing in an extreme degree -to Sir Charles. It precluded all conversation, and frequently hid her -from his view, as the marchioness and Lady Greystock still continued -their pretended whispers. Sir Charles had some knowledge of the -marchioness's disposition, and quickly perceived the motive of her -present conduct. - -"Your ladyship is kind," said he, "in trying to hide Miss Fitzalan, as -no doubt you are conscious 'tis not a slight heartache she would give to -some of the belles present this evening. But why," continued he, turning -to Amanda, "do you prefer sitting to walking?" - -Amanda made no answer; but a glance from her expressive eyes to the -ladies informed him of the reason. - -Lady Euphrasia and Miss Malcolm, provoked at the abrupt departure of Sir -Charles, had hurried on; but scarcely had they proceeded a few yards ere -envy and curiosity induced them to turn back. Lady Araminta perceived -their chagrin, and secretly enjoyed it. Sir Charles, who had been -looking impatiently for their approach, the moment he perceived them, -entreated Amanda to join them. - -"Let me," cried he, presenting his hand, "be your knight on the present -occasion, and deliver you from what may be called absolute captivity." - -She hesitated not to accept his offer. The continual buzz in the room, -with the passing and repassing of the company, had made her head giddy. -She deemed no apology requisite to her companions; and, quitting her -seat, hastened forward to Lady Araminta, who had stopped for her. A -crowd at that moment, intervening between them, retarded her progress. -Sir Charles, pressing her hand with fervor, availed himself of this -opportunity to express his pleasure at their unexpected meeting. - -"Ah! how little," cried he, "did I imagine there was such happiness in -store for me this evening." - -"Sir Charles," said Amanda, endeavoring, though in vain, to withdraw her -hand, "you have learned the art of flattering since your return to -England." - -"I wish," cried he, "I had learned the art of expressing, as I wish, the -sentiments I feel." - -Lord Mortimer, who had made way through the crowd for the ladies, at -this instant appeared. He seemed to recoil at the situation of Amanda, -whose hand was yet detained in Sir Charles's, while the soft glow and -confusion of her face gave at least a suspicion of the language she was -listening to. - -On rejoining the party she hoped again to have been joined by Lord -Mortimer; but, even if inclined for this, Sir Charles totally prevented -him. His lordship deserted them, yet almost continually contrived to -intercept the party, and his eyes were always turned on Amanda and Sir -Charles. He was really displeased with her. He thought she might as well -have left her seat before as after Sir Charles's appearance, and he -resolved to watch her closely. She was asked to dance by Sir Charles, -and several other gentlemen, but refused, and Lady Araminta, on her -account, followed her example. Lady Euphrasia and Miss Malcolm either -were too much discomposed, or not asked by gentlemen they liked, to join -the festive group. - -Amanda, from being disappointed, soon grew languid, and endeavored to -check, with more than usual seriousness, the ardent expressions of Sir -Charles, who repeatedly declared, "he had hurried over the affairs which -brought him to England entirely on her account, as he thought every day -an age until they again met." - -She was rejoiced when Lady Araminta proposed returning home. Lady -Euphrasia and Miss Malcolm had no longer a desire to accompany her -ladyship, as they believed Lord Mortimer already gone, and she and -Amanda therefore returned alone. Sir Charles was invited to supper, an -invitation he joyfully accepted, and promised to follow her ladyship as -soon as he had apprised the party he came with of his intention. - -Lady Araminta and Amanda arrived some time before the rest of the party. -Her ladyship said, "that her leaving town was to attend the nuptials of -a particular friend," and was expressing her hopes, that on her return, -she should often be favored with the company of Amanda, when the door -suddenly opened and Lord Mortimer entered. He looked pleased and -surprised, and taking a seat on the sofa between them, exclaimed, as he -regarded them with unutterable tenderness, "surely one moment like this -is worth whole hours such as we have lately spent. May I," looking at -Amanda, "say that chance is now as propitious to me as it was some time -ago to Sir Charles Bingley? Tell me," continued he, "were you not -agreeably surprised to-night?" - -"By the Pantheon, undoubtedly, my lord." - -"And by Sir Charles Bingley?" - -"No. He is too slight an acquaintance either to give pleasure by his -presence or pain by his absence." - -This was just what Lord Mortimer wanted to hear. The looks of Amanda, -and, above all, the manner in which she had received the attentions of -Sir Charles, evinced her sincerity. The shadow of jealousy removed, Lord -Mortimer recovered all his animation. Never does the mind feel so light, -so truly happy, as when a painful doubt is banished from it. - -"Miss Fitzalan," said Lady Araminta, recurring to what Amanda had just -said, "can see few beings, like herself, capable of exciting immediate -esteem. For my own part, I cannot persuade myself that she is an -acquaintance of but two days, I feel such an interest in her welfare, -such a sisterly regard." She paused, and looked expressively on her -brother and Amanda. His fine eyes beamed the liveliest pleasure. - -"Oh, my sister," cried he, "encourage that sisterly affection. Who so -worthy of possessing it as Miss Fitzalan? and who but Amanda," continued -he, passing his arm round her waist, and softly whispering to her, -"shall have a right to claim it?" - -The stopping of the carriages now announced the return of the party, and -terminated a scene, which, if much longer protracted, might, by -increasing their agitation, have produced a full discovery of their -feelings. The ladies were attended by Sir Charles and Freelove. The -marquis and Lord Cherbury had been out, but returned about this time; -and soon after supper the company departed--Lady Araminta tenderly -bidding Amanda farewell. - -The cares which had so long pressed upon the heart of Amanda, and -disturbed its peace, were now vanished. The whisper of Lord Mortimer had -assured her that she was not only the object of his tenderest affection, -but most serious attention. The regard of Lady Araminta flattered her -pride, as it implied a tacit approbation of her brother's choice. - -The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Lady Greystock went out -to her lawyer, and Amanda was sitting at work in the dressing-room, when -Sir Charles Bingley was announced. He now expressed, if possible, more -pleasure at seeing her than he had done the preceding night; -congratulated himself at finding her alone, and repeatedly declared, -from their first interview, her image had never been absent from his -mind. The particularity and ardor of his expressions Amanda wished, and -endeavored, to repress. She had not the ridiculous and unfeeling vanity -to be delighted with an attachment she could not return; besides his -attentions were unpleasing, as she believed they gave uneasiness to -Lord Mortimer. She therefore answered him with cold and studied caution, -which, to his impetuous feelings, was insupportable. Half resenting, -half rallying it, he snatched her hand, in spite of her efforts to -prevent him, and was declaring he could not bear it, when the door -opened and Lord Mortimer appeared. Had Amanda been encouraging the -regard of Sir Charles, she could not have betrayed more confusion. Lord -Mortimer retreated a few steps, in evident embarrassment; then bowing -coolly, again advanced and took a seat. Sir Charles started up, with a -look which seemed to say he had been most unpleasantly interrupted, and -walked about the room. Amanda was the first who broke silence. She -asked, in a hesitating voice, "Whether Lady Araminta was yet gone?" -"No," his lordship gravely replied; "but in a few minutes she proposed -setting out, and he meant to accompany her part of the way." "So, till -her ladyship was ready," cried Sir Charles, with quickness, "that no -time might be lost, you come to Miss Fitzalan?" - -Lord Mortimer made no reply. He frowned, and rising directly, slightly -saluted Amanda, and retired. - -Convinced, as she was, that Lord Mortimer had made the visit for the -purpose of speaking more explicitly than he had yet done, she could not -entirely conceal her chagrin, or regard Sir Charles without some -displeasure. It had not, however, the effect of making him shorten his -visit. He continued with her till Lady Greystock's return, to whom he -proposed a party that evening for the opera, and obtained permission to -wait upon her ladyship at tea, with tickets, notwithstanding Amanda -declared her disinclination to going. She wished to avoid the public, as -well as private, attentions of Sir Charles; but both she found -impossible to do. The impression which the charms of her mind and form -had made on him was of too ardent, too permanent a nature, to be erased -by her coldness. Generous and exalted in his notions, affluent and -independent in his fortune, he neither required any addition of wealth, -nor was under any control which could prevent his following his -inclinations. His heart was bent on a union with Amanda. Though hurt by -her indifference, he would not allow himself to be discouraged by it. -Time and perseverance, he trusted and believed, would conquer it. -Unaccustomed to disappointment, he could not, in an affair which so -materially concerned his happiness, bear the idea of proving -unsuccessful. Had Amanda's heart been disengaged, he would probably have -succeeded as he wished; for he was calculated to please, to inspire -admiration and esteem; and Amanda felt a real friendship for him, and -sincerely grieved that his ardent regard could not be reduced to as -temperate a medium as hers. - -Lady Greystock had a numerous and brilliant acquaintance in London, -amongst whom she was continually engaged. Sir Charles was well known to -them, and therefore almost constantly attended Amanda wherever she went. -His unremitted and particular attention excited universal observation; -and he was publicly declared the professed admirer of Lady Greystock's -beautiful companion. The appellation was generally bestowed on her by -the gentlemen; as many of Lady Greystock's female intimates declared, -from the appearance of the girl, as well as her distressed situation, -they wondered Sir Charles Bingley could ever think about her, for her -ladyship had represented her as a person in the most indigent -circumstances, on which account she had taken her under her protection. -All that envy, hatred, and malice could suggest against her, Miss -Malcolm said. The marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, judging of her by -themselves, supposed that as she was not sure of Lord Mortimer she would -accept of Sir Charles; and though this measure would remove all -apprehensions relative to Lord Mortimer, yet the idea of the wealth and -consequence she would derive from it, almost distracted them. Thus does -envy sting the bosoms which harbor it. - -Lord Mortimer again resumed his reserve. He was frequently in company -with Amanda, but never even attempted to pay her any attention; yet his -eyes, which she often caught riveted on her, though the moment she -perceived them they were withdrawn, seemed to say that the alteration in -his manner was not produced by any diminution of tenderness. He was, -indeed, determined to regulate his conduct by hers to Sir Charles. -Though pained and irritated by his assiduities, he had too much pride to -declare a prior claim to her regard--a woman who could waver between two -objects, he deemed unworthy of either. He therefore resolved to leave -Amanda free to act, and put her constancy to a kind of test. Yet, -notwithstanding all his pride, we believe, if not pretty well convinced -that this test would have proved a source of triumph to himself, he -never would have submitted to it. The period for Lady Araminta's return -was now arrived, and Amanda was anxiously expecting her, when she heard -from Lady Euphrasia that her ladyship had been ill in the country, and -would not therefore leave it for some time. This was a severe -disappointment to Amanda, who had hoped, by her ladyship's means, to -have seen less of Sir Charles and more of Lord Mortimer. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - "And why should such, within herself, she cried, - Lock the lost wealth, a thousand want beside."--PARNELL. - - -Amanda was sitting alone in the drawing-room one morning, when a -gentleman was shown into it, to wait for Lady Greystock. The stranger -was about the middle period of life; his dress announced him a military -man, and his threadbare coat seemed to declare that whatever laurels he -had gathered, they were barren ones. His form and face were interesting; -infirmity appeared to press upon one, and sorrow had deeply marked the -other, yet without despoiling it of a certain expression which indicated -the hilarity nature had once stamped upon it. His temples were sunk, and -his cheek faded to a sickly hue. Amanda felt immediate respect and -sensibility for the interesting figure before her. The feelings of her -soul, the early lessons of her youth, had taught her to reverence -distress; and never, perhaps, did she think it so peculiarly affecting, -as when in a military garb. - -The day was uncommonly severe, and the stranger shivered with the cold. - -"I declare, young lady," cried he, as he took the chair which Amanda had -placed for him by the fire, "I think I should not tremble more before an -enemy, than I do before this day. I don't know but what it is as -essential for a subaltern officer to stand cold as well as fire." - -Amanda smiled, and resumed her work. She was busily employed making a -trimming of artificial flowers for Lady Greystock, to present to a young -lady, from whose family she had received some obligations. This was a -cheap mode of returning them, as Amanda's materials were used. - -"Your employment is an entertaining one," said the stranger, "and your -roses literally without thorns; such, no doubt, as you expect to gather -in your path through life." - -"No," replied Amanda, "I have no such expectation." - -"And yet," said he, "how few at your time of life, particularly if -possessed of your advantages, could make such a declaration." - -"Whoever had reflection undoubtedly would," replied Amanda. - -"That I allow," cried he; "but how few do we find with reflection?--from -the young it is banished, as the rigid tyrant that would forbid the -enjoyment of the pleasures they pant after;--and from the old it is too -often expelled, as an enemy to that forgetfulness which can alone insure -their tranquillity." - -"But in both, I trust," said Amanda, "you will allow there are -exceptions." - -"Perhaps there are; yet often, when conscience has no reason to dread, -sensibility has cause to fear reflection, which not only revives the -recollection of happy hours, but inspires such a regret for their loss, -as almost unfits the soul for any exertions; 'tis indeed beautifully -described in these lines-- - - "Still importunate and vain, - To former joys recurring ever - And turning all the past to pain." - -Amanda attentively watched him, and thought what he said appeared -particularly applicable to himself, as his countenance assumed a more -dejected expression. He revived, however, in a few moments. - -"I have, my dear young lady," continued he, smiling, "beguiled you most -soberly, as Lady Grace says, into conversation. I have, however, given -you an opportunity of amusing your fancy by drawing a comparison between -an old veteran and a young soldier; but though you may allow him more -animation, I trust you will not do me so much injustice as to allow him -more taste: while he merely extolled the lustre of your eyes, I should -admire the mildness which tempered that lustre; while he praised the -glow of your cheek, I should adore that sensibility which had power, in -a moment, to augment or diminish it." - -At this instant Lady Greystock entered the room--she entered it with the -swell of importance, and a haughty expression of contempt in her -features. - -The stranger rose from his chair, and his paleness increased. - -"So, Mr. Rushbrook," at last drawled out her ladyship. "So, sir: but -pray be seated," waving her hand at the same time. - -Amanda now retired: she had lingered a few moments in the room, under -the pretence of putting her work out of her ladyship's way, to discover -who the stranger was. - -Rushbrook had been represented to her as artful, treacherous, and -contemptible. His appearance was almost a sufficient refutation of those -charges, and she began to think they never would have been laid against -him by any other being than Lady Greystock, from a desire of -depreciating her adversary. In her ladyship she had seen much to dislike -since she resided with her; she saw that the temper, like the person, is -often allowed to be in dishabille at home. - -She felt even warmly interested about Rushbrook; she had heard of his -large family; and, from his appearance, she conjectured they must be in -distress. There was a kind of humorous sadness in his manner which -affected her even more than a settled melancholy perhaps would have -done, as it implied the efforts of a noble heart to repel sorrow; and if -there cannot be a more noble, neither, surely, can there be a more -affecting sight, than that of a good and brave man struggling with -adversity. - -As she leaned pensively against the window, reflecting on the various -inequalities of fortune, yet still believing they were designed by a -wise Providence, like hill and valley, mutually to benefit each other, -she saw Rushbrook cross the street; his walk was the slow and lingering -walk of dejection and disappointment. He raised his hand to his eyes, -Amanda supposed to wipe away his tears, and her own fell at the -supposition. The severity of the day had increased; a heavy shower of -snow was falling, against which poor Rushbrook had no shelter but his -threadbare coat. Amanda was unutterably affected; and when he -disappeared from her sight, she fell into a sentimental soliloquy, -something in the style of Yorick. - -"Was I mistress," exclaimed she, as she beheld the splendid carriages -passing and repassing,----"was I mistress of one of those carriages, an -old soldier like Rushbrook should not be exposed to the inclemency of a -wintry sky; neither should his coat be threadbare, or his heart -oppressed with anguish! If I saw a tear upon his cheek I would say it -had no business there, for comfort was about revisiting him." As she -spoke, the idea of Lord Mortimer occurred. Her tears were suspended, and -her cheek began to glow. - -"Yes, poor Rushbrook!" she exclaimed, "perhaps the period is not far -distant when a bounteous Providence, through the hands of Amanda, may -relieve thy wants; when Mortimer himself may be her assistant in the -office of benevolence!" - -Lady Greystock's woman now appeared, to desire she would come down to -her lady. She immediately obeyed the summons, with a secret hope of -hearing something of the conference. Her ladyship received her with an -exulting laugh. - -"I have good news to tell you, my dear," exclaimed she; "that poor -wretch, Rushbrook, has lost the friend who was to have supported him in -the lawsuit; and the lawyers, finding the sheet-anchor gone, have -steered off, and left him to shift for himself. The miserable creature -and his family must certainly starve. Only think of his assurance. He -came to say, indeed, he would now be satisfied with a compromise." -"Well, madam?" said Amanda. - -"Well, madam," repeated her ladyship, mimicking her manner; "I told him -I must be a fool indeed, if ever I consented to such a thing, after his -effrontery in attempting to litigate the will of his much-abused uncle, -my dear, good Sir Geoffry. No, no; I bid him proceed in the suit, as all -my lawyers were prepared; and, after so much trouble on both sides, it -would be a pity the thing came to nothing." "As your ladyship, however, -knows his extreme distress, no doubt you will relieve it." "Why, pray," -said her ladyship, smartly, "do you think he has any claim upon me?" -"Yes," replied Amanda, "if not upon your justice, at least upon your -humanity." "So you would advise me to fling away my money upon him?" -"Yes," replied Amanda, smiling, "I would. And, as your ladyship likes -the expression, have you fling it away profusely." "Well, well," -answered she, "when you arrive at my age, you will know the real value -of wealth." "I trust madam," said Amanda, with spirit, "I know its real -value already. We only estimate it differently." - -"And pray," asked her ladyship, with a sneer, "how may you estimate it?" - -"As the means, madam, of dispensing happiness around us. Of giving -shelter to the houseless child of want, and joy to the afflicted heart; -as a sacred deposit intrusted to us by an Almighty Power for those -purposes, which, if so applied, will nourish placid and delightful -reflections, that, like soothing friends, will crowd around us in the -bed of sickness or death, alleviating the pains of one, and the terrors -of the other." - -"Upon my word," exclaimed Lady Greystock, "a fine flowery speech, and -well calculated for a sentimental novel or a moral treatise for the -improvement of youth. But I advise you, my dear, in future, to keep your -queer and romantic notions to yourself, or else it will be suspected you -have made romances your study; for you have just spoken as one of their -heroines would have done." - -Amanda made no reply; yet as she beheld her ladyship seated in an -easy-chair, by a blazing fire, with a large bowl of rich soup before -her, which she took every morning, she could not forbear secretly -exclaiming: "Hard-hearted woman! engrossed by your own gratifications, -no ray of compassion can soften your nature for the misfortunes of -others. Sheltered yourself from the tempests, you see it falling, -without pity, on the head of wretchedness; and while you feast on -luxuries, think without emotion of those who want even common -necessaries." - -In the evening they went to a large party at the marchioness's, but -though the scene was gay and brilliant, it could not remove the -pensiveness of Amanda's spirits. The emaciated form of Rushbrook, -returning to his desolate family, dwelt upon her mind. A little, she -thought, as she surveyed the magnificence of the apartments, and the -splendor of the company which crowded them, a little from this parade of -vanity and wealth, would give relief to many a child of indigence. Never -had the truth of the following lines so forcibly struck her -imagination:-- - - "Ah, little think the gay, licentious crowd - Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround; - They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth - And wanton, often cruel, riot waste; - Ah, little think they, while they dance along, - How many feel, this very moment, death, - And all the sad variety of pain. - How many drink the cup - Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread - Of misery, sore pierced by wintry winds? - How many shrink into the sordid hut - Of cheerless poverty?" - -From such reflections as these she was disturbed by the entrance of Sir -Charles Bingley. As usual, he took his station by her, and in a few -minutes after him Lord Mortimer appeared. A party for vingt-un was -formed, in which Amanda joined, from a wish of avoiding the assiduities -of Sir Charles; but he took care to secure a seat next hers, and Lord -Mortimer sat opposite to them. - -"Bingley," said a gentleman, after they had been some time at the table, -"you are certainly the most changeable fellow in the world. About three -weeks ago you were hurrying everything for a journey to Ireland, as if -life and death depended on your expedition, and here I still find you -loitering about the town." - -"I deny the imputation of changeableness," replied the baronet; "all my -actions are regulated," and he glanced at Amanda, "by one source, one -object." - -Amanda blushed, and caught, at that moment, a penetrating look from Lord -Mortimer. Her situation was extremely disagreeable. She dreaded his -attentions would be imputed to encouragement from her; she had often -tried to suppress them, and she resolved her next efforts should be more -resolute. - -Sir Charles reached Pall Mall the next morning just as Lady Greystock -was stepping into her chariot, to acquaint her lawyer of Rushbrook's -visit. She informed him that Miss Fitzalan was in the drawing-room, and -he flew up to her. - -"You find," said he, "by what you heard last night, that my conduct has -excited some surprise. I assure you my friends think I must absolutely -be deranged, to relinquish so suddenly a journey I appeared so anxious -to take. Suffer me," continued he, taking her hand, "to assign the true -reason for this apparent change." "Sir Charles," replied Amanda, "'tis -time to terminate this trifling." - -"Oh, let it then be terminated," said he, with eagerness, "by your -consenting to my happiness, by your accepting a hand, tendered to you -with the most ardent affections of my heart." - -With equal delicacy and tenderness, he then urged her acceptance of -proposals which were as disinterested as the most romantic generosity -could desire them to be. - -Amanda felt really concerned that he had made them; the grateful -sensibility of her nature was hurt at the idea of giving him pain. -"Believe me, Sir Charles," said she, "I am truly sensible of the honor -of your addresses; but I should deem myself unworthy of the favorable -opinion which excited them, if I delayed a moment assuring you that -friendship was the only return in my power to make for them." - -The impetuous passions of Sir Charles were now all in commotion. He -started from his chair and traversed the apartment in breathless -agitation. "I will not, Miss Fitzalan," said he, resuming his seat -again, "believe you inflexible. I will not believe that you can think I -shall so easily resign an idea which I have so long cherished with -rapture." - -"Surely, Sir Charles," somewhat alarmed, "you cannot accuse me of having -encouraged that idea?" - -"Oh, no," sighed he passionately, "to me you were always uniformly -cold." "And from whence then proceeded such an idea?" - -"From the natural propensity we all have to deceive ourselves, and to -believe that whatever we wish will be accomplished. Ah! Miss Fitzalan, -deprive me not of so sweet a belief. I will not at present urge you to -any material step to which you are averse; I will only entreat for -permission to hope that time, perseverance, unremitted attention, may -make some impression on you, and at last produce a change in my favor." - -"Never, Sir Charles, will I give rise to a hope which I think cannot be -realized. A little reflection will convince you you should not be -displeased at my being so explicit. We are, at this moment, both -perhaps, too much discomposed to render a longer conference desirable. -Pardon me, therefore, if I now terminate it, and, be assured, I shall -never lose a grateful remembrance of the honor you intended me, or -forget the friendship I professed for Sir Charles Bingley." - -She then withdrew, without any obstruction from him. Regret and -disappointment seemed to have suspended his faculties; but it was a -momentary suspension, and on recovering them he quitted the house. - -His pride, at first, urged him to give up Amanda forever; but his -tenderness soon opposed this resolution. He had, as he himself -acknowledged, a propensity to believe, that whatever he wished was easy -to accomplish; this propensity proceeded from the easiness with which -his inclinations had hitherto been gratified. Flattering himself that -the coldness of Amanda proceeded more from natural reserve than -particular indifference to him, he still hoped she might be induced to -favor him. She was so superior, in his opinion, to every woman he had -seen, so truly calculated to render him happy, that, as the violence of -offended pride abated, he resolved, without another effort, not to give -her up. Without knowing it, he had rambled to St. James's Square, and -having heard of the friendship subsisting between Lord Cherbury and -Fitzalan, he deemed his lordship a proper person to apply to on the -present occasion, thinking, that if he interested himself in his favor, -he might yet be successful. He accordingly repaired to his house, and -was shown into an apartment where the earl and Lord Mortimer were -sitting together. After paying the usual compliments, "I am come, my -lord," said he, somewhat abruptly, "to entreat your interest in an -affair which materially concerns my happiness, and trust your lordship -will excuse my entreaty, when I inform you it relates to Miss Fitzalan." - -The earl, with much politeness, assured him, "He should feel happy in an -opportunity of serving him," and said, "he did him but justice in -supposing him particularly interested about Miss Fitzalan, not only as -the daughter of his old friend, but from her own great merit." - -Sir Charles then acquainted him with the proposals he had just made -her, and her absolute rejection of them; and expressed his hope that -Lord Cherbury would try to influence her in his favor. - -"'Tis very extraordinary, indeed," cried his lordship, "that Miss -Fitzalan should decline such an honorable, such an advantageous -proposal. Are you sure, Sir Charles, there is no prior attachment in the -case?" - -"I never heard of one, my lord, and I believe none exists." Lord -Mortimer's countenance lowered at this, but, happily, its gloom was -unperceived. - -"I will write to-day," said the earl, "to Mr. Fitzalan, and mention your -proposal to him in the terms it deserves. Except authorized by him, you -must, Sir Charles, excuse my personal interference in the affair. I have -no doubt, indeed, but he will approve of your addresses, and you may -then depend on my seconding them with all my interest." - -This promise satisfied Sir Charles, and he soon after withdrew. Lord -Mortimer was now pretty well convinced of the state of Amanda's heart. -Under this conviction, he delayed not many minutes, after Sir Charles's -departure, going to Pall Mall; and having particularly inquired whether -Lady Greystock was out, and being answered in the affirmative, he -ascended to the drawing-room, to which Amanda had again returned. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - "Go bid the needle its dear north forsake, - To which with trembling reverence it does bend: - Go bid the stones a journey upward make: - Go bid the ambitious flame no more ascend; - And when these false to their old motions prove, - Then will I cease thee, thee alone to love."--COWLEY. - - -In an emotion of surprise at so unexpected a visit, the book she was -reading dropped from Amanda, and she arose in visible agitation. - -"I fear," said his lordship, "I have intruded somewhat abruptly upon -you; but my apology for doing so must be my ardent wish of using an -opportunity so propitious for a mutual eclaircissement--an opportunity I -might, perhaps, vainly seek again." - -He took her trembling hand, led her to the sofa, and placed himself by -her. As a means of leading to the desired eclaircissement, he related -the agonies he had suffered at returning to Tudor Hall, and finding her -gone--gone in a manner so inexplicable, that the more he reflected on it -the more wretched he grew. He described the hopes and fears which -alternately fluctuated in his mind during his continuance in Ireland, -and which often drove him into a state nearly bordering on distraction. -He mentioned the resolution, though painful in the extreme, which he had -adopted on the first appearance of Sir Charles Bingley's particularity; -and finally concluded by assuring her, notwithstanding all his -incertitude and anxiety, his tenderness had never known diminution. - -Encouraged by this assurance, Amanda, with restored composure, informed -him of the reason of her precipitate journey from Wales, and the -incidents which prevented her meeting him in Ireland, as he had -expected. Though delicacy forbade her dwelling, like Lord Mortimer, on -the wretchedness occasioned by their separation, and mutual -misapprehensions of each other, she could not avoid touching upon it -sufficiently, indeed, to convince him she had been a sympathizing -participator in all the uneasiness he had suffered. - -Restored to the confidence of Mortimer, Amanda appeared dearer to his -soul than ever. Pleasure beamed from his eyes as he pressed her to his -bosom, and exclaimed, "I may again call you my own Amanda; again sketch -scenes of felicity, and call upon you to realize them." Yet, in the -midst of this transport, a sudden gloom clouded his countenance; and -after gazing on her some minutes, with pensive tenderness, he fervently -exclaimed, "Would to Heaven, in this hour of perfect reconciliation, I -could say that all obstacles to our future happiness were removed." -Amanda involuntarily shuddered, and continued silent. - -"That my father will throw difficulties in the way of our union, I -cannot deny my apprehension of," said Lord Mortimer; "though truly noble -and generous in his nature, he is sometimes, like the rest of mankind, -influenced by interested motives. He has long, from such motives, set -his heart on a connection with the Marquis of Roslin's family. Though -fully determined in my intentions, I have hitherto forborne an explicit -declaration of them to him, trusting that some propitious chance would -yet second my wishes, and save me the painful necessity of disturbing -the harmony which has ever subsisted between us." - -"Oh! my lord!" said Amanda, turning pale, and shrinking from him, "let -me not be the unfortunate cause of disturbing that harmony. Comply with -the wishes of Lord Cherbury, marry Lady Euphrasia, and let me be -forgotten." - -"Amanda," cried his lordship, "accuse not yourself of being the cause of -any disagreement between us. Had I never seen you, with respect to Lady -Euphrasia, I should have felt the same inability to comply with his -wishes. To me her person is not more unpleasing than her mind. I have -long been convinced that wealth alone was insufficient to bestow -felicity, and have ever considered the man who could sacrifice his -feelings at the shrine of interest or ambition, degraded below the -standard of humanity; that to marry, merely from selfish considerations, -was one of the most culpable, most contemptible actions which could be -committed. To enter into such a union, I want the propensities which can -alone ever occasion it, namely, a violent passion for the enjoyments -only attainable through the medium of wealth. Left at an early age -uncontrolled master of my own actions, I drank freely of the cup of -pleasure, but found it soon pall upon my taste. It was, indeed, unmixed -with any of those refined ingredients which can only please the -intellectual appetite, and might properly be termed the cup of false -instead of real pleasure. Thinking, therefore, as I do, that a union -without love is abhorrent to probity and sensibility, and that the -dissipated pleasures of life are not only prejudicial but tiresome, I -naturally wish to secure to myself domestic happiness; but never could -it be experienced except united to a woman whom my reason thoroughly -approved, who should at once possess my unbounded confidence and -tenderest affection. Who should be, not only the promoter of my joys, -but the assuager of my cares. In you I have found such a woman, such a -being, as I candidly confess, some time ago, I thought it impossible to -meet with. To you I am bound by a sentiment even stronger than love--by -honor--and with real gratitude acknowledge my obligations in being -permitted to atone, in some degree, for my errors relative to you. But I -will not allow my Amanda to suppose these errors proceeded from any -settled depravity of soul. Allowed to be, as I have before said, my own -master at an early period, from the natural thoughtlessness of youth, I -was led into scenes which the judgment of riper years has since severely -condemned. Here, too, often I met with women whose manners, instead of -checking, gave a latitude to freedom; women, too, who, from their -situations in life, had every advantage that could be requisite for -improving and refining their minds. From conversing with them I -gradually imbibed a prejudice against the whole sex, and under that -prejudice first beheld you, and feared either to doubt or to believe the -reality of the innocence you appeared to possess. - -"Convinced at length, most fully, most happily convinced of its reality, -my prejudices no longer remained; they vanished like mists before the -sun--or rather like the illusions of falsehood before the influence of -truth. Were those, my dear Amanda, of your sex, who, like you, had the -resistless power of pleasing, to use the faculties assigned them by a -bounteous Providence in the cause of virtue, they would soon check the -dissipation of the times. - -"'Tis impossible to express the power a beautiful form has over the -human mind; that power might be exerted for nobler purposes. Purity -speaking from love-inspiring lips would, like the voice of Adam's -heavenly guest, so sweetly breathe upon the ear as insensibly to -influence the heart; the libertine it corrected would, if not utterly -hardened, reform; no longer would he glory in his vices, but touched and -abashed, instead of destroying, worship female virtue. - -"But I wander from the purpose of my soul. Convinced as I am of the -dissimilarity between my father's inclinations and mine, I think it -better to give no intimation of my present intentions, which, if -permitted by you, I am unalterably determined on fulfilling, as I should -consider it as highly insulting to him to incur his prohibition, and -then act in defiance of it, though my heart would glory in avowing its -choice. The peculiar circumstances I have just mentioned will, I trust, -induce my Amanda to excuse a temporary concealment of it, till beyond -the power of mortals to separate us--a private and immediate union, the -exigency of situation, and the security of felicity demands. I shall -feel a trembling apprehension till I call you mine; life is too short to -permit the waste of time in idle scruples and unmeaning ceremonies. The -eye of suspicion has long rested upon us, and would, I am convinced, -effect a premature discovery, if we took not some measure to prevent it. - -"Deem me not too precipitate, my Amanda," passing his arm gently round -her waist, "if I ask you to-morrow night, for the last sweet proof of -confidence you can give me, by putting yourself under my protection. A -journey to Scotland is unavoidable--in the arrangements I shall make for -it, all that is due to delicacy I shall consider." - -"Mention it no more, my lord," said Amanda, in a faltering accent; "no -longer delude your imagination or mine with the hopes of being united." - -Hitherto she had believed the approbation of Lord Cherbury to the -wishes of his son would be obtained, the moment he was convinced how -essential their gratification was to his felicity. She judged of him by -her father, who, she was convinced, if situations were reversed, would -bestow her on Mortimer without hesitation. These ideas so nourished her -attachment, that, like the vital parts of existence, it at length became -painfully, almost fatally, susceptible of every shock. Her dream of -happiness was over the moment she heard Lord Cherbury's consent was not -to be asked, from a fear of its being refused. 'Twas misery to be -separated from Lord Mortimer, but it was guilt and misery to marry him -clandestinely, after the solemn injunction her father had given her -against such a step. The shock of disappointment could not be borne with -composure; it pressed like a cold dead weight upon her heart. She -trembled, and, unable to support herself, sunk against the shoulder of -Lord Mortimer, while a shower of tears proclaimed her agony. Alarmed by -her emotion, Lord Mortimer hastily demanded its source, and the reason -of the words which had just escaped her. - -"Because, my lord," replied she, "I cannot consent to a clandestine -measure, nor bear you should incur the displeasure of Lord Cherbury on -my account. Though Lady Euphrasia Sutherland is not agreeable, there are -many women who, with equal rank and fortune, possess the perfections -suited to your taste. Seek for one of these--choose from among them a -happy daughter of prosperity, and let Amanda, untitled, unportioned, and -unpleasing to your father, return to an obscurity which owes its comfort -to his fostering bounty." "Does this advice," asked Lord Mortimer, -"proceed from Amanda's heart?" "No," replied she, hesitatingly, and -smiling through her tears, "not from her heart, but from a better -counsellor, her reason." - -"And shall I not obey the dictates of reason," replied he, "in uniting -my destiny to yours? Reason directs us to seek happiness through -virtuous means; and what means are so adapted for that purpose, as a -union with a beloved and amiable woman? No, Amanda; no titled daughter -of prosperity, to use your own words, shall ever attract my affections -from you. 'Imagination cannot form a shape, besides your own, to like -of;' a shape which even if despoiled of its graces, would enshrine a -mind so transcendently lovely, as to secure my admiration. In choosing -you as the partner of my future days, I do not infringe the moral -obligation which exists between father and son; for as, on one hand, it -does not require weak indulgence; so, on the other, it does not demand -implicit obedience, if reason and happiness must be sacrificed by it. -Nothing would have tempted me to propose a private union but the hope of -escaping many disagreeable circumstances by it. If you persist, however, -in rejecting it, I shall openly avow my intentions, for a long -continuance of anxiety and suspense I cannot support." - -"Do you think, then," said Amanda, "I would enter your family amidst -confusion and altercation? No, my lord, rashly or clandestinely I never -will consent to enter it." - -"Is this the happiness I promised myself would crown our -reconciliation?" exclaimed Lord Mortimer, rising hastily and traversing -the apartment. "Is an obstinate adherence to rigid punctilio the only -proof of regard I shall receive from Amanda? Will she make no trifling -sacrifice to the man who adores her, and whom she professes to esteem?" - -"Any sacrifice, my lord, compatible with virtue and filial duty, most -willingly would I make; but beyond these limits I must not, cannot, will -not step. Cold, joyless, and unworthy of your acceptance would be the -hand you would receive if given against my conviction of what was right. -Oh, never may the hour arrive in which I should blush to see my father; -in which I should be accused of injuring the honor intrusted to my -charge, and feel oppressed with the consciousness of having planted -thorns in the breast that depended on me for happiness." - -"Do not be too inflexible, my Amanda," cried Lord Mortimer, resuming his -seat, "nor suffer too great a degree of refinement to involve you in -wretchedness; felicity is seldom attained without some pain; a little -resolution on your side would overcome any difficulties that lay between -us and it; when the act was past, my father would naturally lose his -resentment, from perceiving its inefficacy, and family concord would -speedily be restored. Araminta adores you; with rapture would she -receive her dear and lovely sister to her bosom; your father, happy in -your happiness, would be convinced his notions heretofore were too -scrupulous, and that in complying with my wishes you had neither -violated your own delicacy nor tarnished his honor." - -"Ah, my lord, your arguments have not the effect you desire. I cannot be -deluded by them, to view things in the light you wish. To unite myself -clandestinely to you would be to fly in the face of parental authority; -to be proposed to Lord Cherbury, when almost certain of a refusal, would -not only subject me to insult, but dissolve the friendship which has -hitherto subsisted between his lordship and my father. Situated as we -are, our only expedient is to separate; 'tis absurd to think longer of a -connection against which there are such obstacles; the task of trying to -forget will be easier to you, my lord, than you now perhaps imagine; the -scenes you must be engaged in are well calculated to expunge painful -remembrances; in the retirement my destiny has doomed me to my efforts -will not be wanting to render me equally successful." - -The tears trickled down Amanda's pale cheeks as she spoke; she believed -that they must part, and the belief was attended with a pang of -unutterable anguish: pleased and pained by her sensibility, Lord -Mortimer bent forward and looked into her face. - -"Are these tears," said he, "to enforce me to the only expedient you say -remains? Ah, my Amanda," clasping her to his breast, "the task of -forgetting you could never be accomplished--could never be attempted; -life would be tasteless if not spent with you; never will I relinquish -the delightful hope of a union yet taking place. A sudden thought," -resumed he, after pausing a few minutes, "has just occurred. I have an -aunt, the only remaining sister of Lord Cherbury, a generous, tender, -exalted woman; I have ever been her particular favorite; my Amanda, I -know, is the very kind of being she would select, if the choice devolved -on her, for my wife: she is now in the country; I will write -immediately, inform her of our situation, and entreat her to come up to -town to use her influence with my father in our favor. Her fortune is -large, from the bequest of a rich relation; and from the generosity of -her disposition I have no doubt she would render the loss of Lady -Euphrasia's fortune very immaterial to her brother. This is the only -scheme I can possibly devise for the completion of our happiness, -according to your notions, and I hope it meets your approbation." - -It appeared indeed, a feasible one to Amanda; and as it could not -possibly excite any ideas unfavorable to her father's integrity, she -gave her consent to its being tried. - -Her heart felt relieved of an oppressive load, as the hope revived that -it might be accomplished. Lord Mortimer wiped away her tears; and the -cloud which hung over them both being dispersed, they talked with -pleasure of future days. Lord Mortimer described the various schemes he -had planned for their mode of life. Amanda smiled at the easiness with -which he contrived them, and secretly wished he might find it as easy to -realize as to project. - -"Though the retired path of life," said he, "might be more agreeable to -us than the frequented and public one, we must make some little -sacrifice of inclination to the community to which we belong. On an -elevated station and affluent fortune there are claims from subordinate -ranks which cannot be avoided without injuring them. Neither should I -wish to hide the beautiful gem I shall possess in obscurity; but, after -a winter of what I call moderate dissipation, we will hasten to the -sequestered shades of Tudor Hall." He dwelt with pleasure on the calm -and rational joys they should experience there; nor could forbear -hinting at the period when new tendernesses, new sympathies, would be -awakened in their souls; when little prattling beings should frolic -before them, and literally strew roses in their paths. He expressed his -wish of having Fitzalan a constant resident with them: and was -proceeding to mention some alterations he intended at Tudor Hall, when -the return of Lady Greystock's carriage effectually disturbed him. Lord -Mortimer, however, had time to assure Amanda, ere she entered the room, -that he had no doubt but everything would be soon settled according to -their wishes, and that he would take every opportunity her ladyship's -absence gave him of visiting her. - -"So, so," said Lady Greystock, coming into the room, "this has been Miss -Fitzalan's levee-day. Why, I declare, my dear, now that I know of the -agreeable _tete-à-tetes_ you can enjoy, I shall feel no uneasiness at -leaving you to yourself." - -Amanda blushed deeply; and Lord Mortimer thought in this speech he -perceived a degree of irony which seemed to say all was not right in the -speaker's heart towards Amanda, and on this account felt more anxious -than ever to have her under his own protection. Animated by the idea -that this would soon be the case, he told her ladyship, smiling, "she -should be obliged to him or any other person who could relieve her mind -from uneasiness," and departed. This had been a busy and interesting day -to Amanda, and the variety of emotions it had given rise to produced a -languor in her mind and frame she could not shake off. - -Her expectations were not as sanguine as Lord Mortimer's. Once severely -disappointed, she dreaded again to give too great a latitude to hope. -Happiness was in view, but she doubted much whether it would ever be -within her reach; yet the pain of suspense she endeavored to alleviate -by reflecting that every event was under the direction of a superior -Being, who knew best what would constitute the felicity of His -creatures. - -Lady Greystock learned from her maid the length of Lord Mortimer's -visit, and she was convinced from that circumstance as well as from the -look and absent manner of Amanda, that something material had happened -in the course of it. In the evening they were engaged to a party, and -ere they separated after dinner to dress for it, a plain-looking woman -was shown into the room, whom Amanda instantly recollected to be the -person at whose house she and her father had lodged on quitting -Devonshire to secrete themselves from Colonel Belgrave. This woman had -been bribed to serve him, and had forced several letters upon Amanda, -who, therefore, naturally abhorred the sight of a person that had joined -in so infamous a plot against her; and to her exclamation of surprise -and pleasure only returned a cool bow, and directly left the room. She -was vexed at seeing this woman. The conduct of Colonel Belgrave had -hitherto been concealed, from motives of pride and delicacy; and to Lady -Greystock, of all other beings, she wished it not revealed. Her only -hope of its not being so was that this woman, on her own account, would -not mention it, as she must be conscious that her efforts to serve him -were not undiscovered. - -Mrs. Jennings had been housekeeper to Lady Greystock during her -residence in England, and so successfully ingratiated herself into her -favor that, though dismissed from her service, she yet retained it. Lady -Greystock was surprised to see she and Amanda knew each other, and -inquired minutely how the acquaintance had commenced. The manner in -which she mentioned Amanda convinced Mrs. Jennings she was not high in -her estimation, and from this conviction she thought she might safely -assert any falsehood she pleased against her. As she knew enough of her -lady's disposition to be assured she never would contradict an assertion -to the prejudice of a person she disliked by what she designed saying, -she trusted anything Amanda might say against her would appear -malicious, and that she should also be revenged for the disdainful air -with which she had regarded her. - -She told her ladyship, "that near a year back Miss Fitzalan had been a -lodger of hers, as also an old officer, she called her father; but had -she known what kind of people they were, she never would have admitted -them into her house. Miss was followed by such a set of gallants, she -really thought the reputation of her house would have been ruined. Among -them was a Colonel Belgrave, a sad rake, who, she believed, was the -favorite. She was determined on making them decamp, when suddenly Miss -went off, nobody knew where, but it might easily be guessed. She did not -travel alone, for the colonel disappeared at the same time." - -The character of Fitzalan, and the uniform propriety of Amanda's -conduct, forbade Lady Greystock's giving implicit credit to what Mrs. -Jennings said. She perceived in it the exaggerations of malice and -falsehood, occasioned, she supposed by disappointed avarice, or offended -pride. She resolved, however, to relate all she heard to the -marchioness, without betraying the smallest doubt of its veracity. - -It may appear strange that Lady Greystock, after taking Amanda, -unsolicited, under her protection, should, without any cause for enmity, -seek to injure her--but Lady Greystock was a woman devoid of principle. -From selfish motives she had taken Amanda, and from selfish motives she -was ready to sacrifice her. Her ladyship had enjoyed so much happiness -in her matrimonial connections, that she had no objection again to enter -the lists of Hymen, and Lord Cherbury was the object at which her -present wishes pointed. The marchioness had hinted, in pretty plain -terms, that if she counteracted Lord Mortimer's intentions respecting -Amanda, she would forward hers relative to Lord Cherbury. - -She thought what Mrs. Jennings had alleged would effectually forward -their plans, as she knew, if called upon, she would support it. The next -morning she went to Portman Square, to communicate her important -intelligence to the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. - -Joy and exultation sat upon their features at receiving this interesting -communication, which opened so charming a prospect of separating Lord -Mortimer from Amanda, by giving them the power of injuring her -character. This joy and exultation they deemed requisite for some time -to conceal. They considered their measures would be more successful for -being gradually brought about, and, therefore, resolved rather to -undermine, than directly strike at the peace of Amanda. - -Like Lady Greystock, they disbelieved Mrs. Jenning's tale; but, like her -ladyship, confined this disbelief to their own bosoms. In the manner, -the appearance of Amanda, there was an innocence, a mildness, that -denoted something holy dwelt within her breast, and forbade the entrance -of any impure or wayward passion; besides, from a gentleman who had -resided in Devonshire, they learned the distress Fitzalan was reduced -to, by Belgrave's revenge for the virtue of his daughter. This gentleman -was now, however, on the continent, and they had no fear of their -allegations against Amanda being contradicted, or their schemes against -her being overthrown. - -After some consultation, it was agreed, as a means of expediting their -plot, that Lady Greystock and Amanda should immediately remove to the -marchioness's house. By this change of abode, too, Lord Mortimer would -be prevented taking any material step relative to Amanda, till the -period arrived, when his own inclination would, most probably, render -any further trouble on that account unnecessary. - -Lady Greystock, on her return to Pall Mall, after a warm eulogium on the -friendship of the marchioness, mentioned the invitation she had given -them to her house, which she declared she could not refuse, as it was -made with an ardent desire of enjoying more of their society than she -had hitherto done, during their short stay in London. She also told -Amanda, that both the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia had expressed a -tender regard for her, and a wish of proving to the world, that any -coolness which existed between their families was removed, by her -becoming their guest. - -This projected removal was extremely disagreeable to Amanda, as it not -only terminated the morning interviews which were to take place between -her and Lord Mortimer, during the absence of Lady Greystock with her -lawyers, but threatened to impose a restraint upon her looks, as well as -actions, being confident, from the views and suspicions of Lady -Euphrasia, she should be continually watched with the closest -circumspection. Her part, however, was acquiescence. The lodgings were -discharged, and the next morning they took up their residence under the -Marquis of Roslin's roof, to the infinite surprise and mortification of -Lord Mortimer, who, like Amanda, anticipated the disagreeable -consequences which would result from it. - -The altered manners of the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia surprised -Amanda. They received her not merely with politeness, but affection; -recapitulated all Lady Greystock had already said concerning their -regard; bade her consider herself entirely at home in their house, and -appointed a maid solely to attend her. - -Notwithstanding their former cool, even contemptuous conduct, Amanda, -the child of innocence and simplicity, could not believe the alteration -in their manners feigned; she rather believed that her own patience and -humility had at length conciliated their regard. The idea pleased her, -and like every other, which she supposed could give her father -satisfaction, it was instantly communicated to him. - -She found herself most agreeably mistaken relative to the restraint she -had feared. She was perfect mistress of her own time and actions; and -when she saw Lord Mortimer no lowering looks nor studied interference, -as heretofore, from the marchioness or Lady Euphrasia, prevented their -frequently conversing together. The marchioness made her several elegant -presents, and Lady Euphrasia frequently dropped the formal appellation -of Miss Fitzalan for the more familiar one of Amanda. - -Sir Charles Bingley, agreeable to his resolution of not relinquishing -Amanda without another effort for her favor, still persisted in his -attentions, and visited constantly at the marquis's. - -Amanda had been about a fortnight in Portman Square, when she went one -night with the marchioness, Lady Euphrasia, Miss Malcolm, and Lady -Greystock to the Pantheon. Lord Mortimer had told her, that if he could -possibly leave a particular party he was engaged to, he would be there. -She, therefore, on that account, wished to keep herself disengaged; but -immediately on her entrance she was joined by Sir Charles Bingley, and -she found she must either dance with him as he requested, or consent to -listen to his usual conversation; and she chose the first, as being -least particular. The dancing over, Sir Charles was conducting her to -get some refreshments, when a gentleman, hastily stepping forward, -saluted him by his name. Amanda started at the sound of his voice; she -raised her eyes, and with equal horror and surprise beheld Colonel -Belgrave. - -She turned pale, trembled, and involuntarily exclaimed, "Gracious -Heaven!" Her soul recoiled at his sight, as if an evil genius had -suddenly darted into her path to blast her hopes of happiness. Sickening -with emotion, her head grew giddy, and she caught Sir Charles's arm to -prevent her falling. - -Alarmed by her paleness and agitation, he hastily demanded the cause of -her disorder, willing to believe, notwithstanding what he had seen, that -it did not proceed from the sight of Colonel Belgrave. "O take me, take -me from this room!" was all, in faltering accents, Amanda could -pronounce, still leaning on him for support. Colonel Belgrave inquired -tenderly what he could do to serve her, and at the same time attempted -to take her hand. She shrunk from his touch with a look expressive of -horror, and again besought Sir Charles to take her from the room, and -procure her a conveyance home. Her agitation now became contagious. It -was visible to Sir Charles that it proceeded from seeing Colonel -Belgrave, and he trembled as he supported her. - -Belgrave offered his services in assisting to support her from the room, -but she motioned with her hand to repulse him. - -At the door they met Lord Mortimer entering. Terrified by the situation -of Amanda, all caution, all reserve forsook him, and his rapid and -impassioned inquiries betrayed the tender interest she had in his heart. -Unable to answer them herself, Sir Charles replied for her, saying, "She -had been taken extremely ill after dancing," and added, "he would resign -her to his lordship's protection while he went to procure her a chair." - -Lord Mortimer received the lovely trembler in his arms. He softly called -her his Amanda, the beloved of his soul, and she began to revive. His -presence was at once a relief and comfort to her, and his language -soothed the perturbations of her mind; but as she raised her head from -his shoulder, she beheld Colonel Belgrave standing near them. His -invidious eyes fastened on her. She averted her head, and, saying the -air would do her good, Lord Mortimer led her forward, and took this -opportunity of expressing his wishes for the period when he should be at -liberty to watch over her with guardian care, soothe every weakness and -soften every care. - -In a few minutes Sir Charles returned, and told her he had procured a -chair. She thanked him with grateful sweetness for his attention, and -requested Lord Mortimer to acquaint the ladies with the reason of her -abrupt departure. His lordship wished himself to have attended her to -Portman Square, but she thought it would appear too particular, and -would not suffer him. She retired to her room immediately on her return, -and endeavored, though unsuccessfully, to compose her spirits. - -The distress she suffered from Belgrave's conduct had left an impression -on her mind which could not be erased. The terror his presence inspired -was too powerful for reason to conquer, and raised the most gloomy -presages in her mind. She believed him capable of any villany. His looks -had declared a continuance of illicit love. She trembled at the idea of -his stratagems being renewed. Her apprehensions were doubly painful from -the necessity of concealment, lest those dearer to her than existence -should be involved in danger on her account. To Heaven she looked up for -protection, and the terrors of her heart were somewhat lessened, -conscious that Heaven could render the aims of Belgrave against her -peace as abortive as those against her innocence had been. - -Sir Charles Bingley parted from Lord Mortimer immediately after Amanda's -departure, and returned arm in arm with Belgrave to the room. -"Belgrave," said he abruptly, after musing some minutes, "you know Miss -Fitzalan?" - -Belgrave answered not hastily. He appeared as if deliberating on the -reply he should give. At last, "I do know Miss Fitzalan," cried he; "her -father was my tenant in Devonshire; she is one of the loveliest girls I -ever knew." "Lovely, indeed," said Sir Charles, with a deep and -involuntary sigh; "but it is somewhat extraordinary to me that, instead -of noticing you as a friend or acquaintance, she should look alarmed and -agitated, as if she had seen an enemy." "My dear Bingley," exclaimed -Belgrave, "surely at this time of day you cannot be a stranger to the -unaccountable caprices of the female mind." "'Tis very extraordinary to -me, I own," resumed Sir Charles, "that Miss Fitzalan should behave as -she did to you. Were you and her family ever very intimate?" - -An invidious smile lurked on Belgrave's countenance at this question. - -"Belgrave," exclaimed Sir Charles, passionately, "your manner appears so -mysterious that it distracts me. If friendship will not induce you to -account for it, my intentions relative to Miss Fitzalan will compel me -to insist on your doing so." "Come, come, Bingley," replied the colonel, -"this is not a country for extorting confession. However, seriously, you -might depend on my honor, exclusive of my friendship, to conceal nothing -from you in which you were materially interested." So saying, he -snatched away his arm, rushed into the crowd, and instantly disappeared. - -This assurance, however, could not calm the disquietude of Sir Charles. -His soul was tortured with impatience and anxiety for an explanation of -the mystery, which the agitation of Amanda, and the evasive answers of -Belgrave had betrayed. He sought the latter through the room till -convinced of his departure, and resolved the next morning to entreat him -to deal candidly with him. - -Agreeably to this resolution, he was preparing, after breakfast, for his -visit, when a letter was brought him which contained the following -lines:-- - - "If Sir Charles Bingley has the least regard for his honor or - tranquillity, he will immediately relinquish his intentions - relative to Miss Fitzalan. This caution comes from a sincere - friend--from a person whom delicacy, not want of veracity, urges - to this secret mode of giving it." - -Sir Charles perused and re-perused the letter, as if doubting the -evidence of his eyes. He at last flung it from him, and clasping his -hands together exclaimed: "This is indeed a horrible explanation." He -took up the detested paper. Again he examined the characters, and -recognized the writing of Colonel Belgrave. He hastily snatched up his -hat, and with the paper in his hand, flew directly to his house. The -colonel was alone. - -"Belgrave," said Sir Charles, in almost breathless agitation, "are you -the author of this letter?" presenting it to him. - -Belgrave took it, read it, but continued silent. - -"Oh! Belgrave!" exclaimed Sir Charles, in a voice trembling with agony, -"pity and relieve my suspense." "I am the author of it," replied -Belgrave, with solemnity; "Miss Fitzalan and I were once tenderly -attached. I trust I am no deliberate libertine; but, when a lovely, -seducing girl was thrown purposely in my way----" "Oh, stop," said Sir -Charles, "to me any extenuation of your conduct is unnecessary; 'tis -sufficient to know that Miss Fitzalan and I are forever separated." His -emotion overpowered him. He leaned on a table, and covered his face with -a handkerchief. - -"The shock I have received," said he, "almost unmans me. Amanda was, -alas! I must say is, dear, inexpressibly dear to my soul. I thought her -the most lovely, the most estimable of women; and the anguish I now -feel, is more on her account than my own. I cannot bear the idea of the -contempt which may fall upon her. Oh, Belgrave, 'tis melancholy to -behold a human being, so endowed by nature as she is, insensible or -unworthy of her blessings. Amanda," he continued, after a pause, "never -encouraged me; I therefore cannot accuse her of intending deceit." - -"She never encouraged you," replied Belgrave, "because she was ambitious -of a higher title. Amanda, beneath a specious appearance of innocence, -conceals a light disposition and a designing heart. She aspires to -Mortimer's hand, and may probably succeed, for his language and -attentions to her last night were those of a tender lover." - -"I shall return immediately to Ireland," said Sir Charles, "and endeavor -to forget I have ever seen her. She has made me indeed experience all -the fervency of love, and bitterness of disappointment. What I felt for -her, I think I shall never again feel for any woman. - - "----I'll lock up all the gates of love, - And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, - To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, - And never more shall it be gracious." - -Sir Charles Bingley and Colonel Belgrave, in early life, had contracted -a friendship for each other which time had strengthened in one, but -reduced to a mere shadow in the other. On meeting the colonel -unexpectedly in town, Sir Charles had informed him of his intentions -relative to Amanda. His heart throbbed at the mention of her name. He -had long endeavored to discover her. Pride, love, and revenge, were all -concerned in the accomplishment of his designs, which disappointment had -only stimulated. He was one of those determined characters which never -relinquish a purpose, "though heaven and earth that purpose crossed." -The confidence Sir Charles reposed in him, joined to his warm and -unsuspicious temper, convinced him he would be credulous enough to -believe any imputation he should cast on Amanda. He therefore lost no -time in contriving this execrable scheme, without the smallest -compunction, for destroying the reputation of an innocent girl, or -injuring the happiness of an amiable man. - -Removed from the protection of her father, he believed his destined -victim could not escape the snare he should spread for her; and as a -means of expediting his success, under the appearance of feeling, urged -Sir Charles's return to Ireland. - -The easy credit which Sir Charles gave to the vile allegations of -Belgrave, cannot be wondered at, when his long intimacy and total -ignorance of his real character are considered. He knew Belgrave to be a -gay man, but he never imagined him to be a hardened libertine. Besides, -he never could have supposed any man would have been so audacious, or -sufficiently base, as to make such an assertion as Belgrave had done -against Amanda, without truth for his support. - -The errors of his friend, though the source of unspeakable anguish to -him, were more pitied than condemned, as he rather believed they -proceeded from the impetuosity of passion, than the deliberation of -design, and that they were long since sincerely repented of. - -Amanda could not be forgotten; the hold she had on his heart could not -easily be shaken off; and like the recording angel, he was often tempted -to drop a tear over her faults, and obliterate them forever from his -memory. This, however, was considered the mere suggestion of weakness, -and he ordered immediate preparations to be made for his return to -Ireland. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - "Oh how this tyrant doubt torments my breast! - My thoughts, like birds, who frighted from their rest, - Around the place where all was hushed before, - Flutter, and hardly settle any more."--OTWAY. - - -Lord Mortimer, distressed by the indisposition of Amanda, hastened, at -an earlier hour than usual (for his morning visits), to Portman Square, -and was ushered into Lady Euphrasia's dressing-room, where she and Miss -Malcolm, who had continued with her the preceding night, were sitting -_tete-à-tete_ at breakfast. His lordship was a welcome visitor, but it -was soon obvious on whose account he had made his appearance, for -scarcely were the usual compliments over, ere he inquired about Miss -Fitzalan. - -Lady Euphrasia said she was still unwell, and had not yet left her -apartment. "She has not recovered her surprise of last night," exclaimed -Miss Malcolm, with a malicious smile. "What surprise?" asked his -lordship. "Dear me," replied Miss Malcolm, "was not your lordship -present at the time she met Colonel Belgrave?" "No," said Lord Mortimer, -changing color, "I was not present. But what has Colonel Belgrave to say -to Miss Fitzalan?" asked he, in an agitated voice. "That is a question -your lordship must put to the young lady herself," answered Miss -Malcolm. "Now, I declare," cried Lady Euphrasia, addressing her friend, -"'tis very probable her illness did not proceed from seeing Colonel -Belgrave--you know she never mentioned being acquainted with him, though -her father was his tenant in Devonshire." - -Lord Mortimer grew more disturbed, and rose abruptly. - -Lady Euphrasia mentioned their intention of going that evening to the -play, and invited him to be of the party. He accepted her invitation, -and retired. - -His visible distress was a source of infinite mirth to the young ladies, -which they indulged the moment he quitted the room. The circumstance -relative to Belgrave, the marchioness had informed them of, as she and -Lady Greystock were near Amanda when she met him. - -Lord Mortimer was unhappy. The mind which has once harbored suspicion -will, from the most trivial circumstance, be tempted again to give -admission to the unpleasing guest--nor was it a trivial circumstance -which discomposed the too susceptible heart of Mortimer. The sudden -illness of Amanda, her extraordinary agitation, her eagerness to quit -the room, the close, though silent attendance of Belgrave--all these, I -say, when recalled to recollection, gave an air of probability to Miss -Malcolm's insinuation, that her disorder was occasioned by seeing him. -From residing more constantly in England than Sir Charles Bingley had -done, he had had more opportunities of learning Belgrave's real -character, which he knew to be that of a professed libertine. It was -strange, he thought, that when Amanda informed him she once resided in -Devonshire, she should conceal her father being the colonel's tenant. He -began to think her reluctance to a clandestine and immediate marriage -might have proceeded from some secret attachment, and not from the -strict adherence to filial duty, which had exalted her so much in his -opinion. - -Yet the idea was scarcely formed, ere he endeavored to suppress it. He -started, as if from an uneasy dream, and wondered how he could have -conceived this, or any other idea, injurious to Amanda. He felt a degree -of remorse at having allowed her, for a moment, to be lessened in his -opinion--her tenderness, her purity, he said to himself, could not be -feigned; no, she was a treasure greater than he deserved to possess; nor -would he, like a wayward son of error, fling away the happiness he had -so long desired to obtain. - -The calm this resolution produced was but transient. Doubts had been -raised, and doubt could not be banished; he was inclined to think them -unjust, yet had not power to dispel them. Vainly he applied to the ideas -which had heretofore been such consolatory resources of comfort to -him--namely, that his father would consent to his union with Amanda, -through the interference of his aunt, and the felicity he should enjoy -in that union. An unusual heaviness clung to his heart, which, like a -gloomy sky, cast a shade of sadness over every prospect. Thoughtful and -pensive he reached home, just as Sir Charles Bingley was entering the -door, who informed him he had just received a note from Lord Cherbury, -desiring his immediate presence. - -Lord Mortimer attended him to the earl, who acquainted him, that he had -received a letter from Mr. Fitzalan, in which he expressed a warm sense -of the honor Sir Charles did his family, by addressing Miss Fitzalan; -and that to have her united to a character so truly estimable, would -give him the truest happiness, from the conviction that hers would be -secured by such a union. "He has written to his daughter expressing his -sentiments," continued Lord Cherbury. "I have therefore no doubt, Sir -Charles, but that everything will succeed as you wish." "I am sorry, my -lord," cried Sir Charles, with an agitated voice, and a cheek flushed -with emotion, "that I ever troubled your lordship in this affair, as I -have now, and forever, relinquished all ideas of a union with Miss -Fitzalan." "The resolution is really somewhat extraordinary and sudden," -replied the earl, "after the conversation which so lately passed between -us." "Adopted, however, my lord, from a thorough conviction that -happiness could never be attained in a union with that young lady." Sir -Charles's tenderness for Amanda was still undiminished; he wished to -preserve her from censure, and thus proceeded: "Your lordship must allow -I could have little chance of happiness in allying myself to a woman who -has resolutely and uniformly treated me with indifference. Passion -blinded my reason when I addressed your lordship relative to Miss -Fitzalan; but its mists are now dispersed, and sober reflection obliges -me to relinquish a scheme, whose accomplishment could not possibly give -me satisfaction." "You are certainly the best judge of your own actions, -Sir Charles," replied the earl. "My acting in the affair proceeded from -a wish to serve you, as well as from my friendship for Captain Fitzalan. -I must suppose your conduct will never disparage your own honor, or cast -a slight upon Miss Fitzalan." "That, my lord, you may be assured of," -said Sir Charles, with some warmth; "my actions and their motives have -hitherto, and will ever, I trust, bear the strictest investigation. I -cannot retire without thanking your lordship for the interest you took -in my favor. Had things succeeded as I then hoped and expected, I cannot -deny but I should have been much happier than I am at present." He then -bowed and retired. - -Lord Mortimer had listened with astonishment to Sir Charles's -relinquishment of Amanda. Like his father, he thought it a sudden and -extraordinary resolution. He was before jealous of Amanda's love; he was -now jealous of her honor. The agitation of Sir Charles seemed to imply -even a cause more powerful than her coldness for resigning her. He -recollected that the baronet and the colonel were intimate friends. -Distracted by apprehensions, he rushed out of the house, and overtook -Sir Charles ere he had quitted the square. - -"Why, Bingley," cried he, with affected gayety, "I thought you too -valiant a knight to be easily overcome by despair; and that without -first trying every effort to win her favor, you never would give up a -fair lady you had set your heart on." "I leave such efforts for your -lordship," replied Sir Charles, "or those who have equal patience." "But -seriously, Bingley, I think this sudden resignation of Miss Fitzalan -somewhat strange. Why, last night I could have sworn you were as much -attached to her as ever. From Lord Cherbury's friendship for Captain -Fitzalan, I think her, in some degree, under his protection and mine. -And as the particularity of your attention attracted observation, I -think your abruptly withdrawing them requires explanation." "As Lord -Cherbury was the person I applied to relative to Miss Fitzalan," -exclaimed Sir Charles, "and as he was satisfied with the motive I -assigned for my conduct, be assured, my lord, I shall never give another -to you." "Your words," retorted Lord Mortimer, with warmth, "imply that -there was another motive for your conduct than the one you avowed. What -horrid inference may not be drawn from such an insinuation? Oh! Sir -Charles! reputation is a fragile flower, which the slightest breath may -injure." "My lord, if Miss Fitzalan's reputation is never injured but by -my means, it will ever continue unsullied." - -"I cannot, indeed," resumed Lord Mortimer, "style myself her guardian, -but I consider myself her friend: and from the feelings of friendship, -shall ever evince my interest in her welfare, and resent any conduct -which can possibly render her an object of censure to any being." "Allow -me to ask your lordship one question," cried Sir Charles, "and promise, -on your honor, to answer it." "I do promise," said Lord Mortimer. "Then, -my lord, did you ever really wish I should succeeded with Miss -Fitzalan?" - -Lord Mortimer colored. "You expect, Sir Charles, I shall answer you on -my honor? Then, really, I never did." "Your passions and mine," -continued Sir Charles, "are impetuous. We had better check them in time, -lest they lead us to lengths we may hereafter repent of. Of Miss -Fitzalan's fame, be assured, no man can be more tenacious than I should. -I love her with the truest ardor. Her acceptance of my proposals would -have given me felicity. My suddenly withdrawing them can never injure -her, when I declare my motive for so doing was her indifference. Lord -Cherbury is satisfied with the reason I have assigned for resigning her. -He is conscious that no man of sensibility could experience happiness -with a woman in whose heart he had no interest. This, I suppose, your -lordship will also allow." "Certainly," replied Lord Mortimer. "Then, -it strikes me, my lord, that it is your conduct, not mine, which has a -tendency to injure Miss Fitzalan. That it is your words, not mine, which -convey an insinuation against her. You really appear as if conscious -some other cause existed, which would have made me relinquish her, -without the one I have already assigned for doing so." - -Lord Mortimer was instantly convicted of the justice of what Sir Charles -said. He began to fear his warmth would really prove prejudicial to -Amanda, betray the doubts that had obtruded on his mind, and communicate -them to those who might not be equally influenced by tenderness and -delicacy to conceal them. - -"You are right, Sir Charles," said he, "in what you have said; passion, -like a bad advocate, hurts the cause in which it is engaged. From my -knowledge of your character, I should have been convinced your honor -would have prevented any improper conduct. You are going to Ireland. -Permit me, Sir Charles, to offer you my best wishes for your future -happiness." - -Sir Charles took Lord Mortimer's extended hand. He respected and -esteemed his lordship, and a mutual interchange of good wishes took -place between them, as this was the last interview they expected for a -long time. - -The indisposition of Amanda was more of the mental than the bodily kind, -and on the first intimation of a party to the play she agreed to join -it, in hopes the amusement would remove her dejection. Her father's -letter, relative to Sir Charles Bingley, had given her some uneasiness; -but as he left her free to act, she contented herself with using the -negative he allowed her, by a solemn resolution of never acting contrary -to his inclinations, and answered his letter to this purpose. - -Lord Mortimer and Freelove attended the ladies in the evening to the -play. His lordship found an opportunity of tenderly inquiring after -Amanda's health. When they were seated in the house he perceived a lady -in another box to whom he wished to speak, and accordingly left his -party. This lady offered him a seat by herself, which he accepted. She -was a stranger to Amanda, young and extremely beautiful. Amanda, -however, had none of that foolish weakness which could make her dread a -rival in every new face, or feel uneasiness at Lord Mortimer's attention -to any woman but herself. Assured that his affections for her were -founded on the basis of esteem, and that she should retain them while -worthy of esteem, she could, without being discomposed by the agreeable -conversation he appeared to be enjoying, fix her attention on the stage; -so entirely, indeed, that she observed not from time to time, the -glances Lord Mortimer directed towards her. Not so his fair companion. -She noticed the wanderings of his eyes, and her own involuntarily -pursued their course. She was speaking at the moment, but suddenly -stopped, and Lord Mortimer saw her change color. He turned pale himself, -and in a faltering voice, asked her, "if she knew the lady she had been -long looking at?" "Know her?" replied she; "oh, heavens! but too well." - -Lord Mortimer trembled universally, and was compelled to have recourse -to his handkerchief to hide his emotion. - -It was by Adela, the lovely and neglected wife of Belgrave, he was -sitting. She had been a short time in London, and her acquaintance with -Lord Mortimer commenced at a ball, where she had danced with him. He was -not one of those kind of men who, when in love, had neither eyes nor -ears but for the object of that love. He could see perfections in other -women besides his Amanda, and was particularly pleased with Mrs. -Belgrave. He instantly perceived that she knew Amanda; also, that that -knowledge was attended with pain. The well-known profligacy of her -husband intruded on his memory, and he shuddered at the dreadful -thoughts which arose in his mind. - -Curiosity had directed the eyes of Adela to Amanda, but admiration, and -an idea of having somewhere seen her face, riveted them upon her; at -last the picture Oscar Fitzalan had shown occurred to her recollection, -and she was immediately convinced it was no other than the original of -that picture she now saw. Shocked at the sight of a person who, as she -thought had stepped (though innocently) between her and felicity, and -distressed by the emotions which past scenes, thus recalled, gave rise -to, she entreated Lord Mortimer to conduct her from the box, that she -might return home. - -He complied with her request, but stopped in the lobby, and entreated -her to tell him "where she had known the lady she had so attentively -regarded." Adela blushed, and would, if possible, have evaded the -question; but the earnestness of his lordship's manner compelled her to -answer it. She said "she had no personal knowledge of the lady, but -recollected her face, from having seen her picture with a gentleman." -"And who was the gentleman?" asked Lord Mortimer, with a forced smile -and a faltering voice. "That," replied Adela, with involuntary -quickness, "I will not tell." "I should apologize, indeed," cried Lord -Mortimer, recollecting himself, "for a curiosity which may appear -impertinent." He led her to a chair, and deliberated whether he should -not follow her example in quitting the house. - -Miss Malcolm had first made him uneasy: uneasiness introduced doubts -which Sir Charles Bingley had increased, and Mrs. Belgrave almost -confirmed. He dreaded a horrid confirmation of his fears; the picture, -like Othello's handkerchief, was a source of unspeakable anguish. The -agitation that Mrs. Belgrave had betrayed on mentioning it, joined to -her concealment of the gentleman she had seen it with, tempted him to -believe he was no other than her husband. - -Yet, that he might not be accused of yielding rashly to jealousy, he -resolved to confine his suspicions, like his pangs, to his own bosom, -except assured they were well founded. A little time he supposed, would -determine the opinion he should form of Amanda. If he found she -encouraged Belgrave, he resolved to leave her without any explanation; -if, on the contrary, he saw that she avoided him, he meant to mention -the circumstance of the picture to her, yet so as not to hurt her -feelings, and be regulated by her answer relative to his future conduct. -He returned, at last, to the box, and procured a seat behind her. He had -not occupied it long ere Colonel Belgrave (who, from a retired part of -the house where he sat with some female friends, had observed Amanda) -entered the next box, and made his way to the pillar against which she -leaned. He endeavored to catch her eyes, but the noise he made on -entering put her on her guard, and she instantly averted her face. Her -embarrassment was visible to her party, and they all, Lord Mortimer -excepted, enjoyed it. Scarcely could he refrain from chastising the -audacity of Belgrave's looks, who continued to gaze on Amanda, though he -could not see her face. Nothing but the discovery which such a step -would produce could have prevented his lordship, in his irritable state -of mind, from chastising what he deemed the height of insolence. - -At last the hour came for relieving Amanda from a situation extremely -painful to her. As Lord Mortimer sat next the marchioness, he was -compelled to offer her his hand. Freelove led Lady Euphrasia; Lady -Greystock and Miss Malcolm followed her, and Amanda was the last who -quitted the box. A crowd in the lobby impeded their progress. Amanda was -close behind the marchioness, when Belgrave forced his way to her, and -attempted to take her hand at the very moment Lord Mortimer turned to -look at her, who heard him say, "Dear, though unkind, Amanda, why this -cruel change in your conduct?" - -The eyes of Mortimer flashed fire. "Miss Fitzalan," said he, in a voice -trembling through passion, "if you will accept my arm, I will make way -for you, or at least secure you from impertinence." Amanda, though -trembling and confounded by his looks, hesitated not to accept his -offer. Belgrave knew his words alluded to him. At present, however, he -resolved not to resent them, convinced, that if he did, his views on -Amanda would be defeated. From that moment her beauty was not more -powerful in stimulating his designs than his desire of revenge on Lord -Mortimer. He saw he was fondly attached to Amanda, and he believed his -proud heart would feel no event so afflictive as that which should -deprive him of her. - -Lord Mortimer handed Amanda in silence to the carriage; he was pressed -to return to supper, but refused. The ladies found the marquis and Lord -Cherbury together. Amanda retired to her chamber immediately after -supper; the presence of Belgrave had increased the dejection which she -hoped the amusements of the theatre would have dissipated; she now -indeed longed for the period when she should be entitled to the -protection of Lord Mortimer; when she should no longer dread the -audacity or stratagems of Belgrave. Lord Cherbury, on her retiring, -expressed his regret at her coldness to Sir Charles Bingley, by which -she had lost a most honorable and advantageous attachment. - -This was an opportunity not to be neglected by the marchioness, for -commencing her operations against Fitzalan. A glance to Lady Greystock -was the signal to begin. - -"To those," said Lady Greystock, "who are ignorant of Miss Fitzalan's -real motives for refusing Sir Charles, it must appear, no doubt, -extraordinary; but ambitious people are not easily satisfied; indeed, I -cannot blame her so much for entertaining aspiring notions as those who -instilled them into her mind." - -Lord Cherbury stared, and requested an explanation of her words. - -"Why, I declare, my lord," cried she, "I do not know but that it will be -more friendly to explain than conceal my meaning. When once informed of -the young lady's views, your lordship may be able to convince her of -that fallacy, and prevail on her not to lose another good opportunity of -settling herself in consequence of them; in short, my lord, Miss -Fitzalan, prompted by her father, has cast her eyes on Lord Mortimer. -Presuming on your friendship, he thought a union between them might -easily be accomplished. I do not believe Lord Mortimer, at first, gave -any encouragement to their designs; but when the girl was continually -thrown in his way, it was impossible not to notice her at last. I really -expressed a thorough disapprobation to her coming to London, knowing -their motives for desiring the excursion, but her father never ceased -persecuting me till I consented to take her under my protection." "Upon -my word," cried the marquis, who was not of the ladies' privy council, -though if he had it is probable he would not have objected to their -schemes, "Captain Fitzalan must have had some such motive as this Lady -Greystock has mentioned for sending his daughter to London, or else he -would not have been so ridiculous as to put himself at the expense of -fitting her out for company she has no right to enter." "I never -thought," exclaimed Lord Cherbury, whose mind was irritated to the most -violent degree of resentment against his injured friend, "that Captain -Fitzalan could have acted with such duplicity. He knew the views I -entertained for my son, and there is a mean treachery in his attempting -to counteract them." "Nay, my lord," said Lady Greystock, "you are a -father yourself, and must make allowances for the anxiety of a parent to -establish a child." "No, madam," he replied; "I can make no allowance -for a deviation from integrity, or for a sacrifice of honor and -gratitude at the shrine of interest. The subject has discomposed me, and -I must beg to be excused for abruptly retiring; nothing, indeed, I -believe, can wound one so severely as deceit, where one reposed implicit -confidence." - -The ladies were enraptured at the success of their scheme. The passion -of Lord Cherbury could scarcely be smothered in their presence. On the -head of Fitzalan they knew it would burst with full violence. They did -not mention Belgrave; relative to him they resolved to affect profound -ignorance. - -The passions of Lord Cherbury were impetuous. He had, as I have already -hinted, secret motives for desiring a connection between his family and -the marquis's; and the idea of that desire being defeated drove him -almost to distraction. He knew his son's passions, though not so easily -irritated as his own were, when once irritated, equally violent. To -remonstrate with him concerning Miss Fitzalan, he believed, would be -unavailing; he therefore resolved, if possible, to have her removed out -of his way ere he apprised him of the discovery he had made of his -attachment. He entertained not a doubt of Lady Greystock's veracity; -from his general knowledge of mankind, he believed self the predominant -consideration in every breast. His feelings were too violent not to seek -an immediate vent, and ere he went to bed, he wrote a bitter and -reproachful letter to Fitzalan, which concluded with an entreaty, or -rather a command, to send without delay for his daughter. A dreadful -stroke this for poor Fitzalan. - - "After all his wanderings round this world of care - And all his griefs," - -He hoped he had at last found a spot where his latter days might close -in tranquillity. - -The innocent Amanda was received the next morning with smiles by those -who were preparing a plot for her destruction. - -Whilst at breakfast, a servant informed Lady Greystock a young woman -wanted to speak to her. "Who is she?" asked her ladyship; "did she not -send up her name?" "No, my lady; but she said she had particular -business with your ladyship." - -The marchioness directed she might be shown up; and a girl about -seventeen was accordingly ushered into the room. Her figure was -delicate, and her face interesting not only from its innocence, but the -strong expression of melancholy diffused over it. She appeared trembling -with confusion and timidity, and the poverty of her apparel implied the -source of her dejection. - -"So, child," said Lady Greystock, after surveying her from head to foot, -"I am told you have business with me." "Yes, madam," replied she, in an -accent so low as scarcely to be heard; "my father, Captain Rushbrook, -desired me to deliver a letter to your ladyship." - -She presented it, and endeavored to screen herself from the scrutinizing -and contemptuous glances of Lady Euphrasia by pulling her hat over her -face. - -"I wonder, child," said Lady Greystock, as she opened the letter, "what -your father can write to me about. I don't suppose it can be about the -affair he mentioned the other day. Why, really," continued she, after -she had perused it, "I believe he takes me for a fool. I am astonished, -after his insolent conduct, how he can possibly have the assurance to -make application to me for relief. No, no, child, he neglected the -opportunity he had of securing me his friend. 'Twould really be a sin to -give him the power of bringing up his family in idleness. No, no, -child, he must learn you and the other little dainty misses he has, to -do something for yourselves." - -The poor girl blushed; a tear trembled in her eye; she tried to suppress -it, but it forced its way, and dropped into her bosom. Amanda, -inexpressibly shocked, could support the scene no longer. She retired -precipitately, and descended to the parlor. Sympathy, as well as -compassion, made her feel for this daughter of affliction, for she -herself knew what it was to feel the "insolence of prosperity, the proud -man's scorn, and all those ills which patient merit of the unworthy -takes." - -In a few minutes Miss Rushbrook quitted the drawing-room, and stopped in -the hall to wipe away her tears. Amanda had been watching for her, and -now appeared. She started, and was hurrying away, when Amanda caught her -hand, and leading her softly into the parlor, endeavored, with angelic -sweetness, to calm her emotion. Surprised at this unexpected attention, -and overcome by her feelings, the poor girl sunk on her chair, and -dropping her head on Amanda's bosom, wet it with a shower of tears, as -she exclaimed: "Alas! my unfortunate parents, how can I return to behold -your misery? The grave is the only refuge for you and your wretched -children!" "You must not encourage such desponding thoughts," said -Amanda. "Providence, all bounteous and all powerful, is able in a short -time to change the gloomiest scene into one of brightness. Tell me," she -continued, after a pause, "where do you reside?" "At Kensington." -"Kensington!" repeated Amanda. "Surely, in your present situation, you -are unable to take such a walk." "I must attempt it, however," replied -Miss Rushbrook. - -Amanda walked from her to the window, revolving a scheme which had just -darted into her mind, "If you know any house," said she, "where you -could stay for a short time, I would call on you in a carriage, and -leave you at home." - -This offer was truly pleasing to the poor weak trembling girl, but she -modestly declined it, from the fear of giving trouble. Amanda besought -her not to waste time in such unnecessary scruples, but to give her the -desired information. She accordingly informed her there was a -haberdasher's in Bond Street, mentioning the name, where she could stay -till called for. - -This point settled, Amanda, fearful of being surprised, conducted her -softly to the hall-door, and immediately returned to the drawing-room, -where she found Lady Euphrasia just beginning Rushbrook's letter, for -her mother's amusement. Its style evidently denoted the painful -conflicts there were between pride and distress, ere the former could be -sufficiently subdued, to allow an application for relief to the person -who occasioned the latter. The sight of a tender and beloved wife, -languishing in the arms of sickness, and surrounded by a family, under -the pressure of the severest want, had forced him to a step, which, on -his own account, no necessity could have compelled him to take. He and -his family, he said, had drank of the cup of misery to the very dregs. -He waived the claims of justice; he only asserted those of humanity, in -his present application to her ladyship; and these, he flattered -himself, she would allow. He had sent a young petitioner in his behalf, -whose tearful eye, whose faded cheek, were sad evidences of the misery -he described. - -The marchioness declared she was astonished at his insolence in making -such an application, and Lady Euphrasia protested the letter was the -most ridiculous stuff she had ever read. - -Amanda, in this, as well as in many other instances, differed from her -ladyship; but her opinion, like a little project she had in view about -the Rushbrooks, was carefully concealed. - -Out of the allowance her father made her for clothes and other expenses -about ten guineas remained, which she had intended laying out in the -purchase of some ornaments for her appearance at a ball, to be given in -the course of the ensuing week by the Duchess of B----, and, for which, -at the time of invitation, Lord Mortimer had engaged her for his -partner. To give up going to this ball, to consecrate to charity the -money devoted to vanity, was her project; and most fortunate did she -deem the application of Rushbrook, ere her purchase was made, and she -consequently prevented from giving her mite. Her soul revolted from the -inhumanity of the marchioness, her daughter, and Lady Greystock. Exempt -from the calamities of want themselves, they forgot the pity due to -those calamities in others. If this coldness, this obduracy, she cried, -within herself, is the effect of prosperity; if thus it closes the -avenues of benevolence and compassion, oh! never may the dangerous -visitor approach me--for ill should I think the glow of compassion and -sensibility exchanged for all its gaudy pleasures. - -The ladies had mentioned their intention of going to an auction, where, -to use Lady Euphrasia's phrase, "they expected to see all the world." -Amanda excused herself from being of the party, saying, "she wanted to -make some purchases in the city." Her excuse was readily admitted, and -when they retired to their respective toilets, she sent for a coach, and -being prepared against it come, immediately stepped into it, and was -driven to Bond Street, where she found Miss Rushbrook, with trembling -anxiety, waiting her arrival. - -On their way to Kensington, the tenderness of Amanda at once conciliated -the affection, and gained the entire confidence of her young companion. -She related the little history of her parents' sorrows. Her father, on -returning from America, with his wife and six children, had been advised -by Mr. Heathfield, the friend who had effected a reconciliation between -him and his uncle, to commence a suit against Lady Greystock, on the -presumption that the will, by which she enjoyed Sir Geoffry's fortune, -was illegally executed. He offered him his purse to carry on the suit, -and his house for an habitation. Rushbrook gratefully and gladly -accepted both offers, and having disposed of his commission, to -discharge some present demands against him, he and his family took up -their residence under Mr. Heathfield's hospitable roof. In the midst of -the felicity enjoyed beneath it, in the midst of the hopes their own -sanguine tempers, and the flattering suggestions of the lawyers had -excited, a violent fever carried off their benevolent friend, ere a will -was executed, in which he had promised largely to consider Rushbrook. -His heir, narrow and illiberal, had long feared that his interest would -be hurt by the affection he entertained for Rushbrook; and, as if in -revenge for the pain this fear had given, the moment he had the power he -showed his malignant disposition, sold all the furniture of the house at -Kensington, and as a great favor told Rushbrook, he might continue in it -till the expiration of the half year, when it was to be given up to the -landlord. The lawyers understanding the state of his finances, soon -informed him he could no longer expect their assistance. Thus, almost in -one moment, did all his pleasing prospects vanish, and, - - "Like the baseless fabric of a vision, - Left not a rack behind." - -As a duty he owed his family, he tried whether Lady Greystock would make -a compromise between justice and avarice, and afford him some means of -support. Her insolence and inhumanity shocked him to the soul; and as he -left her presence, he resolved never to enter it again, or to apply to -her. This last resolution, however, only continued till the distresses -of the family grew so great as to threaten their existence, particularly -that of his wife, who, overpowered by grief, had sunk into a languishing -illness, which every day increased for want of proper assistance. - -In hopes of procuring her some, he was tempted again to apply to Lady -Greystock. The youth and innocence of his daughter would, he thought, if -anything could do it, soften her flinty heart. Besides, he believed that -pleasure, at finding his pretensions to the fortune entirely withdrawn, -would influence her to administer from it to his wants. - -"We have," said Miss Rushbrook, as she concluded her simple narration, -"tried, and been disappointed in our last resource. What will become of -us, I know not; we have long been strangers to the comforts, but even -the necessaries of life we cannot now procure." "Comfort," cried Amanda, -"often arrives when least expected. To despair, is to doubt the goodness -of a Being who has promised to protect all his creatures." - -The carriage had now reached Kensington, and within a few yards of -Rushbrook's habitation. Amanda stopped it. She took Miss Rushbrook's -hand, and as she slipped a ten-pound note into it, exclaimed: "I trust -the period is not far distant, when the friendship we have conceived for -each other may be cultivated under more fortunate auspices." - -Miss Rushbrook opened the folded paper. She started, and "the hectic of -a moment flushed her cheek." "Oh! madam!" she cried, "your goodness--" -tears impeded her further utterance. - -"Do not distress me," said Amanda, again taking her hand, "by mentioning -such a trifle; was my ability equal to my inclination, I should blush to -offer it to your acceptance. As it is, consider it as but the foretaste -of the bounty which heaven has, I doubt not, in store for you." - -She then desired the door to be opened, and told her companion she would -no longer detain her. Miss Rushbrook affectionately kissed her hand, and -exclaimed, "You look like an angel, and your goodness is correspondent -to your looks. I will not, madam, refuse your bounty. I accept it with -gratitude, for those dearer to me than myself. But ah! may I not indulge -a hope of seeing you again. You are so kind, so gentle, madam, that -every care is lulled into forgetfulness whilst conversing with you." - -"I shall certainly see you again as soon as possible," replied Amanda. - -Miss Rushbrook then quitted the carriage, which Amanda ordered back to -town, and bid the coachman drive as fast as possible. They had not -proceeded far, when the traces suddenly gave way, and the man was -obliged to dismount, and procure assistance from a public-house on the -road, in repairing them. This occasioned a delay, which greatly -distressed Amanda. She wished to get home before the ladies, lest, if -this was not the case, her long absence should make Lady Greystock, who -was remarkably inquisitive, inquire the reason of it; and to tell her -she had a strong objection, convinced, as she was, that her ladyship's -knowing she relieved objects so extremely disagreeable to her, would -occasion a quarrel between them, which would either render a longer -residence together impossible or highly disagreeable. And to leave -London at the present crisis, when everything relative to Lord Mortimer -was drawing to a conclusion, was not to be thought of without the -greatest pain. - -At length the coachman remounted his box, and the velocity with which he -drove, flattered her with the hope of reaching home as soon as she -wished. Tranquillized by this hope, she again indulged her imagination -with ideas of the comfort her little bounty had probably given Rushbrook -and his dejected family. So sweet to her soul was the secret approbation -which crowned her charity; so preferable to any pleasure she could have -experienced at a ball, that even the disappointment she believed Lord -Mortimer would feel from her declining it, was overlooked in the -satisfaction she felt from the action she had performed. She was -convinced he would inquire her reason for not going, which she -determined at present to conceal. It would appear like ostentation, she -thought, to say that the money requisite for her appearance at the ball -was expended in charity, and perhaps excite his generosity in a manner -which delicacy at present forbade her allowing. - -She asked the footman who handed her from the carriage whether the -ladies were returned; and on being answered in the affirmative, inquired -the hour, and learned it was just dinner time. Flurried by this -intelligence she hastened to her chamber, followed by the maid appointed -to attend her, who said Lady Greystock had inquired for her as soon as -she came home. Amanda dressed herself with unusual expedition, and -repaired to the drawing-room, where, in addition to the family party, -she found Lord Mortimer, Freelove, Miss Malcolm, and some other ladies -and gentlemen assembled. - -"Bless me, child," said Lady Greystock the moment she entered the room, -"where have you been the whole day?" "I declare, Miss Fitzalan," -exclaimed Lady Euphrasia, "I believe you stole a march somewhere upon us -this morning." "Well," cried Miss Malcolm, laughing, "your ladyship -must know that people generally have some important reason for stolen -marches which they do not choose to divulge." - -Amanda treated this malicious insinuation with the silent contempt it -merited; and on Lady Greystock's again asking her where she had been, -said, in a low hesitating voice, "in the city." - -"In the city!" repeated Lord Mortimer. - -This sudden exclamation startled her. She looked at him, and perceived -him regarding her with the most scrutinizing earnestness. She blushed -deeply, as if detected in a falsehood, and immediately bent her eyes to -the ground. - -The conversation now changed, but it was sometime ere Amanda's confusion -subsided. - -Lord Mortimer, indeed, had a reason for his exclamation she little -thought of. He had met the marchioness and her companions, by -appointment, at the auction, but soon grew weary of his situation, which -the presence of Amanda could alone have rendered tolerable. He pleaded -business as an excuse for withdrawing, and hurrying home, ordered his -phaeton, and proceeded towards Kensington. As he passed the coach in -which Amanda sat, at the time the traces were mending, he carelessly -looked into it, and directly recognized her. Lady Euphrasia had informed -him she excused herself from their party on account of some business in -the city. He never heard of her having any acquaintance in or about -Kensington, and was at once alarmed and surprised by discovering her. He -drove to some distance from the carriage, and as soon as it began to -move, pursued it with equal velocity till it reached town, and then -giving his phaeton in charge to the servant, followed it on foot, till -he saw Amanda alight from it at the Marquis of Roslin's. Amanda had -escaped seeing his lordship by a profound meditation in which she was -engaged at the moment, as she pensively leaned against the side of the -coach. Lord Mortimer walked back with increased disorder to meet his -phaeton. As he approached it, he saw Colonel Belgrave by it, on -horseback, admiring the horses, which were remarkably fine, and asking -to whom they belonged. His acquaintance with the colonel had hitherto -never exceeded more than a passing bow. Now prompted by an irresistible -impulse, he saluted him familiarly; inquired "whether he had had a -pleasant ride that morning, and how far he had been." "No farther than -Kensington," replied the colonel. - -This answer was confirmation strong to all the fears of Lord Mortimer. -He turned pale, dropped the reins which he had taken, with an intention -of remounting, and, without even noticing the colonel, flew from the -place, and arrived at home almost in a state of distraction. He was -engaged to dine at the Marquis's, but in the first violence of his -feelings, resolved on sending an apology. Ere the servant, however, -summoned for that purpose had entered his apartment, he changed his -resolution. "I will go," said he: "though appearances are against her, -she may, perhaps," (and he tried to derive some comfort from the idea,) -"be able satisfactorily to account for her being at Kensington." - -Tortured by conflicting passions, alternately hoping and doubting, he -arrived at Portman Square. - -Lady Greystock and Lady Euphrasia dwelt with wonder on the length of -Amanda's morning excursion. When she entered the room, he thought she -appeared embarrassed; and that, on Lady Greystock's addressing her, this -embarrassment increased. But when she said she had been in the city, her -duplicity, as he termed it, appeared so monstrous to him, that he could -not forbear an involuntary repetition of her words. So great, indeed, -was the indignation it excited in his breast, that he could scarcely -forbear reproaching her as the destroyer of his and her own felicity. -Her blush appeared to him, not the ingenuous coloring of innocence, but -the glow of shame and guilt. It was evident to him that she had seen -Belgrave that morning; that he was the occasion of all the mystery which -had appeared in her conduct, and that it was the knowledge of the -improper influence he had over her heart which made Sir Charles Bingley -so suddenly resign her. - -"Gracious Heaven!" said he to himself, "who, that looked upon Amanda, -could ever suppose duplicity harbored in her breast? Yet that too surely -it is, I have every reason to suppose. Yet a little longer I will bear a -torturing state of suspense, nor reveal my doubts till thoroughly -convinced they are well founded." - -He sat opposite to her at dinner, and his eyes were directed towards her -with that tender sadness which we feel on viewing a beloved object we -know ourselves on the point of losing forever. - -His melancholy was quickly perceived by the penetrating marchioness and -Lady Euphrasia. They saw, with delight, that the poison of suspicion, -infused into his mind, was already beginning to operate. They -anticipated the success of all their schemes. Their spirits grew -uncommonly elevated; and Lady Euphrasia determined, whenever she had the -power, to revenge, on the susceptible nature of Mortimer, all the -uneasiness he had made her suffer, and to add, as far as malice could -add to it, to the misery about to be the lot of Amanda. - -The dejection of Lord Mortimer was also observed by Amanda. It excited -her fears and affected her sensibility. She dreaded that his aunt had -refused complying with his request relative to her interference with his -father, or that the earl had been urging him to an immediate union with -Lady Euphrasia. Perhaps he now wavered between love and duty. The -thought struck a cold damp upon her heart. Yet no, cried she, it cannot -be; if inclined to change, Lord Mortimer would at once have informed me. - -In the evening there was a large addition to the party; but Lord -Mortimer sat pensively apart from the company. Amanda, by chance, -procured a seat next his. His paleness alarmed her, and she could not -forbear hinting her fears that he was ill. - -"I am ill, indeed," sighed he, heavily. He looked at her as he spoke, -and beheld her regarding him with the most exquisite tenderness. But the -period was past for receiving delight from such an appearance of -affection: an affection, he had reason to believe was never more than -feigned for him; and, also, from his emotions when with her, that he -should never cease regretting the deception. His passions, exhausted by -their own violence, had sunk into a calm, and sadness was the -predominant feeling of his soul. Though he so bitterly lamented, he -could not, at the moment, have reproached her perfidy. He gazed on her -with mournful tenderness, and to the involuntary expression of regret, -which dropped from her on hearing he was ill, only replied, by saying, -"Ah! Amanda, the man that really excites your tenderness must be happy." - -Amanda, unconscious that any sinister meaning lurked beneath these -words, considered them as an acknowledgment of the happiness he himself -experienced from being convinced of her regard, and her heart swelled -with pleasure at the idea. - -Any further conversation between them was interrupted by Miss Malcolm, -who, in a laughing manner, seated herself by Lord Mortimer, to rally -him, as she said, into good spirits. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - "But yet I say, - If imputation and strong circumstances, - Which lead directly to the door of truth, - Will give you satisfaction, you may have it."--SHAKSPEARE. - - -From that evening, to the day destined for the ball, nothing material -happened. On the morning of that day, as Amanda was sitting in the -drawing-room with the ladies, Lord Mortimer entered. Lady Euphrasia -could talk of nothing else but the approaching entertainment, which, she -said, was expected to be the most brilliant thing that had been given -that winter. - -"I hope your ladyship," said Amanda, who had not yet declared her -intention of staying at home, "will be able to-morrow to give me a good -description of it." "Why, I suppose," cried Lady Euphrasia, "you do not -intend going without being able to see and hear yourself?" "Certainly," -replied Amanda, "I should not, but I do not intend going." "Not going to -the ball to-night?" exclaimed Lady Euphrasia. "Bless me child," said -Lady Greystock, "what whim has entered your head to prevent your going?" -"Dear Lady Greystock," said Lady Euphrasia, in a tone of unusual -good-humor, internally delighted at Amanda's resolution, "don't tease -Miss Fitzalan with questions." "And you really do not go?" exclaimed -Lord Mortimer, in an accent expressive of surprise and disappointment. -"I really do not, my lord." "I declare," said the marchioness, even more -delighted than her daughter at Amanda's resolution, as it favored a -scheme she had long been projecting, "I wish Euphrasia was as -indifferent about amusement as Miss Fitzalan: here she has been -complaining of indisposition the whole morning, yet I cannot prevail on -her to give up the ball." - -Lady Euphrasia, who never felt in better health and spirits, would have -contradicted the marchioness, had not an expressive glance assured her -there was an important motive for this assertion. - -"May we not hope, Miss Fitzalan," said Lord Mortimer, "that a resolution -so suddenly adopted as yours may be as suddenly changed?" "No, indeed, -my lord, nor is it so suddenly formed as you seem to suppose." - -Lord Mortimer shuddered as he endeavored to account for it in his own -mind; his agony became almost insupportable; he arose and walked to the -window where she sat. - -"Amanda," said he, in a low voice, "I fear you forget your engagement to -me." - -Amanda, supposing this alluded to her engagement for the ball, replied, -"she had not forgotten it." "For your inability or disinclination to -fulfil it, then," said he, "will you not account?" "Most willingly, my -lord." "When?" asked Lord Mortimer, impatiently, for, unable longer to -support his torturing suspense, he determined, contrary to his first -intention, to come to an immediate explanation relative to Belgrave. -"To-morrow, my lord," replied Amanda, "since you desire it, I will -account for not keeping my engagement, and I trust," a modest blush -mantling her cheeks as she spoke, "that your lordship will not -disapprove of my reasons for declining it." - -The peculiar earnestness of his words, Lord Mortimer imagined, had -conveyed their real meaning to Amanda. - -"Till to-morrow, then," sighed he, heavily, "I must bear disquietude." - -His regret, Amanda supposed, proceeded from disappointment at not having -her company at the ball: she was flattered by it, and pleased at the -idea of telling him her real motive for not going, certain it would meet -his approbation, and open another source of benevolence to poor -Rushbrook. - -In the evening, at Lady Euphrasia's particular request, she attended at -her toilet, and assisted in ornamenting her ladyship. At ten she saw the -party depart, without the smallest regret for not accompanying them: -happy in self-approbation, a delightful calm was diffused over her mind: -a treacherous calm, indeed, which, lulling her senses into security, -made the approaching storm burst with redoubled violence on her head; it -was such a calm as Shakspeare beautifully describes:-- - - "We often see against some storm - A silence in the heavens; the rack stand still, - The bold winds speechless, and the orb below - As hush as death." - -She continued in Lady Euphrasia's dressing-room, and took up the -beautiful and affecting story of Paul and Mary, to amuse herself. Her -whole attention was soon engrossed by it; and, with the unfortunate -Paul, she was shedding a deluge of tears over the fate of his lovely -Mary, when a sudden noise made her hastily turn her head, and with equal -horror and surprise, she beheld Colonel Belgrave coming forward. She -started up, and was springing to the door, when, rushing between her and -it, he caught her in his arms, and forcing her back to the sofa, rudely -stopped her mouth. - -"Neither cries or struggles, Amanda," said he, "will be availing; -without the assistance of a friend, you may be convinced, I could not -have entered this house, and the same friend will, you may depend on it, -take care that our _tete-à-tete_ is not interrupted." - -Amanda shuddered at the idea of treachery; and being convinced, from -what he said, she could not expect assistance, endeavored to recover her -fainting spirits, and exert all her resolution. - -"Your scheme, Colonel Belgrave," said she, "is equally vile and futile. -Though treachery may have brought you hither, you must be convinced -that, under the Marquis of Roslin's roof, who, by relationship, as well -as hospitality, is bound to protect me, you dare not, with impunity, -offer me any insult. The marquis will be at home immediately; if, -therefore, you wish to preserve the semblance of honor, retire without -further delay." "Not to retire so easily," exclaimed Belgrave, "did I -take such pains, or watch so anxiously for this interview. Fear not any -insult; but, till I have revealed the purpose of my soul, I will not be -forced from you. My love, or rather adoration, has known no abatement by -your long concealment; and now that chance has so happily thrown you in -my way, I will not neglect using any opportunity it may offer." -"Gracious heaven!" said Amanda, while her eyes flashed with indignation, -"how can you have the effrontery to avow your insolent -intentions--intentions which long since you must have known would ever -prove abortive?" "And why, my Amanda," said he, again attempting to -strain her to his breast, while she shrunk from his grasp, "why should -they prove abortive? why should you be obstinate in refusing wealth, -happiness, the sincere, the ardent affection of a man, who, in promoting -your felicity, would constitute his own? My life, my fortune, would be -at your command; my eternal gratitude would be yours for any trifling -sacrifice the world might think you made me. Hesitate no longer about -raising yourself to affluence, which, to a benevolent spirit like yours, -must be so peculiarly pleasing. Hesitate not to secure independence to -your father, promotion to your brother; and, be assured, if the -connection I formed in an ill-fated hour, deceived by a specious -appearance of perfection, should ever be dissolved, my hand, like my -heart, shall be yours." "Monster!" exclaimed Amanda, beholding him with -horror, "your hand, was it at your disposal, like your other offers, I -should spurn with contempt. Cease to torment me," she continued, "lest, -in my own defence, I call upon those who have power, as well as -inclination, to chastise your insolence. Let this consideration, joined -to the certainty that your pursuit must ever prove unavailing, influence -your future actions; for, be assured, you are in every respect an object -of abhorrence to my soul." - -As she spoke, exerting all her strength, she burst from him, and -attempted to gain the door. He flung himself between her and it, his -face inflamed with passion, and darting the most malignant glances at -her. - -Terrified by his looks, Amanda tried to avoid him; and when he caught -her again in his arms, she screamed aloud. No one appeared; her terror -increased. - -"Oh, Belgrave!" cried she, trembling, "if you have one principle of -honor, one feeling of humanity remaining, retire. I will pardon and -conceal what is past, if you comply with my request." "I distress you, -Amanda," said he, assuming a softened accent, "and it wounds me to the -soul to do so, though you, cruel and inexorable, care not what pain you -occasion me. Hear me calmly, and be assured I shall attempt no action -which can offend you." - -He led her again to the sofa, and thus continued:-- - -"Misled by false views, you shun and detest the only man who has had -sufficient sincerity to declare openly his intentions; inexperience and -credulity have already made you a dupe to artifice. You imagined Sir -Charles Bingley was a fervent admirer of yours, when, be assured, in -following you he only obeyed the dictates of an egregious vanity, which -flattered him with the hope of gaining your regard, and being -distinguished by it. Nothing was farther from his thoughts, as he -himself confessed to me, than seriously paying his addresses to you; and -had you appeared willing, at last, to accept them, be assured he would -soon have contrived some scheme to disengage himself from you. The -attentions of Lord Mortimer are prompted by a motive much more dangerous -than that which instigated Sir Charles. He really admires you, and would -have you believe his views are honorable; but beware of his duplicity. -He seeks to take advantage of the too great confidence you repose in -him. His purpose once accomplished, he would sacrifice you to Lady -Euphrasia; and I know enough of her malevolent disposition to be -convinced she would enjoy her triumph over so lovely a victim. Ah, my -dear Amanda, even beauty and elegance like yours would not, on the -generality of mankind, have power to make them forego the advantages -annexed to wealth--on Lord Mortimer, particularly, they would fail of -that effect. His ambition and avarice are equal to his father's; and -though his heart and soul, I am confident, revolt from the mind and -person of Lady Euphrasia, he will unite himself to her, for the sake of -possessing her fortune, and thus increasing his own power of procuring -the gratifications he delights in. As my situation is known, I cannot be -accused of deception, and whatever I promise, will be strictly -fulfilled. Deliberate therefore no longer, my Amanda, on the course you -shall pursue." "No," cried she, "I shall, indeed, no longer deliberate -about it." - -As she spoke she started from her seat. Belgrave again seized her hand. -At this moment a knocking was heard at the hall door, which echoed -through the house. Amanda trembled, and Belgrave paused in a speech he -had begun. She supposed the marquis had returned. It was improbable he -would come to that room; and even if he did, from his distrustful and -malignant temper, she knew not whether she should have reason to rejoice -at or regret his presence. But how great was her confusion when, instead -of his voice, she heard those of the marchioness and her party! In a -moment the dreadful consequences which might ensue from her present -situation rushed upon her mind. By the forced attentions of the -marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, she was not long deceived, and had -reason to believe, from the inveterate dislike they bore her, that they -would rejoice at an opportunity like the present for traducing her fame; -and with horror she saw that appearances, even in the eyes of candor, -would be against her. She had positively, and unexpectedly, refused -going to the ball. She had expressed delight at the idea of staying at -home. Alas! would not all these circumstances be dwelt upon? What ideas -might they not excite in Lord Mortimer, who already showed a tendency to -jealousy? Half wild at the idea, she clasped her hands together and -exclaimed, in a voice trembling with anguish, "Merciful heaven, I am -ruined forever!" - -"No, no," cried Belgrave, flinging himself at her feet, "pardon me, -Amanda, and I never more will molest you. I see your principles are -invincible. I admire, I revere your purity, and never more will I -attempt to injure it. I was on the point of declaring so when that -cursed knock came to the door. Compose yourself, and consider what can -be done in the present emergency. You will be ruined if I am seen with -you. The malicious devils you live with would never believe our united -asseverations of your innocence. Conceal me, therefore, if possible, -till the family are settled; the person who let me in will then secure -my retreat, and I swear solemnly never more to trouble you." - -Amanda hesitated between the confidence her innocence inspired, and the -dread of the unpleasant construction malice might put on her situation. -She heard the party ascending the stairs. Fear conquered her reluctance -to concealment, and she motioned to Belgrave to retire to a closet -adjoining the dressing-room. He obeyed the motion, and closed the door -softly after him. - -Amanda, snatching up her book, endeavored to compose herself; but the -effort was ineffectual--she trembled universally--nor was her agitation -diminished when, from the outside of the door, Lady Euphrasia called to -her to open it. She tottered to it, and almost fainted on finding it -locked--with difficulty she opened it, and the whole party, followed by -the marquis, entered. - -"Upon my word, Miss Fitzalan," said the marchioness, "you were -determined no one should disturb your meditations. I fear we have -surprised you; but poor Euphrasia was taken ill at the ball, and we were -obliged to return with her." "Miss Fitzalan has not been much better, I -believe," said Lady Euphrasia, regarding her attentively. "Good Lord, -child!" cried Lady Greystock, "what is the matter with you? why, you -look as pale as if you had seen a ghost." "Miss Fitzalan is fond of -solitude," exclaimed the marquis, preventing her replying to Lady -Greystock. "When I returned home about an hour ago, I sent to request -her company in the parlor, which honor, I assure you, I was refused." - -The message, indeed, had been sent, but never delivered to Amanda. - -"I assure you, my lord," said she, "I heard of no such request." "And -pray, child, how have you been employed all this time?" asked Lady -Greystock. "In reading, madam," faltered out Amanda, while her -death-like paleness was succeeded by a deep blush. "You are certainly -ill," said Lord Mortimer, who sat beside her, in a voice expressive of -regret at the conviction. "You have been indulging melancholy ideas, I -fear," continued he softly, and taking her hand, "for surely--surely -to-night you are uncommonly affected." - -Amanda attempted to speak. The contending emotions of her mind prevented -her utterance, and the tears trickled silently down her cheeks. Lord -Mortimer saw she wished to avoid notice, yet scarcely could he forbear -requesting some assistance for her. - -Lady Euphrasia now complained of a violent headache. The marchioness -wanted to ring for remedies. This Lady Euphrasia opposed; at last, as if -suddenly recollecting it, she said, "in the closet there was a bottle of -eau-de-luce, which she was certain would be of service to her." - -At the mention of the closet, the blood ran cold through the veins of -Amanda; but when she saw Lady Euphrasia rise to enter it, had death, in -its most frightful form, stared her in the face, she could not have -betrayed more horror. She looked towards it with a countenance as -expressive of wild affright as Macbeth's, when viewing the chair on -which the spectre of the murdered Banquo sat. Lord Mortimer observing -the disorder of her looks, began to tremble. He grasped her hand with a -convulsive motion, and exclaimed: - -"Amanda, what means this agitation?" - -A loud scream from Lady Euphrasia broke upon their ears, and she rushed -from the closet, followed by Belgrave. - -"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed Lord Mortimer, dropping Amanda's hand, and -rising precipitately. - -Amanda looked around--she beheld every eye fastened on her with -amazement and contempt. The shock was too much for her to support. A -confused idea started into her mind that a deep-laid plot had been -concerted to ruin her; she faintly exclaimed, "I am betrayed," and sunk -back upon the sofa. - -Lord Mortimer started at her exclamation. "Oh Heavens!" cried he, as he -looked towards her; unable to support the scene that would ensue in -consequence of this discovery, he struck his forehead in agony, and -rushed out of the room. In the hall he was stopped by Mrs. Jane, the -maid appointed by the marchioness to attend Amanda. - -"Alack-a-day, my lord," said she, in a whimpering voice, "something -dreadful, I am afraid, has happened above stairs. Oh dear! what people -suffer sometimes by their good nature. I am sure, if I thought any harm -would come of granting Miss Fitzalan's request, she might have begged -and prayed long enough, before I would have obliged her." "Did she -desire you to bring Colonel Belgrave to this house?" asked Lord -Mortimer. "Oh, to be sure she did, my lord, or how should I ever have -thought of such a thing? She has been begging and praying long enough -for me to contrive some way of bringing him here; and she told me a -piteous story, which would have softened a stone, of his being a -sweetheart of hers before he was married." "Merciful powers!" cried Lord -Mortimer, clasping his hands together, "how have I been deceived." - -He was hurrying away, when Mrs. Jane caught his coat. "I shall lose my -place," said she, sobbing, "that I shall, most certainly; for my lord -and lady never will forgive my bringing any one in such a way into the -house. I am sure, I thought no great harm in it, and did it quite from -good nature; for, indeed, how could one resist the poor, dear young -lady; she cried, and said she only wanted to bid farewell to her dear -Belgrave." - -Lord Mortimer could hear no more. He shook her from him, and hurried -from the house. - -Amanda's faculties suffered but a momentary suspension; as she opened -her eyes, her composure and fortitude returned. - -"I am convinced," said she, rising and advancing to the marquis, "it -will shock your lordship to hear, that it is the treachery of some -person under your roof has involved me in my present embarrassing -situation. For my own justification, 'tis necessary to acknowledge that -I have long been the object of a pursuit from Colonel Belgrave, as -degrading to his character as insulting to mine. When he broke so -unexpectedly upon me to-night, he declared, even with effrontery -declared, he had a friend in this house who gave him access to it. As -your guest, my lord, I may expect your lordship's protection; also that -an immediate inquiry be made for the abettor in this scheme against me, -and a full discovery of it extorted--that should the affair be -mentioned, it may be explained, and my fame cleared of every -imputation." "That, madam," said the marquis, with a malicious sneer, -"would not be quite so easy a matter as you may perhaps suppose. Neither -the world nor I am so credulous as you imagine. Your story, madam, by no -means hangs well together. There is no person in my house would have -dared to commit the act you accuse them of, as they must know the -consequence of it would be immediate dismission from my service. Had not -Colonel Belgrave been voluntarily admitted, he never would have been -concealed;--no, madam, you would have rejoiced at the opportunity our -presence gave you of punishing his temerity. Innocence is bold; 'tis -guilt alone is timorous." - -The truth of part of his speech struck forcibly on Amanda; but how could -she explain her conduct?--how declare it was her dread of the -marchioness and Lady Euphrasia's malice which had made her consent to -conceal him. - -"Oh, I see," said she, in the agony of her soul--"I see I am the dupe of -complicated artifice." "I never in my life," cried the marchioness, "met -with such assurance--to desire the marquis to be her champion." "As she -was intrusted to my care, however," exclaimed Lady Greystock, "I think -it necessary to inquire into the affair. Pray, sir," turning to the -colonel, "by what means did you come here?" - -The colonel, with undiminished assurance, had hitherto stood near the -fatal closet leaning on a chair. - -"That, madam," replied he, "I must be excused revealing. Let me, -however, assure your ladyship 'tis not on my own account I affect -concealment." Here he glanced at Amanda. "Those parts of my conduct, -however, which I choose to conceal, I shall always be ready to defend." -"Sir," cried the marquis haughtily, "no explanation or defence of your -conduct is here required; I have neither right nor inclination to -interfere in Miss Fitzalan's concerns." - -The colonel bowed to the circle, and was retiring, when Amanda flew to -him and caught his arm. "Surely, surely," said she, almost gasping for -breath, "you cannot be so inhuman as to retire without explaining this -whole affair. Oh, Belgrave, leave me not a prey to slander. By all your -hopes of mercy and forgiveness hereafter, I conjure you to clear my -fame." - -"My dear creature," said he, in a low voice, yet low enough to be heard -by the whole party, "anything I could say would be unavailing. You find -they are determined not to see things in the light we wish them viewed. -Compose yourself, I beseech you, and be assured, while I exist, you -never shall want comfort or affluence." - -He gently disengaged himself as he spoke, and quitted the room, leaving -her riveted to the floor in amazement at his insolence and perfidy. - -"I am sure," said Lady Greystock, "I shall regret all my life the hour -in which I took her under my protection; though, indeed, from what I -heard soon after my arrival in London, I should have dispatched her back -to her father, but I felt a foolish pity for her. I was in hopes, -indeed, the society I had introduced her to would have produced a -reformation, and that I might be the means of saving a young creature -from entire destruction." "From what I have already suffered by her -family, nothing should have tempted me to take her under my roof," -exclaimed the marchioness. "Was she my relation," cried the marquis, "I -should long since have come to a determination about her; as yours, -madam," turning to the marchioness, "I shall not attempt forming one; I -deem it, however, absolutely necessary to remove Lady Euphrasia -Sutherland from the house till the young lady chooses to quit it. I -shall therefore order the carriage to be ready at an early hour for the -villa." - -"I shall certainly accompany your lordship," cried the marchioness, "for -I cannot endure her sight; and though she deserves it, it shall not be -said that we turned her from the house." "The only measure she should -pursue," exclaimed Lady Greystock, "is to set off as soon as possible -for Ireland; when she returns to obscurity the affair may die away." "It -may, however," said Amanda, "be yet revived to cover with confusion its -contrivers. To Heaven I leave the vindication of my innocence. Its -justice is sure, though sometimes slow, and the hour of retribution -often arrives when least expected. Much as I have suffered--much as I -may still suffer, I think my own situation preferable to theirs who have -set their snares around me. The injurer must ever feel greater pangs -than the injured--the pangs of guilt and remorse. I shall return to my -obscurity, happy in the consciousness that it is not a shelter from -shame, but a refuge from cruelty I seek. But can I be surprised at -meeting cruelty from those who have long since waived the ties of -kindred?--from those," and she glanced at Lady Greystock, "who have set -aside the claims of justice and humanity?" - -The marchioness trembled with rage at this speech, and as Amanda retired -from the room, exclaimed, "intolerable assurance." - -Amanda repaired immediately to her chamber. She tottered as she walked, -and the housekeeper and Mrs. Jane, who, with some other servants, had -assembled out of curiosity near the door, followed her thither. - -The emotions she had so painfully suppressed now burst forth with -violence. She fell into an agony of tears and sobs which impeded her -breathing. The housekeeper and Jane loosened her clothes and supported -her to the bed. In a short time she was sufficiently recovered to be -able to speak, and requested they would engage a carriage for her -against the next day, at an early hour, that she might commence her -journey to Ireland. This they promised, and at her desire retired. - -Success, but not happiness, had crowned the marchioness's scheme. She -triumphed in the disgrace she had drawn upon Amanda, but feared that -disgrace was only temporary. She had entangled her in a snare, but she -dreaded not having secured her in it. She distrusted those who had -assisted her designs--for the guilty will ever suspect each other. They -might betray her, or Colonel Belgrave might repent; but such evils, if -they did ever arrive, were probably far distant. In the interim, all she -desired to accomplish might be effected. Long had she been meditating on -some plan which should ruin Amanda forever--not only in the opinion of -Lord Mortimer, but in the estimation of the world. With the profligacy -of Colonel Belgrave she was well acquainted, and inclined from it to -believe that he would readily join in any scheme which could give him a -chance of possessing Amanda. On discovering her residence, he had -ordered his valet, who was a trusty agent in all his villanies, to -endeavor to gain access to the house, that he might discover whether -there was a chance of introducing him there. The valet obeyed his -orders, and soon attached himself to Mrs. Jane, whom the marchioness had -placed about Amanda, from knowing she was capable of any deceitful part. -She was introduced to Belgrave, and a handsome present secured her in -his interest. - -She communicated to the marchioness the particulars of their interview. -From that period they had been seeking to bring about such a scene as -was at last acted; for the conduct of Amanda had hitherto defeated their -intentions. Her staying from the ball at last gave the wished-for -opportunity. - -Lady Euphrasia was apprised of the whole plot, and the hint of her -indisposition was given in the morning, that no suspicion might be -entertained in the evening, when mentioned as a plea for returning home -earlier than was intended. - -Colonel Belgrave was introduced into the closet by Mrs. Jane, through a -door that opened from the lobby; and whilst Amanda sat pensively -reading, he stole out, and secured the other door, as already mentioned. - -When Lady Euphrasia declared she was too ill to continue at the ball, -Lord Mortimer offered to attend her home. Had he not done so, the -marchioness intended to have asked him. - -The marquis was persuaded that Amanda was an artful and dangerous rival -to his daughter, and he hated her from that consideration. The laws of -hospitality obliged him to treat her with politeness, but he gladly -seized the first opportunity that offered for expressing his dislike. - -Lady Greystock saw through the plot, but she professed her belief of -Amanda's guilt, which was all the marchioness required. - -The marquis left the ladies together, while he went to give orders about -his early journey. Soon after his departure a loud knocking was heard, -which announced a visitor; and from the lateness of the hour, they -conjectured, and were right in doing so, that it must be Lord Mortimer. - -After traversing several streets, in an agony no language could -describe, he returned to Portman Square. His fancy presented Amanda to -his view, overwhelmed with shame, and sinking beneath the keen -reproaches levelled at her. In the idea of her sufferings, all -resentment for the supposed perfidy was forgotten. Human nature was -liable to err, and the noblest efforts that nature could make, was to -pardon such errors. To speak comfort to this fallen angel, he felt would -relieve the weight which pressed upon his own breast. Pale and -disordered he entered the room, and found the ladies apparently much -affected. - -"My dear lord," said the marchioness, "I am glad you are come back. As a -friend of the family, you may perhaps honor us with your advice on the -present occasion." "Indeed," exclaimed Lady Greystock, "I suppose his -lordship is at as great a loss to know what can be done as we are. Was -the colonel in a situation to make any reparation--but a married man, -only think, how horrible!" "Execrable monster!" cried Lord Mortimer, -starting from his seat, and traversing the room, "it were a deed of -kindness to mankind to extirpate him from the earth: but say," continued -he, and his voice faltered as he spoke, "where is the unfortunate----," -he could not pronounce the name of Amanda. "In her own room," replied -the marchioness. "I assure you, she behaved with not a little insolence, -on Lady Greystock advising her to return home. For my part, I shall let -her act as she pleases." - -She then proceeded to mention the marquis's resolution of leaving the -house till she had quitted it, and that he insisted on their -accompanying him. - -"To return to her father is certainly the only eligible plan she can -pursue," said Lord Mortimer; "but allow me," continued he, "to request -that your ladyship will not impute to insolence any expression which -dropped from her. Pity her wounded feelings, and soften her sorrows." "I -declare," cried Lady Euphrasia, "I thought I should have fainted from -the pity I felt for her." "You pitied her, then," said Lord Mortimer, -sitting down by her ladyship, "you pitied and soothed her afflictions?" -"Yes, indeed," replied she. - -If ever Lady Euphrasia appeared pleasing in the eyes of Lord Mortimer, -it was at this moment, when he was credulous enough to believe she had -shed the tear of pity over his lost Amanda. He took her hand. "Ah! my -dear Lady Euphrasia," said he, in an accent of melting softness, -"perhaps even now she needs consolation. A gentle female friend would be -a comfort to her wounded heart." - -Lady Euphrasia immediately took the hint, and said she would go to her. - -He led her to the door. "You are going," cried he, "to perform the -office of an angel--to console the afflicted. Ah! well does it become -the young and gentle of your sex to pity such misfortunes." - -Her ladyship retired, but not indeed to the chamber of the forlorn -Amanda. In her own she vented the rage of her soul in something little -short of execrations against Lord Mortimer, for the affection she saw he -still retained for Amanda. - -On her ladyship's retiring, Lady Greystock mentioned every particular -she had heard from Mrs. Jennings, and bitterly lamented her having ever -taken Amanda under her protection. The subject was too painful to be -long endured by Lord Mortimer. He had heard of the early hour fixed for -their journey, and saying he would no longer keep the ladies from -repose, precipitately retired. He gave his man directions to watch their -motions, and inform him when they left town. - -Exhausted by the violence of her emotions, a temporary forgetfulness -stole over the senses of Amanda, on her being left to solitude. In this -state she continued till roused by a bustle in the house. She started, -listened, and heard the sound of a carriage. Supposing it to be the one -she had ordered for her departure, she sprang from the bed, and, going -to the window, saw, instead of one for her, the marquis's, into which he -was handing the ladies. As soon as it drove from the door, she rang the -bell, and the housekeeper immediately appeared, as Mrs. Jane had -attended the marchioness to the villa. Amanda inquired "whether a -carriage, as she directed, had been engaged for her." - -The housekeeper replied, "the hour in which she spoke was too late for -such a purpose, but she had now sent about one." - -Amanda endeavored to exert herself, and was packing up her clothes, when -a maid entered the chamber, and said, "Lord Mortimer was below, and -wished to speak to her." - -Tumultuous joy pervaded the mind of Amanda. She had believed it probable -she should not see him again before her departure for Ireland, from -whence she had determined writing to him the particulars of the affair. -His visit seemed to announce he thought not unfavorably of her. She -supposed he came to assure her that his opinion of her integrity was -unshaken--"and I shall yet triumph," cried she, in the transport of the -idea, "over malice and treachery." - -She sprung past the maid; her feet scarce touched the ground, and in a -moment she found herself in the arms of Lord Mortimer, which -involuntarily opened to receive her, for, trembling weak, and -disordered, she would else, on seeing him, have sunk to the floor. He -supported her to a sofa. In a little time she raised her head from his -shoulder, and exclaimed, "Oh! you are come! I know you are come, to -comfort me." "Would to Heaven," he answered, "I were capable of either -giving or receiving comfort. The period, however, I trust, may yet -arrive when we shall both at least be more composed. To mitigate your -sorrows would lessen my own; for never, oh, never! can my heart forget -the love and esteem it once bore Amanda." "Once bore her!" repeated -Amanda. "Once bore her, Lord Mortimer! do you say? Then you wish to -imply they no longer exist?" - -The tone of anguish in which she spoke, pierced the heart of Lord -Mortimer. Unable to speak, he arose, and walked to the window, to hide -his emotion. His words, his silence, all conveyed a fatal truth to -Amanda. She saw a dreadful and eternal separation effected between her -and Lord Mortimer. She beheld herself deprived of reputation, loaded -with calumny, and no longer an object of love, but of detestation and -contempt. Her anguish was almost too great to bear, yet the pride of -injured innocence made her wish to conceal it; and, as Lord Mortimer -stood at the window, she determined to try and leave the room without -his knowledge, but ere she gained the door her head grew giddy, her -strength failed, she staggered, faintly screamed on finding herself -falling, and sunk upon the floor. - -Lord Mortimer wildly called for assistance. He raised and carried her -back to the sofa; he strained her to his bosom, kissed her pale lips, -and wept over her. - -"I have wounded your gentle soul, my Amanda," cried he, "but I have -tortured my own by doing so. Ah! still dearest of women, did the world -compassionate your errors as I compassionate them, neither contempt nor -calumny would ever be your portion. How pale she looks!" said he, -raising his head to gaze upon her face; "how like a lovely flower -untimely faded! Yet were it happiness for her never to revive; a soul -like hers, originally noble, must be wretched under the pressure of -scorn. Execrable Belgrave! the fairest work of Heaven is destroyed by -you. Oh! my Amanda, my distress is surely severe--though anguish rives -my heart for your loss, I must conceal it--the sad luxury of grief will -be denied me, for the world would smile if I could say I now lamented -you." - -Such were the effusions of sorrow which broke from Lord Mortimer over -the insensible Amanda. The housekeeper, who had been listening all this -time, now appeared, as if in obedience to his call, and offered her -assistance in recovering Amanda. Heavy sighs at length gave hopes of her -restoration. Lord Mortimer, unable to support her pathetic lamentations, -determined to depart ere she was perfectly sensible. - -"Miss Fitzalan," said he to the housekeeper, "will wish, I am convinced, -to quit this house immediately. I shall take upon myself to procure her -a carriage, also a proper attendant, for her journey, which, I flatter -myself, she will be able to commence in a few hours. Be kind, be gentle -to her, my good woman, and depend on my eternal gratitude. When she is -recovered, deliver her this letter." - -The housekeeper promised to observe his injunctions, and he departed. - -To Ireland, with Amanda, he intended sending an old female servant, who -had formerly been an attendant of his mother's, and his own man. He was -shocked at the conduct of the marchioness and Lady Greystock, and -thought them guilty of the highest inhumanity in thus deserting Amanda. -The letter he had put into the housekeeper's hands excited her curiosity -so strongly that she was tempted to gratify it. Amanda was not in a -situation to perceive what she did, the letter could easily be sealed -again, and, in short, without longer hesitation, she opened it. How -great was her amazement, on finding it contained a bank-note for five -hundred pounds. The words were as follows:-- - - Consider me, Amanda, in the light of a brother; as such accept - my services; to serve you, in any manner, will be a source of - consolation, which, I flatter myself, you will be happy to allow - me. 'Tis necessary you should return immediately to your father; - hesitate not, then, about using the enclosed. Your complying - with my request will prove that you yet retain a friendship for - - MORTIMER. - -"What a sum," cried the housekeeper, as she examined the note; "what a -nice little independency would this, in addition to what I have already -saved, be for an honest woman! What a pity it is such a creature as it -is designed for should possess it!" The housekeeper, like her lady, was -fertile in invention: to be sure there was some danger in her present -scheme, but for such a prize it was worth her while to run some risk. -Could she but get Amanda off ere the carriage from Lord Mortimer -arrived, she believed all would succeed as she could wish. Amanda, -ignorant as she was of Lord Mortimer's intentions, would not, -consequently, be influenced by them, to oppose anything she could do. -Full of this idea, she ran out, and calling a footman, high in her -favor, desired him immediately to procure a travelling chaise for Miss -Fitzalan. She then returned to Amanda, who was just beginning to move. - -"Come, come," cried she, going to her, and roughly shaking her shoulder, -"have done with those tragedy airs, and prepare yourself against the -carriage you ordered, comes: it will be at the door in a few minutes." - -Amanda looked round the room. "Is Lord Mortimer gone, then?" said she. -"Lord, to be sure he is," cried the housekeeper; "he left you on the -floor, and, as he went out, he said you should never have another -opportunity of deceiving him." - -A sudden frenzy seemed to seize Amanda; she wrung her hands, called upon -Lord Mortimer in the impassioned language of despair, and flung herself -on the ground, exclaiming, "This last stroke is more than I can bear." - -The housekeeper grew alarmed, lest her agitation should retard her -departure; she raised her forcibly from the ground, and said, "she must -compose herself to begin her journey, which was unavoidable, as the -marchioness had given absolute orders to have her sent from the house -early in the morning." - -"Accursed house!" said Amanda, whose reason was restored by the -strenuous remonstrances of the housekeeper: "Oh, that I had never -entered it!" She then told her companion, "if she would assist her, as -she was almost too weak to do anything for herself, she would be ready -against the carriage came." The housekeeper and maid accordingly -attended her to her chamber; the former brought her drops, and the -latter assisted in putting on her habit, and packing up her clothes. -Amanda having secured her trunks, desired they might be sent, by the -first opportunity, to Castle Carberry; she had left a great many clothes -there, so took nothing at present with her but a small quantity of -linen. She had but a few guineas in her purse; her watch, however, was -valuable; and if she had money enough to carry her to Dublin, she knew -there she might procure a sufficient sum on it to carry her home. - -At last the carriage came; with a trembling frame, and half-broken -heart, Amanda entered it. She saw Nicholas, the footman, who had -procured it, ready mounted to attend her. She told him it was -unnecessary to do so; but he declared he could not think of letting so -young a lady travel unprotected. She was pleased at his attention: she -had shuddered at the idea of her forlorn situation, and now dropped a -tear of sweet sensibility at finding she was not utterly deserted by -every human being. The carriage took the road to Parkgate, as Amanda -chose to embark from thence, the journey being so much nearer to it than -to Holyhead, It was now about eight o'clock; after travelling four -hours, the chaise stopped at a small house on the roadside, which -appeared to be a common ale-house. Amanda was unwilling to enter it; but -the horses were here to be changed; and she was shown into a dirty -parlor, where, almost sinking with weakness, she ordered tea to be -immediately brought in. She was much astonished, as she sat at the -tea-table, to see Nicholas enter the room with a familiar air, and seat -himself by her. She stared at him at first, supposing him intoxicated; -but perceiving no signs of this in his countenance, began to fear that -the insults she had received at the marquis's made him think himself -authorized to treat her with this insolence. She arose abruptly, and, -summoning all her resolution to her aid, desired him to retire, adding, -"If his attendance was requisite she would ring for him." - -Nicholas also quitted his seat, and following her, caught her in his -arms, exclaiming, "Bless us, how hoity toity you are grown." - -Amanda shrieked, and stamped on the floor in an agony of terror and -indignation. - -"Why, now really," said he, "after what happened at home, I think you -need not be so coy with me." "Oh, save me, Heaven, from this wretch!" -was all the affrighted Amanda could articulate. - -The door opened. A waiter appeared, and told Nicholas he was wanted -without. Nicholas released Amanda, and ran directly from the room. -Amanda sunk upon a chair, and her head turned giddy at the idea of the -dangers with which she was surrounded. She saw herself in the power of a -wretch--perhaps wretches, for the house seemed a proper place for scenes -of villany--without the means of delivering herself. She walked to the -window. A confused idea of getting through it, and running from the -house, darted into her mind, but she turned from it in agony at seeing a -number of countrymen drinking before it. She now could only raise her -feeble hands to heaven to supplicate its protection. - -She passed some minutes in this manner, when the lock turned and made -her shudder, but it was the landlady alone who entered. She came, she -said, with Nicholas's respectful duty, and she was sorry he was obliged -to go back to town without seeing her safe to her journey's end. - -"Is he really gone?" asked Amanda, with all the eagerness of joy. "Yes," -the woman said; "a person had followed him from London on purpose to -bring him back." "Is the carriage ready?" cried Amanda. She was informed -it was. "Let me fly, then." The landlady impeded her progress to tell -her the bill was not yet settled. Amanda pulled out her purse, and -besought her not to detain her. This the woman had no desire to do. -Things were therefore settled without delay between them, and Amanda was -driven with as much expedition as she could desire from the terrifying -mansion. The chaise had proceeded about two miles, when, in the middle -of a solitary road, or rather lane, by the side of a wood, it suddenly -stopped. Amanda, alarmed at every incident, hastily looked out, and -inquired what was the matter; but how impossible to describe her terror -when she beheld Colonel Belgrave, and Nicholas standing by him! She -shrunk back, and entreated the postilion to drive on; but he heeded not -her entreaty. Nicholas opened the door, and Belgrave sprang into the -carriage. Amanda attempted to burst open the door at the opposite side; -but he caught her to his bosom, and the horses set off at full speed. -Colonel Belgrave's valet had been secreted by Mrs. Jane the preceding -night in the house, that he might be able to give his master -intelligence of all that passed within it, in consequence of his being -discovered in the closet. On hearing the family were gone to the -Marquis's villa, Belgrave believed he could easily prevail on the -domestics to deliver up Amanda to him. Elated with this hope, he reached -the house, attended by his valet, just after she had quitted it. The -housekeeper hesitated to inform him of the road she had taken till she -had procured what she knew would be the consequence of her hesitation--a -large bribe. Horses were then immediately procured, and Belgrave and his -servant set off in pursuit of Amanda. The sight of a travelling chaise -at the little inn already mentioned, prompted their inquiries; and on -finding the chaise waited for Amanda, the colonel retired to a private -room, sent for Nicholas, and secured him in his interest. It was -settled they should repair to the wood, by which the postilion was -bribed to pass, and from thence proceed to a country-house of the -colonel's. Their scheme accomplished, Nicholas, happy in the service he -had done, or rather the reward he had obtained for that service, again -turned his face towards London. - -The carriage and attendants Lord Mortimer procured for Amanda arrived -even earlier than the housekeeper had expected, and she blessed her -lucky stars for the precipitancy with which she had hurried off Amanda. -They were followed by his lordship himself, whose wretched heart could -not support the idea of letting Amanda depart without once more -beholding her. Great was his dismay, his astonishment, when the -housekeeper informed him she was gone. - -"Gone!" he repeated, changing color. - -The housekeeper said that, without her knowledge, Miss Fitzalan had a -chaise hired, and the moment it came to the door stepped into it, -notwithstanding she was told his lordship meant to provide everything -proper for her journey himself. "But she said, my lord," cried the -housekeeper, "she wanted none of your care, and that she could never get -fast enough from a house, or from people, where and by whom she had been -so ill treated." - -Lord Mortimer asked if she had any attendant, and whether she took the -letter. - -The housekeeper answered both these questions in the affirmative. -"Truly, my lord," she continued, "I believe your lordship said something -in that letter which pleased her, for she smiled on opening it, and -said, 'Well, well, this is something like comfort.'" "And was she really -so mean?" he was on the point of asking, but he timely checked a -question which was springing from a heart that sickened at finding the -object of its tenderest affections unworthy in every respect of -possessing them. Every idea of this kind soon gave way to anxiety on her -account. His heart misgave him at her undertaking so long a journey -under the protection of a common servant; and, unable to endure his -apprehensions, he determined instantly to pursue and see her safe -himself to the destined port. - -The woman, who had hitherto sat in the chaise, was ordered to return -home. He entered it with eagerness, and promised liberally to reward the -postilions if they used expedition. They had changed horses but once -when Lord Mortimer saw Nicholas approaching, whom, at the first glance, -he knew. He stopped the carriage, and called out, "Where have you left -Miss Fitzalan?" "Faith, my lord," cried Nicholas, instantly stopping and -taking off his hat, "in very good company. I left her with Colonel -Belgrave, who was waiting, by appointment, on the road for her." "Oh! -horrible infatuation!" said Lord Mortimer, "that nothing can snatch her -from the arms of infamy." - -The postilion desired to know whether he should return to London. - -Lord Mortimer hesitated, and at last desired him to go on according to -his first directions. He resolved to proceed to Parkgate and discover -whether Amanda had returned to Ireland. They had not proceeded far when -they overtook a travelling chaise. As Lord Mortimer passed, he looked -into it, and beheld Amanda reclined on the bosom of Belgrave. He -trembled universally, closed his eyes, and sighed out the name of the -perfidious Amanda. When they had got some way before the other chaise, -he desired the postilion to strike off into another road, which, by a -circuit of a few miles, would bring them back to London. Amanda, it was -evident, had put herself under the protection of Belgrave, and to know -whether she went to Ireland was now of little consequence to him, as he -supposed her unreclaimable. But how impossible to describe his distress -and confusion when almost the first object he beheld, on alighting in -St. James's Square, was his aunt, Lady Martha Dormer, who, in compliance -with his urgent request, had hastened to London. Had a spectre crossed -his sight he could not have been more shocked. - -"Well, my dear Frederick," said her ladyship, "you see I lost no time in -obeying your wishes. I have flown hither, I may indeed say, on the wings -of love. But where is this little divinity of thine? I long to have a -peep at her goddess-ship." - -Lord Mortimer, inexpressibly shocked, turned to the window. - -"I shall see, to be sure," cried her ladyship, "quite a little paragon. -Positively, Frederick, I will be introduced this very evening." "My dear -aunt, my dear Lady Martha," said Lord Mortimer, impatiently, "for -Heaven's sake spare me!" "But tell me," she continued, "when I shall -commence this attack upon your father's heart?" "Never! never!" sighed -Mortimer, half distracted. "What! you suppose he will prove inflexible? -But I do not despair of convincing you to the contrary. Tell me, -Frederick, when the little charmer is to be seen?" "Oh, God!" cried -Mortimer, striking his forehead, "she is lost," said he, "she is lost -forever!" - -Lady Martha was alarmed. She now, for the first time, noticed the wild -and pallid looks of her nephew. "Gracious Heaven!" she exclaimed, "what -is the matter?" - -The dreadful explanation Lord Mortimer now found himself under a -necessity of giving. The shame of acknowledging he was so deceived, the -agony he suffered from that deception, joined to the excessive agitation -and fatigue he had suffered the preceding night, and the present day, so -powerfully assailed him at this moment, that his senses suddenly gave -way, and he actually fainted on the floor. - -What a sight for the tender Lady Martha! She saw something dreadful had -happened, and what this was Lord Mortimer, as soon as recovered, -informed her. - -He then retired to his chamber. He could neither converse nor bear to be -conversed with. His fondest hopes were blasted, nor could he forego the -sad indulgence of mourning over them in solitude. He felt almost -convinced that the hold Amanda had on his affections could not be -withdrawn; he had considered her as scarcely less than his wife, and had -she been really such, her present conduct could not have given him more -anguish. Had she been snatched from him by the hand of death; had she -been wedded to a worthy character, he could have summoned fortitude to -his aid; but to find her the prey of a villain, was a stroke too -horrible to bear, at least for a long period, with patience. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - "And let a maid thy pity share, - * * * * - Who seeks for rest, but finds despair - Companion of her way."--GOLDSMITH. - - -Amanda had fainted soon after Colonel Belgrave entered the carriage, and -she was reclining on his bosom in a state of insensibility when Lord -Mortimer passed. In this situation she continued till they had gained a -solitary road, when the carriage stopped, and water, procured from an -adjacent cottage, being sprinkled on her face, she recovered; but either -by arguments or actions she was now unable to oppose Belgrave. She felt -a weakness through her whole frame, which she believed the forerunner -of death, and a languor on her mind that almost deprived it of the -perception of misery. - -The refreshments offered to her she could only refuse by a motion of her -hand; and in this manner they proceeded till about nine o'clock at -night, when they entered an extensive wood, in the very centre of which -stood Colonel Belgrave's mansion. He carried Amanda himself into it, and -laid her upon a sofa in a large parlor. Some female domestics appeared -with drops and cordials, to try and recover her from the almost lifeless -state in which she lay. One of them presented a letter to the colonel, -which excited no little perturbation in his mind. It came express to -inform him that his uncle, whose estate and title he was heir to, lay at -the point of death, and that his presence was immediately required. - -The colonel was not so absolutely engrossed by love as to be incapable -of attending to his interest. An addition of fortune was extremely -agreeable, as his affairs were somewhat deranged; and, as Amanda was not -in a situation at present to comply with any overtures he should make, -his resolution was immediately formed to set off without delay, and -against his return he trusted Amanda would be not only recovered, but -willing to accede to his wishes. - -He dismissed the woman who had brought her a little to herself, and -taking her hand informed her of the painful necessity he was under of -departing for a short time. He also mentioned his hopes, that on his -return he should have no obstacle thrown in the way of his happiness by -her. "You must be sensible, my dear Amanda," said he, with coolness, -"that your reputation is as much gone as if you had complied with my -wishes; since it is sacrificed, why not enjoy the advantages that may, -that will certainly attend the reality of that sacrifice?" "Monster!" -cried Amanda, "your arts may have destroyed my fame, but my innocence -bids defiance to your power." "Conquer your obstinacy, Amanda," replied -he, "against I return, or I shall not promise but what I may be at last -irritated. As you will have no occasion for money here, you must excuse -me, my dear creature, if I take your purse into my own keeping. My -domestics may be faithful, when they have no inducement to the contrary; -but no bribery, no corruption, you know." He then very deliberately took -Amanda's purse and watch from her pocket, and deposited them in his own. -He had already given directions to his servants concerning their -treatment of Amanda, and now ordered them to carry her to a chamber, and -make her take some refreshment. - -"Reflect, Amanda," said he, ere she retired, "on your present situation, -and timely estimate the advantages I offer to your acceptance; wealth, -pleasure, the attentions of a man who adores you, are not to be -despised. Upon my soul it grieves me to leave you, but the joys of -meeting will, I trust, pay the pangs of absence." - -As he spoke, he attempted to embrace her, but she faintly shrieked, and -shrunk from his grasp. He looked provoked; but as he had no time to -lose, he reserved a declaration of his anger for another opportunity, -and directly set off for his uncle's. - -Amanda was supported to a chamber, and lay down in her clothes on a bed. -They offered her bread and wine, but she was too sick to touch any. To -remonstrate with the insolent looking creatures who surrounded her she -knew would be unavailing, and she turned her face on the pillow to -stifle her sobs, as she believed they would exult in her distress. Death -she thought approaching, and the idea of being separated from the dear -objects who would have soothed its last pangs, was dreadful. Her father -in agony, and Oscar, her beloved brother, bewailing her with tears of -sorrow, were the images fancy presented to her view. - -"Dear objects of my love," she softly exclaimed, "Amanda shall no more -behold you, but her last sigh will be breathed for you. Ah! why, why," -she cried, "did I suffer myself to be separated from my father?" - -A young woman leaned over Amanda, and surveyed her with the most -malignant scrutiny. She was daughter to Belgrave's steward, and neither -she nor her father possessed sufficient virtue to make them reject the -offers Belgrave made them on her account. His attachment to her was -violent, but transient, and in the height of it he made her mistress of -the mansion she now occupied, which character she maintained with -tyrannic sway over the rest of the domestics. Belgrave was really -ignorant of the violence of her temper, and had no idea she would dare -dispute his inclinations, or disobey his orders. He believed she would -be subservient to both, and from this belief, gave Amanda particularly -into her charge. - -But scarcely had he departed, ere she swore, "that let the consequence -be what it would, the vile wretch he had brought into the house to -insult her should never remain in it. She shall tramp," cried she, -"though I follow her myself when he returns; for such a little hussey -shall never triumph over me." - -The servants, ignorant and timorous, did not attempt to oppose her. - -"Come, madam," said she, suddenly seizing Amanda's arm, and pulling her -from the pillow, "have done with these languishing airs, and march." -"What do you mean?" cried Amanda, trembling at her inflamed countenance. -"Why, I mean you shall quit this house directly; and I wonder Colonel -Belgrave could have the assurance to bring such a creature as you into -it." "You mistake, indeed," said Amanda; "treachery, not inclination, -brought me into it, and I am not what you suppose. If, as you say, you -will allow me to depart, I shall ever regard you as my friend; and in -every prayer I offer up to Heaven for myself, you shall be remembered." -"Oh, dear! but you shall not impose upon me so easily. Come," continued -she, turning to a maid, "and help me to conduct this fine lady to the -hall door." "Gracious Heaven!" said Amanda, who by this time was taken, -or rather dragged from the bed, "what are you about doing with me? -Though I rejoice to quit the house, yet surely, surely," she cried, and -her soul recoiled at the idea, "without a guide at this hour of the -night, you will not turn me from it." - -She then mentioned Colonel Belgrave's having deprived her of her purse -and watch, and besought the woman in the most pathetic terms, to supply -her with a small sum, which she solemnly assured her should be returned -as soon as she reached her friends; and ended with saying, she should -depart with gratitude and joy if she complied with her request, and -allowed some one to guide her to a place where she might procure a -carriage. - -"Such madams as you," replied the imperious woman, "are never at a loss -for means of procuring money, or a place to go to. I see through your -art well enough; you want me to pity you, that I may let you stay till -your colonel returns. But who would be fool then, I wonder? The tables, -I warrant, would soon be turned upon me. No, no; out you go this -moment." So saying, she rudely seized Amanda, and assisted by another -woman, hurried her down stairs, and out of the house directly: they -carried her to an intricate part of wood, and then ran back, leaving the -helpless mourner leaning against a tree. - -Amanda looked around her. Dark and awful were the shades of the wood. No -light appeared but what came from a few wandering stars, which only -served to render darkness visible. "Have mercy upon me, Heaven!" groaned -Amanda, as she felt herself sinking to the earth. The cold acted as a -kind of restorative, and almost immediately revived her. She rested her -head against a little bank, and as she thus reclined, tender sadness -pervaded her soul the idea of her father's sorrow when he heard of her -fate. "When he hears," cried she, "that I was driven from the house, as -unworthy of pity or protection from any being, that his Amanda, whom he -cherished in his bosom, as the darling of his age, was denied the pity -he would have shown the greatest wretch that crawls upon the earth, and -that she perished without shelter, it will break his heart entirely. -Poor Oscar, too--alas! I shall be a source of wretchedness to both. Will -Lord Mortimer lament when he hears of my fate? Alas! I cannot believe -that he will. He that could leave me in the arms of insensibility, and -so readily believe ill of me, must have a heart steeled against -compassion for my sufferings. But my unhappy father and brother will -never doubt my innocence, and by them I shall be tenderly and truly -mourned." - -The idea of their sufferings at last recalled her wandering thoughts, -and pity for those sufferings made her endeavor to support her own, that -she might be able to make some efforts for preserving a life so precious -to them. Besides, as she reflected, she could not but attribute her -expulsion from the house of infamy to the immediate interposition of -Providence in her favor: and whilst her heart swelled with gratitude at -the idea, her fortitude gradually returned. She arose, but the vigor of -her nerves was not equal to the ardor of her intentions. She walked on, -and as she proceeded, the gloom grew more profound, the paths were -intricate, and her progress was often impeded by the roots of trees, and -the branches that grew about them. After wandering about a considerable -time, she at last began to think that, instead of gaining the skirts, -she had penetrated into the very centre of the wood, and that to quit it -till morning would be impossible. Yielding to this idea, or rather to -her excessive weariness, she was seeking for a place to sit down on, -when a faint light glimmered before her. She instantly darted through -the path from whence it gleamed, and found herself at the extremity of -the wood, and that the light proceeded from a small hamlet contiguous to -it. Thither she walked, as fast as her trembling limbs would carry her. -A profound stillness reigned around, only interrupted by the hoarse and -hollow barking of some distant dogs, which, in such an hour, had -something particularly solemn in it. The stillness, and sudden -disappearance of lights from various windows, convinced Amanda that -every cottage was closed for the night; "and were they open," said she, -"I perhaps should be denied access to any, deprived as I am of the means -of rewarding kindness." She shuddered at the idea of passing a night -unsheltered. "It is now, indeed," said she, "I really know what it is to -feel for the houseless children of want." She moved softly along. The -echo of her own steps alarmed her. She had neatly reached the end of the -hamlet when, before a neat cottage, divided from the others by a clump -of old trees, she saw a venerable man, who might well have passed for an -ancient hermit. His gray locks thinly shaded his forehead; an expression -of deep and pensive thought was visible in his countenance; his arms -were folded on his breast, and his eyes were raised with a tender -melancholy to heaven, as if that heaven he contemplated was now the -abode of some kindred and lamented spirit. Surely such a being, thought -she, will pity me. She approached him--stood close to him, yet was -unnoticed. Thrice she attempted to speak, and thrice her heart failed -her. At last she summoned all her courage to her aid, and faintly -articulated, "Pity----," she could add no more, but fainted at his feet. -The stranger's mind was fraught with all the benevolence his countenance -depictured. The transient glance he had caught of Amanda interested -every tender feeling. He called to his servant, an elderly woman, his -only companion in the cottage, to assist him in conveying her in. This -woman's heart was as tender as her master's, and the youth, the beauty, -and forlorn situation of Amanda, equally excited their wonder and pity. -It was many minutes ere she opened her eyes, and when she did, her -senses were quite bewildered. "And my father! alas! my father, I shall -never more behold him," was all she could articulate. - -She was supported to a small chamber; the old woman undressed her, put -her to bed, and sat up with her the remainder of the night. Amanda often -started; she raved continually of Belgrave, the author of her woes, and -betrayed the strongest horror. "The wound he had inflicted on her -heart," she said, "the hand of death could only heal." She mentioned the -cruelty of the marchioness, called upon her father to save her from -destruction, and reproached Mortimer for aiding to overwhelm her in -disgrace. She continued in this situation three days, during which the -old man and his faithful servant watched her with unremitted attention. -A neighboring apothecary was summoned to her aid, and a girl from one of -the cottages procured to sit up with her at night. The old man -frequently knelt by the bedside, watching with anxiety for a favorable -symptom. Her incoherent expressions pierced him to the heart: he felt, -from mournful sympathy, for the father she so pathetically mentioned, -and invoked Heaven to restore her to him. - -The afternoon of the third day, Amanda, after a long slumber, awoke, -perfectly restored to her senses; it was many minutes, however, after -her awaking, ere she recollected all the circumstances that had caused -her present situation. She at last opened the curtain, and perceived the -old woman, whom we shall hereafter call Eleanor, seated by the bedside. - -"I fear," said she, with a languid smile, "I have been the occasion of a -great deal of trouble." "No, no," replied the kind Eleanor, delighted to -hear her speak so calmly, and drawing back a little of the curtain at -the same time to observe her looks. - -Amanda inquired how long she had been ill. Eleanor informed her, and -added, "Heaven, my dear child, was kind to you, in throwing you in my -master's way, who delights in befriending the helpless." "Heaven will -reward him," exclaimed Amanda. - -The chamber was gloomy; she requested one of the shutters might be -opened. Eleanor complied with her desire, and a ray of the declining sun -darting through the casement, cheered her pensive heart. She perfectly -remembered the venerable figure she had beheld on the threshold of the -cottage, and was impatient to express her gratitude to him. The next -day, she trusted, would give her an opportunity of doing so, as she then -resolved, if possible, to rise. The wish of her soul was to be with her -father ere he could receive any intimation of what had happened. She -resolved to communicate to her benevolent host the incidents which had -placed her in such a situation; and she flattered herself, on hearing -them, he would accommodate her with the means of returning to Ireland: -if unable (unwilling she could not think she should find him) to do -this, she then intended writing to her father. This measure, however, -she fervently trusted, she should have no occasion to take, as she well -knew the shock such a letter would give him. - -Contrary to the inclination of Eleanor, she rose the next day, and, as -soon as she was dressed, sent to request Mr. Howel's company. Eleanor -had informed her of her master's name. The chamber was on a ground -floor: before the windows were a row of neat white cottages, and behind -them rose a range of lofty hills, covered to the very summit with trees, -now just bursting into verdure. Before the cottage ran a clear murmuring -rivulet, at which some young girls were washing clothes, whilst others -spread them upon hedges, and all beguiled their labor with singing, -chatting, and laughing together. - -"Ah! happy creatures!" cried Amanda, "screened by your native hills, you -know nothing of the vices or miseries of the great world; no snares lurk -beneath the flowery paths you tread, to wring your hearts with anguish, -and nip the early blossoms of your youth." - -The old man appeared, and interrupted her meditations. When he beheld -the pale face of Amanda, beaming with angelic sweetness; when he saw her -emaciated hand extended towards him, while her soft voice uttered her -grateful acknowledgments, his emotions could not be suppressed: he -pressed her hand between his: tears rolled down the furrows of his face, -and he exclaimed, "I thank the Almighty for reviving this sweet flower." - -A deep sob from Amanda proved how much he had affected her feelings. - -He was alarmed, and hastily endeavored to compose his own, out of regard -to hers. - -When a little composed, with grateful sweetness she continued to thank -him for his kindness. "Pity," said she, "is a sweet emotion to excite; -yet from you, without esteem, it would be humiliating; and esteem I -cannot flatter myself with obtaining, till I have accounted for being a -wretched wanderer." She then gave a brief account of her father and the -events of her life. - -"Ah! my dear," cried the old man, as she finished her narrative, "you -have reason, indeed, to regret your knowledge of Belgrave; but the -sorrow he has occasioned you, I believe and trust, will be but -transient. That which he has given me will be lasting as my life. You -look astonished. Alas! but for him, I might now have been blessed with a -daughter as lovely and as amiable as Fitzalan's. I see you are too -delicate to express the curiosity my words have inspired, but I shall -not hesitate to gratify it. My relation will draw the tear of pity from -your eye; but the sorrows of others often reconcile us to our own." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - "And oft as ease and health retire, - To breezy lawn or forest-deep, - The friend shall view yon whitening spire, - And 'mid the varied landscape weep; - But thou who own'st that earthy bed, - Ah! what will every dirge avail?" - - COLLINS'S ODE ON THOMSON. - - -Many years are now elapsed since I took up my residence in this -sequestered hamlet. I retired to it in distaste with a world whose vices -had robbed me of the dearest treasure of my heart. Two children cheered -my solitude, and in training them up to virtue, I lost the remembrance -of half my cares. My son, when qualified, was sent to Oxford, as a -friend had promised to provide for him in the church; but my daughter -was destined to retirement, not only from the narrowness of my income, -but from a thorough conviction it was best calculated to insure her -felicity. Juliana was the child of innocence and content. She knew of no -greater happiness than that of promoting mine, of no pleasures but what -the hamlet could afford, and was one of the gayest, as well as the -loveliest, of its daughters. One fatal evening I suffered her to go, -with some of her young companions, to a rustic ball, given by the -parents of Belgrave to their tenants, on coming down to Woodhouse, from -which they had been long absent. The graces of my child immediately -attracted the notice of their son. Though young in years, he was already -a professed libertine. The conduct of his father had set him an example -of dissipation which the volatility of his own disposition too readily -inclined him to follow. His heart immediately conceived the basest -schemes against Juliana, which the obscurity of her situation prompted -him to think might readily be accomplished. From this period he took -every opportunity of throwing himself in her way. My suspicions, or -rather my fears, were soon excited; for I knew not then the real -depravity of Belgrave; but I knew that an attachment between him and my -daughter would prove a source of uneasiness to both, from the disparity -fortune had placed between them. My task in convincing Juliana of the -impropriety of encouraging such an attachment was not a difficult one. -But, alas! I saw the conviction was attended with a pang of anguish, -which pierced me to the soul. - -Belgrave, from the assumed softness and delicacy of his manners, had -made an impression on her heart which was not to be erased. Every -effort, however, which prudence could suggest, she resolved to make, -and, in compliance with my wishes, avoided Belgrave. This conduct soon -convinced him it would be a difficult matter to lull my caution, or -betray her innocence. And finding all his attempts to see, or convey a -letter to her, ineffectual, he departed with his parents from Woodhouse. - -Juliana heard of his departure with a forced smile; but a starting tear, -and a colorless cheek, too clearly denoted to me the state of her mind. -I shall not attempt to describe my sufferings on witnessing hers. With -my pity was mixed a degree of veneration for that virtue which, in so -young a mind, could make such exertions against a passion disapproved of -by a parent. The evening of his departure, no longer under any -restraint, she walked out alone, and instinctively, perhaps, took the -road to Woodhouse. She wandered to its deepest glooms, and there gave -way to emotions which, from her efforts to suppress them, were become -almost too painful to support. The gloom of the wood was heightened by -the shades of evening, and a solemn stillness reigned around, well -calculated to inspire pensive tenderness. She sighed the name of -Belgrave in tremulous accents, and lamented their ever having met. A -sudden rustling among the trees startled her, and the next moment she -beheld him at her feet, exclaiming, "We have met, my Juliana, never more -to part." - -Surprise and confusion so overpowered her senses, as to render her for -some time unable to attend to his raptures. When she grew composed, he -told her he was returned to make her honorably his, but to effect this -intention, a journey from the hamlet was requisite. She turned pale at -these words, and declared she never would consent to a clandestine -measure. This declaration did not discourage Belgrave; he knew the -interest he had in her heart, and this knowledge gave an energy to his -arguments, which gradually undermined the resolution of Juliana. -Already, he said, she had made a sufficient sacrifice to filial duty; -surely something was now due to love like his, which, on her account, -would cheerfully submit to innumerable difficulties. As he was under -age, a journey to Scotland was unavoidable, he said, and he would have -made me his confidant on the occasion, but that he feared my scrupulous -delicacy would have opposed his intentions, as contrary to parental -authority. He promised Juliana to bring her back to the hamlet -immediately after the ceremony; in short, the plausibility of his -arguments, the tenderness of his persuasions, at last produced the -effect he wished, and he received a promise from her to put herself -under his protection that very night. - -But oh! how impossible to describe my agonies the ensuing morning when, -instead of my child, I found a letter in her room informing me of her -elopement; they were such as a fond parent, trembling for the fame and -happiness of his child, may conceive. My senses must have sunk beneath -them had they long continued; but Belgrave, according to his promise, -hastened back my child; and as I sat solitary and pensive in the -apartment she so often had enlivened, I suddenly beheld her at my feet, -supported by Belgrave, as his wife. So great a transition from despair -to comfort was almost too powerful for me to support. I asked my heart -was its present happiness real; I knelt, I received my child in my arms: -in those feeble arms I seemed to raise her with my heart to Heaven in -pious gratitude for her returning unsullied. Yet, when my first -transports were abated, I could not help regretting her ever having -consented to a clandestine union. I entreated Belgrave to write, in the -most submissive terms, to his father. He promised to comply with my -entreaty, yet hinted his fears that his compliance would be unattended -with the success I hoped. He requested, if this should be the case, I -would allow his wife to reside in the cottage till he was of age. Oh, -how pleasing a request to my heart! a month passed away in happiness, -only allayed by not hearing from his father. At the expiration of that -time he declared he must depart, having received orders to join his -regiment, but promised to return as soon as possible; he also promised -to write, but a fortnight elapsed and no letter arrived. - -Juliana and I grew alarmed, but it was an alarm that only proceeded from -fears of his being ill. We were sitting one morning at breakfast, when -the stopping of a carriage drew us from the table. - -"He is come!" said Juliana, "he is come!" and she flew to open the door; -when, instead of her expected Belgrave, she beheld his father, whose -dark and haughty visage proclaimed that he came on no charitable intent. -Alas! the occasion of his visit was too soon explained; he came to have -the ties which bound his son to Juliana broken. My child, on hearing -this, with firmness declared, that she was convinced any scheme his -cruelty might devise to separate them, the integrity, as well as the -tenderness of his son, would render abortive. - -"Be not too confident of that, young lady," cried he, smiling -maliciously. He then proceeded to inform her that Belgrave, so beloved, -and in whose integrity she so much confided, had himself authorized his -intentions, being determined to avail himself of non-age, to have the -marriage broke. - -Juliana could hear no more; she sunk fainting on the bosom of her -wretched father. Oh, what a situation was mine, when, as I clasped her -wildly to my heart and called upon her to revive, that heart whispered -me it was cruelty to wish she should! Alas! too soon she did, to a keen -perception of misery. The marriage was dissolved, and health and -happiness fled from her together; yet, from compassion to me, I saw she -struggled to support the burden of existence. Every remedy which had a -chance of prolonging it, I administered. But, alas! sorrow was rooted in -her heart, and it was only its removal, which was impossible, that could -have effected her recovery. Oh! how often have I stolen from my bed to -the door of her apartment, trembling, lest I should hear the last groan -escape her lips! How often have I then heard her deep convulsive sobs, -and reproached myself for selfishness at the moment for wishing the -continuance of her being, which was only wishing the continuance of her -misery! Yes, I have then said, I resign her, my Creator, unto thee. I -resign her from a certainty, that only with thee she can enjoy felicity. -But, alas! in a moment frail nature has triumphed over such a -resignation, and, prostrate on the ground, I have implored heaven, -either to spare the child, or take the father along with her. - -She saw me unusually depressed one day, and proposed a walk, with a hope -that any exertion from her might recruit my spirits. But when I saw my -child, in the very bloom of life, unable to sustain her feeble frame; -when I felt her leaning on my almost nerveless arm for support, oh! how -intolerable was the anguish that rived my heart!--in vain, by soft -endearments, she strove to mitigate it. I averted my face and wept. She -motioned to go towards Woodhouse; we had got within sight of the wood, -when she complained of fatigue, and sat down. She had not been many -minutes in this situation, when she beheld, coming from the wood, -Belgrave, and a young girl whom she knew to be the steward's daughter. -The familiar manner in which they appeared conversing, left little room -to doubt of the footing on which they were. The hectic glow of Juliana's -complexion gave place to a deadly paleness. She arose and returned to -the cottage with me in silence, from whence, in less than a week, she -was borne to her grave. - -Eight years, continued he, after a pause of some minutes, have elapsed -since her death, yet is her worth, her beauty, and her sufferings still -fresh in the remembrance of the inhabitants of the hamlet. In mine, oh! -Miss Fitzalan! how painfully, how pleasingly, do they still exist! No -noisome weed is allowed to intermingle in the high grass which has -overgrown her grave, at the head of which some kind hand has planted a -rose-tree, whose roses blossom, bloom, and die upon the sacred spot. My -child is gone before me to that earthly bed, to which I hoped she would -have smoothed my passage. Every spot in and about the cottage -continually recall her to my view. The ornaments of this little room -were all the work of that hand, long since mouldered into dust. In that -bed--he stopped, he groaned, and tears burst from him--in that bed, -resumed he (in a few minutes, though with a broken voice), she breathed -her last sigh; in that spot I knelt and received the last pressure of -her clay-cold lips! Of a calm night, when all is hushed to repose, I -love to contemplate that heaven, to which I have given an angel--an -angel to whom, I hope, shortly to be reunited; without such a hope, -surely of all men breathing, I should be the most wretched! Oh! how -cruel is it then, in those, who, by raising doubts of an hereafter, -attempt to destroy such a hope! Ye sons of error, hide the impious -doubts within your hearts; nor with wanton barbarity endeavor to deprive -the miserable of their last comfort. When this world presents nothing -but a dreary prospect, how cheering to the afflicted to reflect on that -future one, where all will be bright and happy! When we mourn over the -lost friends of our tenderest affections, oh! how consolatory to think -we shall be reunited to them again! How often has this thought suspended -my tears and stopped my sighs! Inspired by it with sudden joy, often -have I risen from the cold bed where Juliana lies, and exclaimed: "Oh -death! where is thy sting! Oh grave! where is thy victory!" both lost in -the certainty of again beholding my child. - -Amanda shed tears of soft compassion for the fate of Juliana, and the -sorrows of her father, and felt, if possible, her gratitude to Heaven -increased, for preserving her from the snares of such a monster of -deceit and barbarity as Belgrave. - -Howel relieved the anxiety she labored under about the means of -returning home, by assuring her he would not only supply her with a sum -sufficient for that purpose, but see her to Parkgate himself. - -His name struck Amanda--it recalled to remembrance her Welsh friend. -She inquired, and heard that the young and tender curate was indeed the -son of her benefactor. "The softness of Henry's disposition," said his -father, "particularly qualifies him for the sacred function, which -prevents his having occasion to mingle in the concerns of the great -world. He writes me word that he is the simple shepherd of a simple -flock." - -One day was all Amanda would devote to the purpose of recruiting her -strength. Nothing could prevail on her longer to defer her journey. A -chaise was accordingly procured, into which, at the first dawn of day, -she and Howel stepped, followed by the blessings of the affectionate -Eleanor, who, from her own wardrobe, had supplied Amanda with a few -necessaries to take along with her. The church-yard lay about a quarter -of a mile from the hamlet. It was only divided from the road by a low -and broken wall. Old trees shaded the grass-grown grave, and gave a kind -of solemn gloominess to the place. - -"See," said Howel, suddenly taking Amanda's hand, and letting down the -glass, "see the bed where Juliana reposes." - -The grave was distinguished by the rose-tree at its head. The morning -breeze gently agitated the high and luxuriant grass which covered it. -Amanda gazed on it with inexpressible sadness, but the emotions it -excited in her breast she endeavored to check, in pity to the wretched -father, who exclaimed, while tears trickled down his pale and furrowed -cheeks, "There lies my treasure." - -She tried to divert him from his sorrows by talking of his son. She -described his little residence, which he had never seen. Thus, by -recalling to his recollection the blessings he yet possessed, checking -his anguish for those he had lost. - -The weakness of Amanda would not allow them to travel expeditiously. -They slept one night on the road, and the next day, to her great joy, -arrived at Parkgate, as she had all along dreaded a pursuit from -Belgrave. A packet was to sail about four o'clock in the afternoon. She -partook of a slight repast with her benevolent friend, who attended her -to the boat, and with starting tears gave and received an adieu. She -promised to write as soon as she reached home, and assured him his -kindness would never be obliterated from her heart. He watched her till -she entered the ship, then returned to the inn, and immediately set off -for the hamlet, with a mind somewhat cheered by the consciousness of -having served a fellow-creature. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - "The breezy call of incense-breathing morn; - The swallow twittering from its straw built shed; - The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, - No more shall rouse him from his lowly bed."--GRAY. - - -The weakness which Amanda felt in consequence of her late illness, and -the excessive sickness she always suffered at sea, made her retire to -bed immediately on entering the packet, where she continued till the -evening of the second day, when, about five o'clock, she was landed at -the marine hotel. She directly requested the waiter to procure her a -messenger to go into town, which being done, she sent to engage a place -in the northern mail-coach, that went within a few miles of Castle -Carberry. If a place could not be procured, she ordered a chaise might -be hired, that would immediately set out with her, as the nights were -moonlight; but to her great joy the man speedily returned and informed -her he had secured a seat in the coach, which she thought a much safer -mode of travelling for her than in a hired carriage without any -attendant. She took some slight refreshment, and then proceeded to the -mail hotel, from whence, at eleven o'clock, she set out in company with -an old gentleman, who very composedly put on a large woollen nightcap, -buttoned up his great coat, and fell into a profound sleep. He was, -perhaps, just such a kind of companion as Amanda desired, as he neither -teased her with insipid conversation or impertinent questions, but left -her undisturbed to indulge her meditations during the journey. The -second evening, about eight o'clock, she arrived at the nearest town to -Castle Carberry, for which she directly procured a chaise and set off. -Her spirits were painfully agitated. She dreaded the shock her father -would receive from hearing of her sufferings, which it would be -impossible to conceal from him. She trembled at what they would both -feel on the approaching interview. Sometimes she feared he had already -heard of her distress, and a gloomy presage rose in her mind of the -anguish she should find him in on that account. Yet again, when she -reflected on the fortitude he had hitherto displayed in his trials, -under the present, she trusted, he would not lose it; and that he would -not only support himself, but her, and bind up those wounds in her -heart which perfidy, cruelty, and ingratitude had made. And oh! thought -she to herself, when I find myself again in his arms, no temptation -shall allure me from them--allure me into a world where my peace and -fame have already suffered such a wreck. Thus alternately fluctuating -between hope and fear, Amanda pursued the road to Castle Carberry; but -the latter sensation was predominant in her mind. - -The uncommon gloominess of the evening added to her dejection--the dark -and lowering clouds threatened a violent storm--already a shower of -sleet and rain was falling, and everything looked cold and cheerless. -Amanda thought the cabins infinitely more wretched than when she had -first seen them. Many of their miserable inhabitants were now gathering -their little flocks together, and driving them under shelter from the -coming storm. The laborers were seen hastening to their respective -homes, whilst the ploughboy, with a low and melancholy whistle, drove -his slow and wearied team along. The sea looked rough and black, and as -Amanda drew nearer to it, she heard it breaking with fury against the -rocks. She felt herself extremely ill. She had left the hamlet ere her -fever was subdued, and fatigue, joined to want of rest, now brought it -back with all its former violence. She longed for rest and quiet, and -trusted and believed these would conquer her malady. - -The chaise stopped at the entrance of the lawn, as she wished to have -her father prepared for her arrival by one of the servants. On alighting -from it, it returned to town, and she struck into the grove, and by a -winding path reached the castle. Her limbs trembled, and she knocked -with an unsteady hand at the door. The sound was awfully reverberated -through the building. Some minutes elapsed and no being appeared, -neither could she perceive a ray of light from any of the windows. The -wind blew the rain directly in her face, and her weakness increased, so -that she could scarcely stand. She recollected a small door at the back -of the castle, which led to the apartments appropriated to the -domestics. She walked feebly to this, to try and gain admittance, and -found it open. She proceeded through a long dark passage, on each side -of which were small rooms, till she came to the kitchen. Here she found -the old woman sitting (to whom the care of the castle was usually -consigned), before a large turf fire. On hearing a footstep, she looked -behind, and when she saw Amanda, started, screamed, and betrayed -symptoms of the utmost terror. - -"Are you frightened at seeing me, my good Kate!" cried Amanda. "Oh, -holy Virgin!" replied Kate, crossing her breast, "one could not help -being frightened, to have a body steal unawares upon them." - -"My father is well, I hope?" said Amanda. - -"Alack-a-day," cried Kate, "the poor dear captain has gone through a sea -of troubles since you went away." "Is he ill?" exclaimed Amanda. "Ill, -ay, and the Lord knows he has reason enough to be ill. But, my dear -jewel, do you know nothing at all of what has happened at the castle -since you went away?" "No, nothing in the world." "Heaven help you, -then," said Kate; "but, my dear soul, sit down upon this little stool, -and warm yourself before the fire, for you look pale and cold, and I -will tell you all about it. You must know, about three weeks ago, my -Johnaten brought the captain a letter from the post-office; he knew by -the mark it was a letter from England, and so, when he comes into the -kitchen to me, 'Katie,' says he, 'the captain has got something now to -cheer his spirits, for he has heard from miss, I am sure.' So, to be -sure, I said I was glad of it, for, you must know, my dear, he was low -in spirits, and peaking, as one may say, for a few days before. Well, it -was always my custom, when he got a letter from England, to go to him as -soon as I thought he had read it, and ask about you; so I put on a clean -apron, and up I goes to the parlor, and I opened the door, and walked -in. Well, sir, says I, I hope there is good news from miss?" - -"The captain was sitting with the letter open before him on a table; he -had a handkerchief to his eyes, but when I spoke he took it down, and I -saw his face, which generally looked so pale, now quite flushed. - -"'This letter, my good Kate,' says he, 'is not from my daughter, but I -am glad you are come, for I wanted to speak to you. I am going to leave -the castle, and I want you to look over all the things, and see they are -in the same state as when I came to it. I shall then settle with the -servants I hired, and discharge them.' I was struck all of a heap. The -Lord forbid you should be going to leave us, sir, says I." - -"The captain got up--he walked to the window--he sighed heavily, and I -saw a tear upon his cheek. He spoke to me again, and begged I would do -as he had desired me. So, with a heavy heart, I went and told my -Johnaten the sad tidings, who was as sorry as myself, for he loved the -captain dearly, not only from his being so mild a gentleman, but because -he was a soldier, as he himself had been in his youth--and a soldier has -always a love for one of his cloth. And Johnaten had often said he knew -the captain in America, and that he was a brave officer and a real -gentleman. - -"Well, the captain came out to us, and said he was to be Lord Cherbury's -agent no longer. And being a good penman, he settled all his own -accounts and the servants in the course of the day, and discharged them, -giving them both characters, which I warrant will soon get them good -places again. Well, he said he must set off for England the next day. So -everything was got ready; but in the middle of the night he was seized -with spasms in his stomach. He thought himself dying, and at last rung -the bell; and as good luck would have it, my Johnaten heard it, and went -up to him directly. Had he been without relief much longer, I think he -would have died. Johnaten called me up. I had a choice bottle of old -brandy lying by me, so I soon blew up a fire, and heating a cup of it, -gave it to him directly. He grew a little easier, but was too bad in the -morning to think of going on his journey, which grieved him sadly. He -got up, however, and wrote a large packet, which he sent by Johnaten to -the post-office; packed up some things in a trunk, and put his seal upon -his desk. He said he would not stay in the castle on any account, so he -went out as soon as Johnaten came back from the post-office, leaning -upon his arm, and got a little lodging at Thady Byrne's cabin." -"Merciful heaven!" exclaimed the agonized and almost fainting Amanda, -"support and strengthen me in this trying hour! enable me to comfort my -unfortunate father: preserve me from sinking, that I may endeavor to -assist him." Tears accompanied this fervent ejaculation, and her voice -was lost in sobs. - -"Alack-a-day," said the good-natured Kate, "now don't take it so sadly -to heart, my jewel; all is not lost that is in danger, and there is as -good fish in the sea as ever were caught; and what though this is a -stormy night, to-morrow may be a fine day. Why, the very first sight of -you will do the captain good. Come, cheer up; I will give you some nice -hot potatoes for your supper, for you see the pot is just boiling, and -some fresh-churned buttermilk; and by the time you have eaten it, -Johnaten perhaps may come back--he is gone to town to get some beef for -our Sunday dinner--and then I will go with you to Thady's myself." - -"No, no," cried Amanda, "every minute I now stay from my father seems an -age. Too long has he been neglected--too long without a friend to soothe -or attend him. Oh grant, gracious Heaven! grant," raising her clasped -hands, "that I may not have returned too late to be of use to him!" - -Kate pressed her to stay for Johnaten's return; but the agony of -suspense she endured till she saw her father, made her regardless of -walking alone, though the hour was late, dark, and tempestuous. Kate, -finding her entreaties vain, attended her to the door, and assured her, -if Johnaten returned soon, she would go over herself to the cabin, and -see if she could do anything for her. Amanda pressed her hand, but was -unable to speak. Ill, weak, and dispirited, she had flattered herself, -on returning to her father, she would receive relief, support, and -consolation; instead of which, heart-broken as she was, she now found -she must give, or at least attempt giving them herself. She had before -experienced distress, but the actual pressure of poverty she had never -yet felt. Heretofore she had always a comfortable asylum to repair to, -but now she not only found herself deprived of that, but of all means of -procuring one, or even the necessaries of life. But if she mourned for -herself, how much more severely did she mourn for her adored father! -Could she have procured him comfort, could she in any degree have -alleviated his situation, the horrors of her own would have been -lessened; but of this she had not the slightest means or prospect. Her -father, she knew, possessed the agency too short a time to be enabled to -save any money, particularly as he was indebted to Lord Cherbury ere he -obtained it. She knew of no being to whom she could apply in his behalf. -Lord Cherbury was the only person on whom he depended in his former -misfortunes for relief. His friendship, it was evident, by depriving her -father of the agency, was totally lost; and to the disconsolate Amanda -no way appeared of escaping "want, worldly want, that hungry meagre -fiend, who was already close at their heels, and followed them in view." - -The violence of the storm had increased, but it was slight in comparison -of that which agitated the bosom of Amanda. The waves dashed with a -dreadful noise against the rocks, and the angry spirit of the waters -roared. The rain fell heavily, and soon soaked through the thin clothing -of Amanda. She had about half a mile to walk, through a rugged road, -bounded on one side by rocks, and on the other by wild and dreary -fields. She knew the people with whom her father lodged; they were of -the lowest order, and on her first arrival at Castle Carberry, in -extreme distress, from which she had relieved them. She recollected -their cabin was more decent than many others she had seen, yet still a -most miserable dwelling. Wretched as it was, she was glad when she -reached it, for the violence of the storm, and the loneliness of the -road, had terrified her. The cabin was but a few yards from the beach. -There were two windows in front. On one side a pile of turf, and on the -other a shed for the pigs, in which they now lay grunting. The shutters -were fastened on the windows, to prevent their being shaken by the wind; -but through the crevices Amanda saw a light, which convinced her the -inhabitants were not yet retired to repose. She feared her suddenly -appearing before her father, in his present weak state, might have a -dangerous effect upon him, and she stood before the cabin, considering -how she should have her arrival broke to him. She at last tapped gently -at the door, and then retreated a few steps from it, shivering with the -wet and cold. In the beautiful language of Solomon, she might have said, -"Her head was filled with dew, and her locks with the drops of the -night." As she expected, the door was almost instantly opened. A boy -appeared, whom she knew to be the son of the poor people. She held up -her handkerchief, and beckoned him to her. He hesitated, as if afraid to -advance, till she called him softly by his name. This assured him. He -approached, and expressed astonishment at finding she was the person who -called him. She inquired for her father, and heard he was ill, and then -asleep. She desired the boy to enter the cabin before her, and caution -his parents against making any noise that might disturb him. He obeyed -her, and she followed him. - -She found the father of the family blowing a turf fire, to hasten the -boiling of a large pot of potatoes. Three ragged children were sitting -before it, watching impatiently for their supper. Their mother was -spinning, and their old grandmother making bread. The place was small -and crowded. Half the family slept below, and the other half upon a -loft, to which they ascended by a ladder, and upon which a number of -fowls were now familiarly roosting, cackling at every noise made below. -Fitzalan's room was divided from the rest of the cabin by a thin -partition of wood plastered with pictures of saints and crosses. - -"Save you kindly, madam," said the mistress of the mansion to Amanda, on -entering it. - -Byrne got up, and, with many scrapes, offered her his little stool -before the fire. She thanked him, and accepted it. His wife, -notwithstanding the obligations she lay under to her, seemed to think as -much respect was not due to her as when mistress of the castle, and -therefore never left her seat, or quitted her spinning, on her entrance. - -"My poor father is very ill," said Amanda. "Why, indeed, the captain has -had a bad time of it," answered Mrs. Byrne, jogging her wheel. "To be -sure he has suffered some little change; but your great folks, as well -as your simple folks, must look to that in this world; and I don't know -why they should not, for they are not better than the others, I -believe." - -"Arrah, Norah, now," said Byrne, "I wonder you are not shy of speaking -so to the poor young lady." - -Amanda's heart was surcharged with grief--she felt suffocating. She -arose, unlatched the door, and the keen, cold air a little revived her. -Tears burst forth, she indulged them freely, and they lightened the load -on her heart. She asked for a glass of water. A glass was not readily to -be procured. Byrne told her she had better take a noggin of buttermilk. -This she refused, and he brought her one of water. - -She now conquered the reluctance she felt to speak to the uncouth Mrs. -Byrne, and consulted her on the best method of mentioning her arrival to -her father. Mrs. Byrne said he had been in bed some time, but his sleep -was often interrupted, and she would now step into the chamber, and try -if he was awake. She accordingly did so, but returned in a moment, and -said he still slept. - -Amanda wished to see him in his present situation, to judge how far his -illness had affected him: she stepped softly into the room. It was small -and low, lighted by a glimmering rush-light, and a declining fire. The -furniture was poor and scanty; in one corner stood a wooden bedstead, -without curtains or any shade, and on this, under miserable bedclothes, -lay poor Fitzalan. Amanda shuddered, as she looked round this chamber of -wretchedness. "Oh! my father," she cried to herself, "is this the only -refuge you could find?" She went to the bed, she leaned over it, and -beheld his face. It was deadly pale and emaciated; he moaned in his -sleep, as if his mind was dreadfully oppressed. Suddenly he began to -move; he sighed, "Amanda, my dearest child, shall I never more behold -you?" - -Amanda was obliged to hasten from the room, to give vent to her -emotions. She sobbed, she wrung her hands, and in the bitterness of her -soul exclaimed, "Alas! alas! I have returned too late to save him." - -They soon after heard him stir. She requested Mrs. Byrne to go in, and -cautiously inform him she was come. She complied, and in a moment Amanda -heard him say, "Thank Heaven! my darling is returned." "You may now go -in, miss," said Mrs. Byrne, coming from the room. Amanda went in. Her -father was raised in the bed; his arms were extended to receive her. She -threw herself into them. Language was denied them both, but tears, even -more expressive than words, evinced their feelings. Fitzalan first -recovered his voice. "My prayer," said he, "is granted. Heaven has -restored my child to smooth the pillow of sickness, and soothe the last -moments of existence." "Oh, my father!" cried Amanda, "have pity on me, -and mention not those moments. Exert yourself for your child; who in -this wide world has she but thee to comfort, support and befriend her?" -"Indeed," said he, "for your sake I wish they may be far distant." He -held her at a little distance from him; he surveyed her face, her form, -her altered complexion. Her fallen features appeared to shock him. He -clasped her again to his bosom, "The world, my child, I fear," cried he, -"has used thee most unkindly." "Oh, most cruelly," sobbed Amanda. "Then, -my girl, let the reflection of that world, where innocence and virtue -will meet a proper reward, console you. Here they are often permitted to -be tried; but as gold is tried and purified by fire, so are they by -adversity. 'Those whom God loves, He chastises.' Let this idea give you -patience and fortitude under every trial. Never forego your dependence -on Him, though calamity should pursue you to the very brink of the -grave; but be comforted by the assurance He has given, that those who -meekly bear the cross He lays upon them, shall be rewarded; that He will -wipe away all tears from their eyes, and swallow up death in victory. -Though a soldier from my youth, and accustomed to all the licentiousness -of camps, I never forgot my Creator; and I now find the benefit of not -having done so. Now, when my friends desert, the world frowns upon me, -when sickness and sorrow have overwhelmed me, religion stands me in good -stead; consoles me for what I lost, and softens the remembrance of the -past, by presenting prospects of future brightness." - -So spoke Fitzalan the pious sentiments of his soul, and they calmed the -agitations of Amanda. He found her clothes were wet, and insisted on her -changing them directly. In the bundle the good Eleanor gave her, was a -change of linen, and a cotton wrapper, which she now put on, in a small -closet, or rather shed adjoining her father's room. A good fire was made -up, a better light brought in, and some bread and wine from a small -cupboard in the room, which contained Fitzalan's things, set before her, -of which he made her immediately partake. He took a glass of wine -himself from her, and tried to cheer her spirits. "He had been daily -expecting her arrival," he said, "and had had a pallet and bedclothes -kept airing for her. He hoped she would not be dissatisfied with -sleeping in the closet." "Ah! my father," she cried, "can you ask your -daughter such a question?" She expressed her fears of injuring him, by -having disturbed his repose. "No," he said, "it was a delightful -interruption. It was a relief from pain and anxiety." - -Lord Cherbury, he informed her, had written him a letter, which pierced -him to the soul. "He accused me," said he, "of endeavoring to promote a -marriage between you and Lord Mortimer; of treacherously trying to -counteract his views, and take advantage of his unsuspecting friendship. -I was shocked at these accusations. But how excruciating would my -anguish have been had I really deserved them. I soon determined upon the -conduct I should adopt, which was to deny the justice of his charges, -and resign his agency--for any further dealings with a man who could -think me capable of meanness or duplicity, was not to be thought of. My -accounts were always in a state to allow me to resign at a moment's -warning. It was my intention to go to England, put them into Lord -Cherbury's hands, and take my Amanda from a place where she might meet -with indignities as little merited by her as those her father had -received were by him. A sudden and dreadful disorder, which I am -convinced the agitation of my mind brought on, prevented my executing -this intention. I wrote, however, to his lordship, acquainting him -with my resignation of his agency, and transmitting my accounts and -arrears. I sent a letter to you at the same time, with a small -remittance for your immediate return, and then retired from the castle; -for I felt a longer continuance in it would degrade me to the character -of a mean dependant, and intimate a hope of being reinstated in my -former station; which, should Lord Cherbury now offer, I should reject, -for ignoble must be the mind which could accept of favors from those who -doubted its integrity. Against such conduct my feelings revolt. Poverty, -to me, is more welcome than independence, when purchased with the loss -of esteem." - -Amanda perceived her father knew nothing of her sufferings, but supposed -her return occasioned by his letter. She therefore resolved, if -possible, not to undeceive him, at least till his health was better. The -night was far advanced, and her father, who saw her ill, and almost -sinking with fatigue, requested her to retire to rest. She accordingly -did. Her bed was made up in the little closet. Mrs. Byrne assisted her -to undress, and brought her a bowl of whey, which, she trusted, with a -comfortable sleep, would carry off her feverish symptoms, and enable -her to be her father's nurse. Her rest, however, was far from being -comfortable. It was broken by horrid dreams, in which she beheld the -pale and emaciated figure of her father suffering the most exquisite -tortures; and when she started from these dreams, she heard his deep -moans, which were like daggers going through her heart. She arose once -or twice, supposing him in pain, but when she went to his bed she found -him asleep, and was convinced, from that circumstance, his pain was more -of the mental than the bodily kind. She felt extremely ill. Her bones -were sore from the violent motion of the carriage, and she fancied rest -would do her good: but when, towards morning, she was inclined to take -some, she was completely prevented by the noise the children made on -rising. Fearful of neglecting her father, she arose soon after herself, -but was scarcely able to put on her clothes from excessive weakness. She -found him in bed, but awake. He welcomed her with a languid smile, and -extending his hand, which was reduced to mere skin and bone, said, "that -joy was a greater enemy to repose than grief, and had broken his earlier -than usual that morning." He made her sit down by him. He gazed on her -with unutterable tenderness. "In Divine language," cried he, "I may -say--'Let me see thy countenance; let me hear thy voice, but sweet is -thy voice, and thy countenance is comely and my soul has pleasure in -gazing on it.'" The kettle was already boiling. He had procured a few -necessaries for himself, such as tea-things and glasses. Amanda placed -the tea-table by the bed-side, and gave him his breakfast. Whilst -receiving it from her, his eyes were raised to Heaven, as if in thankful -gratitude for the inestimable blessing he still possessed in such a -child. After breakfast, he said he would rise, and Amanda retired into -the garden till he was dressed, if that could deserve the appellation, -which was only a slip of ground planted with cabbages and potatoes, and -enclosed with loose stones and blackberry bushes. The spring was already -advanced. The day was fine. The light and fleecy clouds were gradually -dispersing, and the sky, almost as far as the eye could reach, was of a -clear blue. The dusky green of the blackberry bushes was enlivened by -the pale purple of their blossoms. Tufts of primroses grew beneath their -shelter. The fields, which rose with a gentle swell above the garden, -were covered with a vivid green, spangled with daisies, buttercups, and -wild honeysuckles, and the birds, as they fluttered from spray to spray, -with notes of gladness hailed the genial season. - -But neither the season nor its charms could now, as heretofore, delight -Amanda. She felt forlorn and disconsolate; deprived of the comforts of -life, and no longer interested in the objects about her, she sat down -upon a stone at the end of the garden, and she thought the fresh breeze -from the sea cooled the feverish heat of her blood. "Alas!" she said to -herself, "at this season last year, how different was my situation from -the present!" Though not in affluence, neither was she then in absolute -distress; and she had besides the comfortable hope of having her -father's difficulties removed. Like Burns' mountain daisy, she had then -cheerfully glinted forth amidst the storm, because, she thought that -storm would be soon overblown; but now, she saw herself on the point of -being finally crushed beneath the rude pressure of poverty. - -She recollected the words which had escaped her when she last saw Tudor -Hall, and she thought they were dictated by something like a prophetic -spirit. She had then said, as she leaned upon a little gate which looked -into the domain: "When these woods again glow with vegetation; when -every shade resounds with harmony, and the flowers and the blossoms -spread their foliage to the sun, ah! where will Amanda be! far distant, -in all probability, from these delightful shades; perhaps deserted and -forgotten by their master." - -She was indeed far distant from them; deserted, and if not forgotten, at -least only remembered with contempt by their master--remembered with -contempt by Lord Mortimer. It was an idea of intolerable anguish. His -name was no more repeated as a charm to soothe her grief; his idea -increased her misery. - -She continued indulging her melancholy meditations, till informed by one -of the children the captain was ready to receive her. She hastened in, -and found him in an old high-backed chair, and the ravages of care and -sickness were now more visible to her than they had been the night -before. He was reduced to a mere skeleton. "The original brightness of -his form" was quite gone, and he seemed already on the very brink of the -grave. The agony of Amanda's feelings was expressed on her -countenance--he perceived and guessed its source. He endeavored to -compose and comfort her. She mentioned a physician; he tried to dissuade -her from the idea of bringing one, but she besought him in compassion to -her to consent, and overcome by her earnestness, he at last promised the -ensuing day she should do as she wished. - -It was now Sunday, and he desired the service of the day to be read. A -small Bible lay on the table before him, and Amanda complied with his -desire. - -In the first lesson were these words: "Leave thy fatherless children to -me, and I will be their father." The tears gushed from Fitzalan; he laid -his hand, which appeared convulsed with agitation, on the book. "Oh! -what words of comfort!" cried he, "are these; what transport do they -convey to the heart of a parent burdened with anxiety! Yes, merciful -Power, I will, with grateful joy, commit my children to thy care, for -thou art the friend who will never forsake them." He desired Amanda to -proceed; her voice was weak and broken, and the tears, in spite of her -efforts to restrain them, stole down her cheeks. - -When she had concluded, her father drew her towards him, and inquired -into all that had passed during her stay in London. She related to him, -without reserve, the various incidents she had met with previous to her -going to the marchioness's; acknowledged the hopes and fears she -experienced on Lord Mortimer's account, and the argument he had made use -of to induce her to a clandestine union, with her positive refusal to -such a step. - -A beam of pleasure illumined the pallid face of Fitzalan. "You acted," -said he, "as I expected; and I glory in my child, and feel more -indignation than ever against Lord Cherbury for his mean suspicions." -Amanda was convinced those suspicions had been infused into his mind by -those who had struck at her peace and fame. This idea, however, as well -as their injuries to her, she meant if possible to conceal. When her -father, therefore, desired her to proceed in her narrative, her voice -began to falter, her mind became disturbed, and her countenance betrayed -her agitation. The remembrance of the dreadful scenes she had gone -through at the marchioness's made her involuntarily shudder, and she -wished to conceal them forever from her father, but found it impossible -to evade his minute and earnest inquiries. - -"Gracious Heaven!" said he, on hearing them, "what complicated cruelty -and deceit; inhuman monsters! to have no pity on one so young, so -innocent, so helpless. The hand of sorrow has indeed pressed heavy on -thee, my child; but, after the marchioness's former conduct, I cannot be -surprised at any action of hers." - -He gave her a note to discharge her debt to Howel, and begged she would -immediately write and return his grateful acknowledgments for his -benevolence. She feared he inconvenienced himself by parting with the -note; but he assured her he could spare it extremely well, as he had -been an economist, and had still sufficient money to support them a few -months longer in their present situation. - -Amanda now inquired when he had heard from her brother. She said he had -not answered her last letter, and that his silence had made her very -uneasy. - -"Alas! poor Oscar!" exclaimed Fitzalan, "he has not been exempt from his -portion of distress." - -He took a letter, as he spoke, from his pocket-book, and presented it to -Amanda. She opened it with a trembling hand, and read as follows:-- - - MY DEAR FATHER,--Particular circumstances prevented my answering - your last letter as soon as I could have wished; and, indeed, - the intelligence I have to communicate makes me almost averse to - write at all. As my situation, however, must sooner or later be - known to you, I think it better to inform you of it myself, as I - can, at the same time, reconcile you, I trust, in some degree to - it, by assuring you I bear it patiently, and that it has not - been caused by any action which can degrade my character as a - man or a soldier. I have long, indeed, had a powerful enemy to - cope with, and, it will no doubt surprise you to hear, that that - enemy is Colonel Belgrave. An interference in the cause of - humanity provoked his insolence and malignity. Neither his words - nor looks were bearable, and I was irritated by them to send him - a challenge. Had I reflected, the probable consequences of such - a step must have occurred and prevented my taking it; but - passion blinded my reason, and in yielding to its dictates do I - hold myself alone culpable throughout the whole affair. I gave - him the opportunity his malicious heart had long desired, of - working my ruin. I was, by his order, put under an immediate - arrest. A court-martial was held, and I was broke for disrespect - to a superior officer; but it was imagined by the whole corps I - should have been restored. I, however, knew too much of - Belgrave's disposition to believe this would be the case; but - never shall he triumph in the distress he has caused by - witnessing it. I have already settled on the course I shall - pursue, and ere this letter reaches you I shall have quitted my - native kingdom. Forgive me, my dear sir, for not consulting you - relative to my conduct. But I feared, if I did, your tenderness - would interfere to prevent it, or lead you to distress yourself - on my account; and to think that you and my dear sister were - deprived of the smallest comfort, by my means, would be a source - of intolerable anguish to me. Blessed as I am with youth, - health, and fortitude, I have no doubt but I shall make my way - through the rugged path of life extremely well. A parting visit - I avoided, from the certainty of its being painful to us both. I - shall write as soon as I reach my place of destination. I - rejoice to hear Amanda is so happily situated with Lady - Greystock: may your suffering and her merit be rewarded as they - deserve! Suffer not, I entreat, too tender an anxiety for my - interest to disturb your repose. I again repeat I have no doubt - but what I shall do well. That Providence, in which I trust, - will, I humbly hope, support me through every difficulty, and - again unite me to the friends so valuable to my heart. Farewell, - my dear father, and, be assured, with unabated respect and - gratitude, I subjoin myself your affectionate son, - - OSCAR FITZALAN. - -This letter was a cruel shock to Amanda. She hoped to have procured her -brother's company, and that her father's melancholy and her own would -have been alleviated by it. Sensible of the difficulties Oscar must -undergo, without friends or fortune, the tears stole down her cheeks, -and she almost dreaded she could no more behold him. - -Her father besought her to spare him the misery of seeing those tears. -He leaned upon her for comfort and support, he said, and bid her not -disappoint him. She hastily wiped away her tears; and though she could -not conquer, tried to suppress her anguish. - -Johnaten and Kate called, in the course of the day, to know if they -could be of any service to Fitzalan. Amanda engaged Johnaten to go to -town the next morning for a physician, and gave Kate the key of a -wardrobe where she had left some things, which she desired her to pack -up and send to the cabin in the evening. Mrs. Byrne gave them one of her -fowls for dinner, and Fitzalan assumed an appearance of cheerfulness, -and the evening wore away somewhat better than the preceding part of the -day had done. - -Johnaten was punctual in obeying Amanda's commands, and brought a -physician the next morning to the cabin. Fitzalan appeared much worse, -and Amanda rejoiced that she had been resolute in procuring him advice. - -She withdrew from the room soon after the physician had entered it, and -waited without in trembling anxiety for his appearance. When he came out -she asked, with a faltering voice, his opinion, and besought him not to -deceive her from pity to her feelings. - -He shook his head, and assured her he would not deviate from truth for -the world. The captain was indeed in a ticklish situation, he said, but -the medicines he had ordered, and sea bathing, he doubted not, would set -all to rights; it was fortunate, he added, she delayed no longer sending -for him; mentioned twenty miraculous cures he had performed; admired the -immense fine prospect before the door, and wished her good-morning, with -what he thought quite a degagee and irresistible air. - -She was willing to believe his assurance of her father's recovery; as -the drowning wretch will grasp at every straw, she eagerly embraced the -shadow of comfort, and in the recovery of her father, looked forward to -consolation for all her sorrows. She struggled against her own illness, -that no assiduous attention might be wanting to him; and would have sat -up with him at night, had he not positively insisted on her going to -bed. - -The medicines he was ordered he received from her hands, but with a look -which seemed to express his conviction of their inefficacy. All, -however, she wished him to do, he did, and often raised his eyes to -Heaven, as if to implore it to reward her care, and yet a little longer -spare him to this beloved child, whose happiness so much depended on the -prolongation of his existence. - -Four days passed heavily away, and the assurances of the physician, who -was punctual in his attendance, lost their effect upon Amanda. Her -father was considerably altered for the worse, and unable to rise, -except for a few minutes in the evening, to have his bed made. He -complained of no pain or sickness, but seemed sinking beneath an easy -and gradual decay. It was only at intervals he could converse with his -daughter. His conversation was then calculated to strengthen her -fortitude and resignation, and prepare her for an approaching melancholy -event. Whenever she received a hint of it, her agony was inexpressible; -but pity for her feelings could not prevent her father from using every -opportunity that occurred for laying down rules and precepts which might -be serviceable to her when without a guide or protector. Sometimes he -adverted to the past, but this was only done to make her more cautious -in the future. - -He charged her to avoid any further intimacy with Lord Mortimer, as an -essential measure for the restoration of her peace, the preservation of -her fame, and the removal of Lord Cherbury's unjust suspicions, "who -will find at last," continued he, "how much he wronged me and may, -perhaps, feel compunction when beyond his power to make reparation." - -To all he desired, Amanda promised a religious observance; she thought -it unnecessary in him, indeed, to desire her to avoid Lord Mortimer, -convinced as she was that he had utterly abandoned her; but the grief -this desertion occasioned, she believed she should soon overcome was her -father once restored to health, for then she would have no time for -useless regrets or retrospections, but be obliged to pass every hour in -active exertions for his support and comfort. - -A week passed away in this manner at the cabin--a week of wretchedness -to Amanda, who perceived her father growing weaker and weaker. She -assisted him, as usual, to rise one evening for a few minutes; when -dressed, he complained of an oppression in his breathing, and desired -to be supported to the air. Amanda with difficulty led him to the -window, which she opened, and seated him by it, then knelt before him, -and putting her arms round his waist, fastened her eyes with anxious -tenderness upon his face. - -The evening was serenely fine; the sun was setting in all its glory, and -the sea, illumined by its parting beams, looked like a sheet of -burnished silver. - -"What a lovely scene!" cried Fitzalan faintly; "with what majesty does -the sun retire from the world! the calmness which attends its departure -is such, I think, as must attend the exit of a good man." He paused for -a few minutes, then raising his eyes to heaven, exclaimed--"Merciful -Power! had it pleased thee, I could have wished yet a little longer to -have been spared to this young creature; but thy will, not mine, be -done! Confiding in thy mercy, I leave her with some degree of -fortitude." - -Amanda's tears began to flow as he spoke. He raised his hand, on which -they fell, and, kissing them off, exclaimed--"Precious drops! My Amanda, -weep not too bitterly for me--like a weary traveller, think that rest -must now be acceptable to me." - -She interrupted him, and conjured him to change the discourse. He shook -his head mournfully, pressed her hands between his, and said:-- - -"Yet a little longer, my child, bear with it;" then bade her assure her -brother, whenever they met, which he trusted and believed would be soon, -he had his father's blessing,--"the only legacy," he cried, "I can leave -him, but one, I am confident, he merits, and will value. To you, my -girl, I have no doubt he will prove a friend and guardian. You may both, -perhaps, be amply recompensed for all your sorrows. Providence is just -in all its dealings, and may yet render the lovely offspring of my -Malvina truly happy." - -He appeared exhausted by speaking, and Amanda assisted him to lie down, -entreating him, at the same time, to take some drops. He consented, and -while she was pouring them out at a little table, her back to the bed, -she heard a deep groan. The bottle dropped from her hand, she sprang to -the bed, and perceived her father lying senseless on the pillow. She -imagined he had fainted, and screamed out for assistance. The woman of -the cabin, her husband, and mother, all rushed into the room. He was -raised up, his temples and hands chafed, and every remedy within the -house applied for his recovery, but in vain--his spirit had forsaken -its tenement of clay forever. - -Amanda, when convinced of this, wrung her hands together; then, suddenly -opening them, she clasped the lifeless body to her breast, and sunk -fainting beside it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -She remained a considerable time in a state of insensibility, and, when -recovered, she found herself in a bed laid upon the floor in a corner of -the outside room. Her senses were at first confused--she felt as if -waking from a disagreeable dream, but in a few minutes a perfect -recollection of what had passed returned. She saw some one sitting by -the bed--she raised herself a little, and perceived Sister Mary. "This -is, indeed, a charitable visit," cried she, extending her hand, and -speaking in a low broken voice. The good-natured nun jumped from her -seat on hearing her speak, and embraced her most tenderly. Her caresses -affected Amanda inexpressibly--she dropped her head upon her breast, and -wept with a vehemence which relieved the oppression of her heart. - -Sister Mary said she had never heard of her return to the country, till -Mrs. Byrne came to St. Catherine's for a few sprigs of rosemary to strew -over the poor captain. She had returned with her then to the cabin, to -try if she could be of any service, and to invite her, in the name of -the prioress and the whole sisterhood, to the convent. - -Amanda thanked her for her kind invitation, which, she said, she must -decline accepting for a few days, till she had performed all her duties, -which, in a voice half stifled by sobs, she added, "the grave would soon -terminate." She was sorry, she said, that they had undressed her, and -requested Sister Mary to assist her in putting on her clothes. The -sister tried to dissuade her from this, but soon found she was -determined to spend the remainder of the night in her father's -apartment. She accordingly dressed her--for Amanda's trembling hands -refused their accustomed office--and made her take a glass of wine and -water, ere she suffered her to move towards the door. Amanda was -astonished, as she approached it, to hear a violent noise, like the -mingled sounds of laughing and singing. Her soul recoiled at the -tumult, and she asked Sister Mary, with a countenance of terror, "what -it meant?" She replied, "it was only some friends and neighbors doing -honor to the captain." Amanda hastily opened the door, anxious to -terminate the suspense these words occasioned, but, how great was her -horror, when she perceived a set of the meanest rustics assembled round -the bed, with every appearance of inebriety, laughing, shouting, and -smoking. What a savage scene for a child, whose heart was bursting with -grief! She shrieked with horror, and, flinging herself into the arms of -Sister Mary, conjured her to have the room cleared. - -Sister Mary, from being accustomed to such scenes, felt neither horror -nor disgust: she complied, however, with the request of Amanda, and -besought them to depart, saying: "that Miss Fitzalan was a stranger to -their customs, and besides, poor thing, quite beside herself with -grief." They began to grumble at the proposal of removing; they had made -preparations for spending a merry night, and Mrs. Byrne said, "if she -had thought things would have turned out in this way, the captain might -have found some other place to die in--for the least one could have, -after his giving them so much trouble, was a little enjoyment with one's -neighbors at the latter end." Johnaten and Kate, who were among the -party, joined their entreaties to Sister Mary's, and she, to tempt them -to compliance, said, "that in all probability they would soon have -another and a better opportunity for making merry than the present." -They at length retired, and Sister Mary and Amanda were left alone in -the chamber of death. The dim light which remained cast a glimmering -shade upon the face of Fitzalan, that added to its ghastliness. Amanda -now indulged in all the luxury of grief, and found in Sister Mary a -truly sympathetic friend, for the good nun was famed throughout the -little circle of her acquaintance for weeping with those that wept, and -rejoicing with those that rejoiced. She obtained a promise from Amanda -of accompanying her to St. Catherine's as soon as her father was -interred; and in return for this she gave an assurance of continuing -with her till the last melancholy offices were over, and also that, with -the assistance of Johnaten, she would see everything proper provided. -This was some comfort to Amanda, who felt herself at present unequal to -any exertion; yet, notwithstanding her fatigue and illness, she -persevered in her resolution of sitting up with her father every night, -dreading that, if she retired to bed, a scene of riot would again ensue, -which, in her opinion, was sacrilege to the dead. She went to bed every -morning and was nursed with the most tender attention by Sister Mary, -who also insisted on being her companion at night. This, however, was -but a mere matter of form, for the good sister was totally unable to -keep her eyes open, and slept as comfortably upon the earthen floor, -with her gown made into a pillow for her head, as if laid upon down: -then was poor Amanda left to her own reflections, and the melancholy -contemplation of her beloved father's remains. The evening of the fourth -day after his decease was fixed upon for his interment; with streaming -eyes and a breaking heart, Amanda beheld him put into the coffin, and in -that moment felt as if he had again died before her. A small procession -attended, consisting of the people of the house, Johnaten and Kate, and -a few respectable farmers, to whom Fitzalan had endeared himself during -his short abode at Castle Carberry; the men had scarfs and hat-bands, -and the women hoods. - -Johnaten, who had been a soldier in his youth, resolved to pay him some -military honors, and placed his hat and sword upon the coffin. Amanda, -by the most painful efforts, supported the preparations for his removal; -but when she saw the coffin actually raised to be taken out, she could -no longer restrain her feelings; she shrieked in the agony of her soul, -a sickness, almost deadly, seized her and she fell fainting upon Sister -Mary's bosom. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - - "Oh, let me unlade my breast, - Pour out the fulness of my soul before you, - Show every tender, every grateful thought, - This wondrous goodness stirs. But 'tis impossible, - And utterance all is vile; since I can only - Swear you reign here, but never tell how much."--ROWE. - - -Sister Mary recovered her with difficulty, but found it impossible to -remove her from the cabin till she was more composed. In about two hours -its inhabitants returned, and the car having arrived which she had -ordered to convey Amanda to St. Catherine's, she was placed upon it in a -state scarcely animate, and, supported by Sister Mary, was conveyed to -that peaceful asylum. On arriving at it she was carried immediately into -the prioress's apartment, who received and welcomed her with the most -tender affection and sensibility--a tenderness which roused Amanda from -the stupefaction into which she appeared sinking, and made her weep -violently. She felt relieved from doing so, and, as some return for the -kindness she received, endeavored to appear benefited by it. She -therefore declined going to bed, but lay down upon a little matted couch -in the prioress's room. The tea-table was close by it. As she refused -any other refreshment, she obtained this by a promise of eating -something with it. None of the sisterhood--Sister Mary excepted--were -admitted; and Amanda felt this delicate attention and respect to her -sorrows with gratitude. She arrived on the eve of their patron saint at -the convent, which was always celebrated with solemnity. After tea, -therefore, the prioress and Sister Mary were compelled to repair to the -chapel; but she removed the reluctance they felt to leave her alone by -complaining of being drowsy. A pillow being laid under her head by -Sister Mary, soon after they quitted her she fell into a profound -slumber, in which she continued till awoke by distant music, so soft, so -clear, so harmonious, that the delightful sensations it gave her she -could only compare to those which she imagined a distressed and pensive -soul would feel when, springing from the shackles of mortality, it first -heard the heavenly sounds that welcomed it to the realms of bliss. The -chapel from which those celestial sounds proceeded was at the extremity -of the house, so that they sometimes swelled upon her ear, sometimes -faintly sunk upon it. The pauses in the organ, which was finely played, -were filled up by the sweet, though less powerful strains of the -sisterhood, who sung a hymn in honor of their saint. - - "No one was here exempt, - No voice but well could join melodious part." - -'Tis a foretaste of heaven, thought Amanda. She heard a deep sigh behind -her. She turned her head hastily, and perceived a figure standing near, -which bore a strong resemblance to Lord Mortimer. She was alarmed. She -could not believe it was him. The light which the small and heavy-arched -window admitted was imperfect, and she rose from the couch to be better -assured it was or was not him. A second glance convinced her. She might -have believed her eyes at first. Trembling and astonished, she sunk upon -a seat, exclaiming, "Gracious heaven! what can have brought Lord -Mortimer hither?" - -He made no reply, but, kneeling before her, took her hands in his, -pressed them to his forehead and lips, and laid his head upon them. - -"Why," cried Amanda, unutterably affected by the emotions he betrayed, -"why, my lord, are you come hither?" "To try," he replied, in a voice -scarcely articulate, "whether Miss Fitzalan will yet consider me as her -friend." "That, my lord," said she, "depends upon circumstances; but -while your lordship remains in your present position, what they are I -cannot explain." - -Lord Mortimer instantly rose and seated himself beside her. "Now, tell -me," said he, "what those circumstances are." "The first, my lord, is to -exculpate my father in the opinion of Lord Cherbury, and, by declaring -the commencement and progress of our acquaintance, eradicate from his -lordship's mind the injurious suspicions he entertained against him. -This, perhaps, you will say is useless, considering those suspicions can -no longer wound him; but, my lord, I deem it an incumbent duty on me to -remove from his memory the obloquy on my account cast on it." "I promise -you most solemnly," said Lord Mortimer, "you shall be obeyed. This is a -debt of justice, which I had resolved to pay ere I received your -injunction for doing so. It is but lately I heard of the unjust charges -made against him, nor do I know now what fiend gave rise to them." "The -same, perhaps," cried Amanda, "who spread such complicated snares for my -destruction, and involved me in every horror but that which proceeds -from conscious guilt. Oh, my lord! the second circumstance I allude to -is, if you should hear my name treated with scorn and contempt by those -few--those very few--whom I had reason to esteem, and to believe -esteemed me, that you would kindly interpose in my justification, and -say I merited not the aspersions cast upon me. Believe me innocent, and -you will easily persuade others I am so. You shake your head, as much as -to say you cannot think me so, after the proofs you have seen to the -contrary. Ah, my lord! the proofs were contrived by malice and -treachery, to ruin me in the estimation of my friends, and by perfidy, -to force me into a crime, of which I already bear the appearance and the -stigma. Surely, in this solemn hour, which has seen my beloved father -consigned to his kindred earth, when, with a mind harassed by sorrow, -and a body worn out with fatigue, I feel as if standing on the verge of -the grave, I should be the most abandoned of wretches, if I could assert -my innocence without the consciousness of really possessing it. No, my -lord; by such a falsehood I should be not only wicked, but foolish, in -depriving myself of that happiness hereafter which will so fully -recompense my present miseries." "Oh, Amanda!" cried Lord Mortimer, who -had been walking backward and forward in an agitated manner while she -spoke, "you would almost convince me against the evidence of my own -senses." "Almost," she repeated. "Then I see, my lord, you are -determined to disbelieve me. But why, since so prejudiced against me, -have you come hither? Was it merely to be assured of my wretchedness? to -hear me say that I stand alone in the world, without one being -interested about my welfare; that my present asylum is bestowed by -charity; and that, if my life be prolonged, it must be spent in -struggling against constitution, sorrow, and ill-fame, to procure a -subsistence?" "No, no," exclaimed Lord Mortimer, flinging himself at her -feet; "never shall you suffer such misery. Were you even the being I was -tempted to think you some time ago, never would Mortimer suffer the -woman his heart doated on to feel such calamity. I do not, I cannot -believe you would deceive me. There is an irresistible eloquence in your -words that convinces me you have been the victim of treachery, and I its -dupe. I cannot give you a more convincing proof of my confidence in you, -than by again renewing my entreaties to have one fame, one fate, one -fortune ours." - -The resolution which Amanda had forced to support her through the -painful scene she guessed would ensue the moment she saw Lord Mortimer, -now vanished, and she burst into a flood of tears. She saw his conduct -in the most generous, the most exalted light. Notwithstanding -appearances were so much against her, he was willing to rely solely on -her own asseveration of innocence, and to run every risk on her account, -that by a union he might shelter her from the distress of her present -situation. But while her sensibility was affected by his expressions, -her pride was alarmed lest he should impute her ardent desire of -vindicating herself to the expectation of having his addresses renewed. -In broken accents she endeavored to remove such an idea, if it had -arisen, and to convince him that all further intimacy between them must -now be terminated. Lord Mortimer ascribed the latter part of her speech -to the resentment she felt against him for ever entertaining doubts of -her worth. She desired him to rise, but he refused till he was forgiven. -"My forgiveness is yours indeed, my lord," she said, "though your -suspicions wounded me to the soul. I can scarcely wonder at your -entertaining them, when I reflect on the different situations in which I -was found, which, if your lordship can spare a little longer time, or -deem it worth devoting to such a purpose, as well as I am able I will -account for being involved in." Lord Mortimer declared his ardent -desire to hear those particulars, which nothing but a fear of fatiguing -or agitating her could have prevented his before expressing. He then -seated himself by her, and taking her cold and emaciated hand in his, -listened to her little narrative. - -She briefly informed him of her father's residing in Devonshire after -the death of her mother, of the manner in which they became acquainted -with Colonel Belgrave, of his having ingratiated himself into their -friendship, by pretending to be Oscar's friend, and then plunging them -in distress, when he found they not only resisted but resented his -villanous designs. She related the artful manner in which Lady Greystock -had drawn her from her father's protection, and the cold and insolent -reception she met from the marchioness and her daughter, when introduced -by the above-mentioned lady, the enmity the marchioness bore her father, -the sudden alteration in her behavior, the invitation to her house so -unexpected and unnecessary, all tended to inspire a belief that she was -concerned in contriving Colonel Belgrave's admittance to the house, and -had also given Lord Cherbury reason to suspect the integrity of her -father. - -Lord Mortimer here interrupted Amanda, to mention the conversation which -passed between him and Mrs. Jane in the hall. - -She raised her hands and eyes to heaven with astonishment at such -wickedness, and said, "Though she always suspected the girl's integrity, -from a certain sycophant air, she never imagined she could be capable of -such baseness." - -Lord Mortimer again interrupted her, to mention what Lady Greystock had -told him concerning Mrs. Jennings, as also what the housekeeper had said -of the note he gave her for Amanda. - -"Good God!" said Amanda, "when I hear of all the enemies I had, I almost -wonder I escaped so well." She then resumed her narrative, accounted for -the dislike Mrs. Jennings had to her, and explained the way in which she -was entrapped into Colonel Belgrave's power, the almost miraculous -manner in which she was freed from his house, the friendship she -received from Howel, and the situation in which she arrived at Castle -Carberry, and found her father. The closing scene she could not -describe, for sighs and sobs impeded her utterance. Lord Mortimer gently -folded her to his breast. He called her his dear, his unfortunate, his -lovely girl, more precious than ever to his heart, and declared he never -again would quit her till she had given him a right to espouse her -quarrels, and secure her from the machinations of her enemies. Her warm -tears wet his cheek as she exclaimed, "that could never be." - -"My promise is already past," cried she. "That which was given to the -living shall not be forfeited to the dead; and this, my lord, by design, -is the last time we must ever meet." "What promise?" exclaimed Lord -Mortimer. "Surely no one could be so inhuman as to extort a promise from -you to give me up?" "It was not inhumanity extorted it," replied Amanda, -"but honor, rectitude, and discretion; without forfeiting those never -can I violate it. There is but one event could make me acquiesce in your -wishes, that is, having a fortune adequate to yours to bring you, -because then Lord Cherbury could ascribe no selfish motive to my -conduct; but as such an event is utterly improbable, I might almost say -impossible, it is certain we shall never be united. Any further -intercourse between us, you must therefore be convinced, would injure -me. Disturb not, therefore, my lord, my retirement; but ere you depart, -allow me to assure you you have lightened the weight on my heart by -crediting what I have said. Should I not recover from the illness which -now preys upon me, it will cheer my departing spirit to know you think -me innocent; and, if I live, it will support me through many -difficulties, and often, perhaps, after the toils of a busy day, shall I -comfort myself by reflecting that those I esteem, if they think of me, -it is with their wonted regard." - -Lord Mortimer was affected by the manner in which she spoke, his eyes -began to glisten, and he was again declaring he would not suffer her to -sacrifice happiness at the shrine of a too scrupulous and romantic -generosity, when the door opened, and the prioress and Sister Mary (who -had been detained in the chapel by a long discourse from the priest) -entered, bearing lights. - -Lord Mortimer started in much confusion, retreated to one of the -windows, and drew out his handkerchief to conceal the emotions Amanda -had excited. She was unable to speak to the prioress and Sister Mary, -who stared round them, and then at each other, not certain whether they -should advance or retreat. Lord Mortimer in a few moments recovered his -composure, and advancing to the prioress, apologized for his intrusion -into her apartment; but said he had the honor of being a friend of Miss -Fitzalan's, and could not resist his wish of inquiring in person after -her health as soon as he arrived in the country. - -The prioress, who had once seen a good deal of the polite world, -received his address with ease and complaisance. Sister Mary went over -to Amanda, and found her weak, trembling, and weeping. She expressed the -utmost concern at seeing her in such a situation, and immediately -procured her a glass of wine, which she insisted on her taking. The -lights now gave Lord Mortimer an opportunity of contemplating the -depredations which grief and sickness had made upon her. Her pale and -sallow complexion, her heavy and sunken eyes, struck him with horror. He -could not conceal his feelings. "Gracious Heaven!" cried he, going to -the couch, and taking her hand, "I fear you are very ill." - -She looked mournfully in his face without speaking; but this look was -sufficient to assure him he was not mistaken. The efforts she had made -to converse with him, and the yet greater efforts she made to banish him -forever from her, quite exhausted her; after the various miseries she -had gone through, how soothing to her soul would have been the -attentions of Lord Mortimer, how pleasing, how delightful, the asylum -she should have found in his arms! But no temptation, no distress, she -resolved, should ever make her disobey the injunction of her adored -father. - -"She is very bad indeed," said Sister Mary, "and we must get her to bed -as soon as possible." "She requires rest and repose indeed," said Lord -Mortimer; "but tell me, my dear Miss Fitzalan (taking her hand), if I -have those good ladies' permission for calling here to-morrow, will you, -if able to rise, see me?" "I cannot, indeed," said Amanda; "I have -already declared this must be our last interview, and I shall not -retract from what I have said." "Then," exclaimed Lord Mortimer, -regardless, or rather forgetful, of those who heard him, from the -agitation and warmth of his feelings, "I shall, in one respect at least, -accuse you of dissimulation, that of feigning a regard for me you never -felt." "Such an accusation is now of little consequence," replied -Amanda; "perhaps you had better think it just." "Cruel, inexorable girl, -to refuse seeing me, to wish to have the anxiety which now preys upon my -heart prolonged!" - -"Young man," said the prioress, in an accent of displeasure, seeing the -tears streaming down Amanda's cheeks, "respect her sorrows." - -"Respect them, madam," repeated he; "Oh! Heaven, I respect, I venerate -them; but will you, my dear lady, when Miss Fitzalan is able, prevail on -her to communicate the particulars of our acquaintance; and will you -then become my advocate, and persuade her to receive my visits?" -"Impossible sir," said the prioress, "I shall never attempt to desire a -larger share of confidence from Miss Fitzalan than she desires to bestow -upon me. From my knowledge of her I am convinced her conduct will be -always guided by discretion; she has greatly obliged me by choosing this -humble retreat for her residence; she has put herself under my -protection, and I shall endeavor to fulfil that sacred trust by securing -her from any molestation." "Well, madam," said Lord Mortimer, "I flatter -myself Miss Fitzalan will do me justice in declaring my visits proceeded -from wishes, which, though she may disappoint, she cannot disapprove. I -shall no longer intrude upon your time or hers, but will still hope I -shall find you both less inflexible." - -He took up his hat, he approached the door; but when he glanced at -Amanda, he could not depart without speaking to her, and again went to -the couch. - -He entreated her to compose and exert herself; he desired her -forgiveness for any warmth he had betrayed, and he whispered to her that -all his earthly happiness depended on her restoration to health, and her -becoming his. He insisted on her now giving him her hand as a pledge of -amity between them. She complied; but when presuming on this he again -asked her consent to repeat his visits, he found her inexorable as ever, -and retired, if not with a displeased, a disappointed countenance. -Sister Mary attended him from the apartment. At the door of the convent -he requested her to walk a few paces from it with him, saying he wanted -to speak to her. She consented, and remembering he was the person who -frightened her one evening amongst the ruins, determined now, if she had -a good opportunity, to ask what had then brought him thither? - -Lord Mortimer knew the poverty of the convent, and feared Amanda might -want many things, or its inhabitants be distressed to procure them for -her; he therefore pulled out a purse and presenting it to Sister Mary, -requested she would apply it for Miss Fitzalan's use, without mentioning -anything about it to her. Sister Mary shook the purse. "Oh! Jesu Maria," -exclaimed she, "how heavy it is!" - -Lord Mortimer was retiring, when, catching hold of him, she cried, -"Stay, stay, I have a word or two to say to you. I wonder how much there -is in this purse?" - -Lord Mortimer smiled, "If not enough for the present emergencies," said -he, "it shall soon be replenished." - -Sister Mary sat down on a tombstone, and very deliberately counted the -money into her lap. "Oh! mercy," said she, "I never saw so many guineas -together before in all my life!" - -Again Lord Mortimer smiled, and was retiring; but again stopping him, -she returned the gold into the purse, and declared, "she neither would -nor durst keep it." - -Lord Mortimer was provoked at this declaration, and, without replying to -it, walked on. She ran nimbly after him, and dropping the purse at his -feet, was out of sight in a moment. When she returned to the prioress's -apartment, she related the incident, and took much merit to herself for -acting so prudently. The prioress commended her very much, and poor -Amanda, with a faint voice, said, "she had acted quite right." - -A little room inside the prioress's chamber was prepared for Amanda, -into which she was now conveyed, and the good-natured Sister Mary -brought her own bed, and laid it beside hers. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - - "With dirges due, and sad array, - Slow through the church-way path I saw him borne." - - -It will now be necessary to account for the sudden appearance of Lord -Mortimer at the convent. Our reader may recollect that we left him in -London, in the deepest affliction for the supposed perfidy of Amanda--an -affliction which knew no diminution from time; neither the tenderness of -his aunt, Lady Martha Dormer, nor the kind consideration his father -showed for him, who, for the present, ceased to importune him about Lady -Euphrasia, could have any lenient effect upon him--he pined in thought, -and felt a distaste to all society. He at last began to think, that -though Amanda had been unhappily led astray, she might, ere this, have -repented of her error, and forsaken Colonel Belgrave. To know whether -she had done so, or whether she could be prevailed upon to give him up, -he believed, would be an alleviation of his sorrows. No sooner had he -persuaded himself of this, than he determined on going to Ireland, -without delay, to visit Captain Fitzalan, and, if she was not returned -to his protection, advise with him about some method of restoring her to -it. - -He told Lord Cherbury he thought an excursion into Wales would be of -service to him. His lordship agreed in thinking it might, and, secretly -delighted that all danger relative to Amanda was over, gladly concurred -in whatever could please his son, flattering himself that, on his return -to London, he would no lodger raise any objections to an alliance with -the fair Scotch heiress. - -Lord Mortimer travelled with as much expedition to Holyhead as if -certain that perfect happiness, not a small alleviation of misery, would -be the recompense of his journey. He concealed from his aunt the real -motives which actuated him to it, blushing, even to himself, at the -weakness which he still felt relative to Amanda. When he crossed the -water he again set off post, attended on horseback only by his own man. -Within one mile of Castle Carberry he met the little mournful procession -approaching, which was attending poor Fitzalan to his last home. The -carriage stopped to let them pass, and in the last of the group he -perceived Johnaten, who, at the same moment, recognized him. Johnaten, -with much surprise in his countenance, stepped up to the carriage, and, -after bowing, and humbly hoping his lordship was well, with a melancholy -shake of his head informed him whose remains he was following. - -"Captain Fitzalan dead!" repeated Lord Mortimer, with a face as pale as -death, and a faltering voice, while his heart sunk within him at the -idea that his father was, in some degree, accessory to the fatal event; -for, just before he left London, Lord Cherbury had informed him of the -letter he wrote to Fitzalan, and this, he believed, joined to his own -immediate family misfortunes, had precipitated him from the world. -"Captain Fitzalan dead!" he exclaimed. "Yes, and please you, my lord," -said Johnaten, wiping away a tear, "and he has not left a better or a -braver man behind him. Poor gentleman, the world pressed hard upon him." -"Had he no tender friend about him?" asked Lord Mortimer. "Were neither -of his children with him?" "Oh! yes my lord, poor Miss Amanda." "She was -with him!" said Lord Mortimer, in an eager accent. "Yes, my lord, she -returned here about ten days ago, but so sadly altered, I think she -won't stay long behind him. Poor thing, she is going fast, indeed, and -the more's the pity, for she is a sweet creature." - -Lord Mortimer was inexpressibly shocked. He wished to hide his emotions, -and waved his hand to Johnaten to depart; but Johnaten either did not, -or would not, understand the motion, and he was obliged, in broken -accents, to say, "he would no longer detain him." - -The return of Amanda was to him a conviction that she had seen her error -in its true light. He pictured to himself the affecting scene which must -have ensued between a dying father and a penitent daughter, so loved, so -valued, as was Amanda; her situation, when she received his forgiveness -and benediction; he represented her to himself as at once bewailing the -loss of her father, and her offences, endeavoring, by prayers, by tears, -by sighs, to obliterate them in the sight of Heaven, and render herself -fit to receive its awful fiat. - -He heard she was dying; his soul recoiled at the idea of seeing her -shrouded in her native clay, and yet he could not help believing this -the only peaceful asylum she could find, to be freed from the shafts of -contempt and malice of the world. He trembled lest he should not behold -the lovely penitent while she was capable of observing him; to receive a -last adieu, though dreadful, would yet, he thought, lighten the horrors -of an eternal separation, and perhaps, too, it would be some comfort to -her departing spirit to know from him he had pardoned her; and -conscious, surely, he thought to himself, she must be of needing pardon -from him, whom she had so long imposed on by a specious pretext of -virtue. He had heard from Lord Cherbury that Captain Fitzalan had -quitted the castle; he knew not, therefore, at present, where to find -Amanda, nor did he choose to make any inquiries till he again saw -Johnaten. - -As soon as the procession was out of sight, he alighted from the -carriage, and ordering his man to discharge it, on arriving at Castle -Carberry, he took a path across the fields, which brought him to the -side of the church-yard where Fitzalan was to be interred. - -He reached it just as the coffin was lowering into the earth. A -yew-tree, growing by the wall against which he leaned, hid him from -observation. He heard many of the rustics mentioning the merits of the -deceased in terms of warm, though artless, commendation, and he saw -Johnaten receiving the hat and sword (which, as military trophies, he -had laid upon the coffin), with a flood of tears. - -When the church-yard was cleared, he stepped across the broken wall to -the silent mansion of Fitzalan. The scene was wild and dreary, and a -lowering evening seemed in unison with the sad objects around. Lord -Mortimer was sunk in the deepest despondence. He felt awfully convinced -of the instability of human attainments, and the vanity of human -pursuits, not only from the ceremony he had just witnessed, but his own -situation. The fond hopes of his heart, the gay expectations of his -youth, and the hilarity of his soul, were blasted, never, he feared, to -revive. Virtue, rank, and fortune, advantages so highly prized by -mankind, were unable to give him comfort, to remove the malady of his -heart, to administer one oblivious antidote to a mind diseased. - -"Peace to thy shade, thou unfortunate soldier," exclaimed he, after -standing some time by the grave with folded arms. "Peace to thy -shade--peace which shall reward thee for a life of toil and trouble. -Happy should I have deemed myself, had it been my lot to have lightened -thy grief, or cheered thy closing hours. But those who were dearer to -thee than existence I may yet serve, and thus make the only atonement -now in my power for the injustice, I fear, was done thee. Thy Amanda, -and thy gallant son, shall be my care, and his path, I trust, it will be -in my power to smooth through life." - -A tear fell from Lord Mortimer upon the grave, and he turned mournfully -from it towards Castle Carberry. Here Johnaten was arrived before him, -and had already a large fire lighted in the dressing-room poor Amanda, -on coming to the castle, had chosen for herself. Johnaten fixed on this -for Lord Mortimer, as the parlors had been shut up ever since Captain -Fitzalan's departure, and could not be put in any order till the next -day; but it was the worst place Lord Mortimer could have entered, as not -only itself but everything in it reminded him of Amanda; and the grief -it excited at his first entrance was so violent as to alarm not only his -man (who was spreading a table with refreshments), but Johnaten, who was -assisting him. He soon checked it, however; but when he again looked -round the room, and beheld it ornamented with works done by Amanda, he -could scarcely prevent another burst of grief as violent as the first. - -He now learned Amanda's residence; and so great was his impatience to -see her that, apprehensive the convent would soon be closed, he set off, -fatigued as he was, without recruiting himself with any refreshment. He -intended to ask for one of the ladies of St. Catherine's, and entreat -her, if Amanda was then in a situation to be seen, to announce his -arrival to her; but after rapping repeatedly with a rattan against the -door, the only person who appeared to him was a servant girl. From her -he learned the ladies were all in the chapel, and that Miss Fitzalan was -in the prioress's apartment. He asked, "Was she too ill to be seen?" The -girl replied, "No"--for having only entered the room to leave the kettle -in it, at a time when Amanda was composed, she imagined she was very -well. Lord Mortimer then told her his name, and desired her to go up to -Miss Fitzalan and inquire whether she would see him. The girl attempted -not to move. She was in reality so struck of a heap by hearing that she -had been talking to a lord, that she knew not whether she was standing -on her head or her heels. Lord Mortimer imputing her silence to -disinclination to comply with his request, put a guinea into her hand, -and entreated her to be expeditious. This restored her to animation, but -ere she reached the room she forgot his title, and being ashamed to -deliver a blundering message to Miss Fitzalan, or to appear stupid to -Lord Mortimer, she returned to him, pretending she had delivered his -message, and that he might go up. She showed him the door, and when he -entered he imputed the silence of Amanda, and her not moving, to the -effects of her grief. He advanced to the couch, and was not a little -shocked on seeing her eyes closed--concluding from this that she had -fainted, but her easy respiration soon convinced him that this was a -mistake, and he immediately concluded that the girl had deceived him. He -leaned over her till she began to stir, and then retreated behind her, -lest his presence, on her first awaking, should alarm her. - -What took place in the interview between them has already been related. -Notwithstanding appearances were so much against her, and no explanation -had ensued relative to them, from the moment she asserted her innocence -with solemnity he could no longer doubt it; and yielding at once to its -conviction, to his love, to his pity for her, he again renewed his -overtures for a union. Hearing of the stratagems laid for her -destruction, the dangers she had escaped, the distresses she had -experienced, made him more anxious than ever for completing it, that by -his constant protection he might secure her from similar trials, and by -his tenderness and care restore her to health, peace, and happiness. He -longed for the period of her triumphing over the perfidious marchioness, -and the detestable Lady Euphrasia, by being raised to that station they -had so long attempted to prevent her attaining, and thus proving to them -that virtue, sooner or later, will counteract the designs of vice. He -felt a degree of rapture at the idea of his being no longer obliged to -regret the ardent, the unabated affection he felt for her. His -transports were somewhat checked when she solemnly declared a union -between them impossible, and forbade his seeing her again. He was piqued -by the steadiness with which she repeated this resolution, but her -present weak state prevented his betraying any resentment, and he -flattered himself he would be able to conquer her obstinacy. He could -not now, indeed, despair of any event after the unexpected restoration -of Amanda to his esteem, and the revival of those hopes of felicity, -which in the certainty of having lost her had faded away. He returned, -as Johnaten said, an altered man, to the castle. He no longer -experienced horror at entering the dressing-room which displayed so many -vestiges of his Amanda's taste. - -He resolved on an immediate union as the surest proof he could give her -of his perfect confidence in her sincerity, not allowing himself to -suppose she would continue firm in the resolution she had recently -avowed to him. He then intended setting off for London, and sparing -neither time, trouble nor expense, to obtain from the inferior agents in -the plot laid against her, a full avowal of the part they had themselves -acted in it, and all they knew relative to those performed by others. -This was not designed for his own satisfaction. He wanted no -confirmation of what Amanda asserted, as his proposal to marry her -immediately demonstrated; it was to cover with confusion those who had -meditated her destruction, and add to the horrors they would experience -when they found her emerging from obscurity--not as Miss Fitzalan, but -as Lady Mortimer. Such proofs of her innocence would also prevent malice -from saying he was the dupe of art, and he was convinced, for both their -sakes, it was requisite to procure them. He would then avow his -marriage, return for his wife, introduce her to his friends, and, if his -father kept up any resentment against them longer than he expected, he -knew in Lady Martha Dormer's house, and at Tudor Hall, he would find not -only an eligible, but pleasant residence. Those delightful schemes kept -him awake half the night, and when he fell asleep it was only to dream -of happiness and Amanda. - -In the morning, notwithstanding the prohibition he had received to the -contrary, he went to inquire how she was, and to try and see her. The -girl who had answered his repeated knocks the preceding evening, -appeared, and told him Miss Fitzalan was very bad. He began to think -that this must be a pretext to avoid seeing him, and to come at the -truth was slipping a bribe into her hand, when Sister Mary, who had been -watching them from an adjoining room, appeared, and stopped this -measure. She repeated what the girl had just said, and, in addition to -it, declared that even if Miss Fitzalan was up she would not see him, -and that he must come no more to St. Catherine's, as both Miss Fitzalan -and the prioress would resent such conduct exceedingly; and that, if he -wanted to inquire after the health of the former, he might easily send a -servant, and it would be much better done than to come frisking over -there every moment. - -Lord Mortimer was seriously displeased with this unceremonious speech. -"So, I suppose," cried he, "you want to make a real nun of Miss -Fitzalan, and to keep her from all conversation." "And a happy creature -she would be were she to become one of us," replied Sister Mary; "and as -to keeping her from conversation, she might have as much as she pleased -with any one. Indeed, I believe the poor thing likes you well enough; -the more's her misfortune for doing so." "I thank you, madam," cried -Lord Mortimer; "I suppose it one of your vows to speak truth; if so, I -must acknowledge you keep it religiously." "I have just heard her," -proceeded Sister Mary, without minding what he had said, "tell the -prioress a long story about you and herself, by which I find it was her -father's desire she should have nothing more to say to you, and I dare -say the poor gentleman had good reasons for doing so. I beg, my lord, -you will come no more here, and, indeed, I think it was a shame for you -to give money to the simpleton who answered you. Why, it is enough to -turn the girl's head, and set her mad after one fal-lal or other." - -Lord Mortimer could not depart without an effort to win Sister Mary over -to his favor, and engage her to try and persuade Miss Fitzalan to permit -his visits, but she was inflexible; he then entreated to know if Amanda -was so ill as to be unable to rise. She assured him she was, and, as -some little consolation to the distress she perceived this assurance -gave him, said he might send when he pleased to inquire after her -health, and she would take care to answer the messenger herself. - -Lord Mortimer began now to be seriously alarmed lest Captain Fitzalan -had prevailed on his daughter to make a solemn renunciation of him. If -this was the case, he knew nothing could prevail on her to break her -promise. He was half distracted with doubt and anxiety, which were -scarcely supportable, when he reflected that they could not for some -time be satisfied, since, even if he wrote to her for that purpose, she -could not at present be able to answer his letter; again he felt -convinced of the instability of earthly happiness, and the close -connection there has ever been between pleasure and pain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - - "Thy presence only 'tis can make me blest, - Heal my unquiet mind, and tune my soul."--OTWAY. - - -The fatigue, distress, and agitation of Amanda could no longer be -struggled with; she sunk beneath their violence, and for a week was -confined to her bed by the fever which had seized her in England, and -ever since lurked in her veins. The whole sisterhood, who took it in -turn to attend her, vied with each other in kindness and care to the -poor invalid. Their efforts for her recovery were aided by a skilful -physician from the next town, who called, without being sent for, at the -convent. He said he had known Captain Fitzalan, and that, hearing that -Miss Fitzalan was indisposed, he had come in hopes he might be of -service to the daughter of a man he so much esteemed. He would accept of -no fee, and the prioress, who was a woman of sagacity, suspected, as -well as Amanda, that he came by the direction of Lord Mortimer. Nor were -they mistaken, for, distracted by apprehensions about her, he had taken -this method of lightening his fears, flattering himself, by the -excellent advice he had procured, her recovery would be much expedited, -and, of course, his suspense at least terminated. The doctor did not -withdraw his visits when Amanda was able to rise; he attended her -punctually, and often paid her long visits, which were of infinite -service to her spirits, as he was a man of much information and -cheerfulness. In a few days she was removed from her chamber into a -pleasant room below stairs, which opened into the garden, where, leaning -on the friendly doctor's arm, or one of the nuns', she walked at -different times a few minutes each day. Lord Mortimer, on hearing this, -thought he might now solicit an interview, and accordingly wrote for -that purpose:-- - - TO MISS FITZALAN. - - Lord Mortimer presents his compliments to Miss Fitzalan, - flatters himself she will allow him personally to express the - sincere happiness her restoration to health has afforded him. He - cannot think she will refuse so reasonable a request. He is - almost convinced she would not hesitate a moment in granting it, - could she form an idea of the misery he has experienced on her - account, and the anxiety he feels, and must continue to feel, - till some expressions in the last interview are explained. - - Castle Carberry, 10th May. - -This letter greatly distressed Amanda. She had hoped the pain of again -rejecting his visits and requests would have been spared her. She -guessed at the expressions he alluded to in his letter; they were those -she had dropped relative to her promise to her father, and from the -impetuous and tender feelings of Lord Mortimer she easily conceived the -agony he would experience when he found this promise inviolable. She -felt more for his distress than her own. Her heart, seasoned in the -school of adversity, could bear its sorrows with calmness; but this was -not his case, and she paid the tribute of tears to a love so fervent, so -faithful, and so hopeless. - -She then requested Sister Mary to acquaint his messenger that she -received no visits; that, as she was tolerably recovered, she entreated -his lordship would not take the trouble of continuing his inquiries -about her health, or to send her any more written messages, as she was -unable to answer them. The prioress, who was present when she received -the letter, commended her exceedingly for the fortitude and discretion -she had manifested. Amanda had deemed it necessary to inform her, after -the conversation she heard between her and Lord Mortimer, of the terms -on which they stood with each other; and the prioress, who doubted -whether his lordship was in reality as honorable as he professed -himself, thought Amanda on the sure side in declining his visits. - -The next morning the doctor called as usual. He told Amanda he had -brought her an entertaining book, for no such thing could be procured at -St. Catherine's, and, as she had expressed her regret at this, from the -time she had been able to read he had supplied her from his library, -which was extensive and well chosen. - -He did not present it to her till he was retiring, and then said, with a -significant smile, she would find it contained something worthy of her -particular attention. Amanda was alone, and immediately opened it. Great -was her astonishment when a letter dropped from it into her lap. She -snatched it up, and, perceiving the direction in Lord Mortimer's hand, -she hesitated whether she should open a letter conveyed in this manner; -but to return it unopened was surely a slight Lord Mortimer merited not, -and she broke the seal with a trembling hand and a palpitating heart:-- - - Unkind Amanda, to compel me to use stratagems in writing to you, - and destroy the delightful hopes which had sprung in my soul, at - the prospect of being about to receive a reward for my - sufferings. Am I ever to be involved in doubts and perplexity on - your account? Am I ever to see difficulty succeeded by - difficulty, and hope by disappointment? - - You must be sensible of the anxiety I shall feel, until your - ambiguous expressions are fully explained, and yet you refuse - this explanation! But you have no pity for my feelings. Would it - not be more generous in you to permit an interview than to keep - me in suspense? To know the worst is some degree of ease; - besides, I should then have an opportunity of perhaps convincing - you that virtue, unlike vice, has its bounds, and that we may - sometimes carry our notions of honor and generosity too far, and - sacrifice our real happiness to chimerical ideas of them. Surely - I shall not be too presumptuous in saying that, if the regard - Amanda once flattered me with is undiminished, she will, by - rejecting a union with me, leave me not the only sufferer. - - Oh! do not, my dear and too scrupulous girl, think a moment - longer of persevering in a resolution so prejudicial to your - welfare. Your situation requires particular protection: young, - innocent, and beautiful; already the object of licentious - pursuits; your nearest relations your greatest enemies; your - brother, from his unsettled line of life, unable to be near you. - Oh! my Amanda, from such a situation what evils may accrue? - Avoid them, by taking refuge in his arms, who will be to you a - tender friend and faithful guardian. Before such evils, the - obligation for keeping a promise to reject me, fades away, - particularly when the motives which led to such a promise are - considered. Captain Fitzalan, hurt by the unfortunate letter he - received from my father, extended his resentment to his son, and - called upon you without reflecting on the consequences of such a - measure to give me up. This is the only reason I can conceive - for his desiring such a promise, and had I but arrived while he - could have listened to my arguments, I am firmly convinced, - instead of opposing, he would have sanctioned our union, and - given his beloved girl to a man who, in every instance, would - study to evince his gratitude for such a gift, and to supply his - loss. - - Happiness, my dear Amanda, is in long arrears with us. She is - now ready to make up for past deficiencies, if it is not our own - faults; let us not frighten her from performing her good - intentions, but hand in hand receive the lovely and long absent - guest to our bosoms. - - You will not, cannot, must not, be inflexible; I shall expect, - as soon as you read this, a summons to St. Catherine's to - receive the ratification of my hopes. In everything respecting - our union I will be guided by you, except delaying it; what we - have both suffered already from deceit makes me doubly anxious - to secure you mine, lest another vile scheme should be formed to - effect our separation. - - Oh! Amanda, the faintest prospect of calling you mine gives to - my heart a felicity no language can express. Refuse not being - mine except you bring me an addition of fortune; already rich in - every virtue, I shall, in obtaining you, obtain a treasure which - the wealthiest, the proudest, and the vainest of the sons of men - may envy me the possession of, and which the good, the sensible, - and elegant, must esteem the kindest gift indulgent heaven could - bestow on me. Banish all uneasy doubts and scruples, my Amanda, - from your mind, nor think a promise, which was demanded without - reflecting on the consequences that must attend it, can be - binding. The ingenuous soul of your father would have cancelled - it in a moment, had those consequences been represented to him; - and now, when our own reason convinces us of them, I make no - doubt, if departed souls are permitted to view the transactions - of this world, his spirit would behold our union with - approbation. Yes, my Amanda, I repeat your father's approving - spirit will smile upon an act which gives to his lovely and - beloved orphan a faithful friend and steady protector, in her - adoring - - MORTIMER. - - Castle Carberry, 11th May. - -This letter deeply affected the sensibility, but could not shake the -resolution of Amanda. She would not have answered it, as she considered -any correspondence an infringement on the promises she had given her -father to decline any further intimacy with him; but from the warmth and -agitation displayed in his letter, it was evident to her that, if he did -not receive an immediate answer to it, he would come to St. Catherine's -and insist on seeing her; and she felt assured, that she could much -better deliver her sentiments upon paper than to him; she accordingly -wrote as follows:-- - - TO LORD MORTIMER. - - MY LORD,--You cannot change my resolution; surely, when I - solemnly declare to you it is unalterable, you will spare me any - further importunity on so painful a subject. In vain, my lord, - would you, by sophistry, cloaked with tenderness for that - purpose, try to influence me. The arguments you have made use - of, I am convinced, you never would have adopted, had you not - been mistaken in regard to those motives which prompted my - father to ask a promise from me of declining any farther - connection with you. It was not from resentment, my lord; no, - his death was then fast approaching, and he, in charity for all - mankind, forgave those who had wounded him by unjust reproach - and accusation; it was a proper respect for his own character, - and not resentment, which influenced his conduct, as he was - convinced if I consented to an alliance with you, Lord Cherbury - would be confirmed in all the suspicions he entertained of his - having entangled you with me, and consequently load his memory - with contempt. Tenderness also for me actuated him; he was - acquainted with the proud heart of Lord Cherbury, and knew that - if, poor and reduced as I was, I entered his family I should be - considered and treated as a mean intruder. So thoroughly am I - convinced that he did not err in this idea, that, whenever - reason is predominant in my mind, I think, even if a promise did - not exist for such a purpose, I should decline your addresses; - for, though I could submit with cheerfulness to many - inconveniences for your sake, I never could support indignities. - We must part, my lord; Providence has appointed different paths - for us to pursue in life: yours smooth and flowery, if by - useless regrets you do not frustrate the intentions of the - benevolent Donor; mine rough and thorny; but both, though so - different, will lead to the same goal, where we shall again meet - to be no more separated. - - Let not your lordship deem me either unkind or ungrateful; my - heart disavows the justice of such accusations, and is but too - sensible of your tenderness and generosity. Yes, my lord, I will - confess that no pangs can be more pungent than those which now - rend it, at being obliged to act against its feelings; but the - greater the sacrifice the greater the merit of submitting to it, - and a ray of self-approbation is perhaps the only sunshine of - the soul which will brighten my future days. - - Never, my lord, should I enjoy this, if my promise to my father - was violated. There is but one circumstance which could set it - aside, that is, having a fortune, that even Lord Cherbury might - deem equivalent to your own to bring you; for then my father has - often said he would approve our union; but this is amongst the - improbabilities of this life, and we must endeavor to reconcile - ourselves to the destiny which separates us. - - I hope your lordship will not attempt to see me again; you must - be sensible that your visits would be highly injurious to me. - Even the holy and solitary asylum which I have found would not - protect me from the malice which has already been so busy with - my peace and fame. Alas! I now need the utmost - vigilance--deprived as I am of those on whom I had claim of - protection, it behooves me to exert the utmost circumspection in - my conduct; he in whom I expected to have found a guardian, - Oscar, my dear unfortunate brother, is gone, I know not whither, - persecuted and afflicted by the perfidious monster who has been - such a source of misery to me! Oh, my lord, when I think what - his sufferings may now be, my heart sinks within me. Oh! had I - been the only sufferer I should not have felt so great a degree - of agony as I now endure; but I will not despair about my dear - Oscar. The Providence which has been so kind to his sister, - which so unexpectedly raised her friends at the moment she - deemed herself deprived of all earthly comfort, may to him have - been equally merciful. I have trespassed a long time upon your - lordship's attention, but I wished to be explicit, to avoid the - necessity of any further correspondence between us. You now know - my resolves; you also know my feelings; in pity to them spare me - any further conflicts. May the tranquil happiness you so truly - deserve soon be yours! Do not, my lord, because disappointed in - one wish, lose your sense of the many valuable blessings with - which you are surrounded, in fulfilling the claims which your - friends, your country, have upon you; show how truly you merit - those blessings, and banish all useless regrets from your heart. - Adieu, my lord!--suffer no uneasiness on my account. If Heaven - prolongs my life, I have no doubt but I shall find a little - comfortable shelter from the world, where, conscious I have - acted according to my principles of right, I shall enjoy the - serenity which ever attends self-approbation--a serenity which - no changes or chances in this life will, I trust, ever wrest - from - - AMANDA FITZALAN. - - St. Catherine's, May 12th. - -She dispatched this by an old man who was employed in the garden at St. -Catherine's; but her spirits were so much affected by writing it, she -was obliged to go up and lie on the bed. She considered herself as -having taken a final adieu of Lord Mortimer, and the idea was too -painful to be supported with fortitude. Tender and fervent as his -attachment was now to her, she believed the hurry and bustle of the -world, in which he must be engaged, would soon eradicate it. A transfer -of his affections, to one equal to himself in rank and fortune, was a -probable event, and of course a total expulsion of her from his memory -would follow. A deadly coldness stole upon her heart at the idea of -being forgotten by him, and produced a flood of tears. She then began to -accuse herself of inconsistency. She had often thought, if Lord Mortimer -was restored to happiness, she should feel more tranquil. And now, when -the means of effecting this restoration occurred, she trembled and -lamented as if it would increase her misery. "I am selfish," said she to -herself, "in desiring the prolongation of an affection which must ever -be hopeless. I am weak in regretting the probability of its transfer, as -I can never return it." - -To conquer those feelings, she found she must banish Lord Mortimer from -her thoughts. Except she succeeded in some degree in this, she felt she -never should be able to exert the fortitude her present situation -demanded. She now saw a probability of her existence being prolonged, -and the bread of idleness or dependence could never be sweet to Amanda -Fitzalan. - -She had lain about an hour on the bed, and was about rising and -returning to the parlor, when Sister Mary entered the chamber, and -delivered her a letter. Ere Amanda looked at the superscription, her -agitated heart foretold her whom it came from. She was not mistaken in -her conjecture; but as she held it in her hand, she hesitated whether -she should open it or not. "Yet," said she to herself, "it can be no -great harm. He cannot, after what I have declared, suppose my resolution -to be shaken. He writes to assure me of his perfect acquiescence to it." -Sister Mary left her at the instant her deliberations ended, by opening -the letter. - - TO MISS FITZALAN. - - Inexorable Amanda! but I will spare both you and myself the pain - of farther importunity. All I now request is, that for three - months longer at least, you will continue at St. Catherine's; or - that, if you find a much longer residence there unpleasant, you - will, on quitting it, leave directions where to be found. Ere - half the above-mentioned period be elapsed, I trust I shall be - able satisfactorily to account for such a request. I am quitting - Castle Carberry immediately. I shall leave it with a degree of - tranquillity that would perhaps surprise you, after what has so - lately passed, if in this one instance you will oblige your ever - faithful - - MORTIMER. - -This laconic letter astonished Amanda. By its style it was evident Lord -Mortimer had recovered his cheerfulness--recovered it not from a -determination of giving her up, but from a hope of their again meeting, -as they could both wish. A sudden transport rushed upon her heart at -such an idea, but quickly died away when she reflected it was almost -beyond the possibility of things to bring about a pleasing interview -between them. She knew Lord Mortimer had a sanguine temper, and though -it might mislead him, she resolved it should not mislead her. She could -not form the most distant surmise of what he had now in agitation; but -whatever it was, she firmly believed it would end in disappointment. To -refuse every request of his was painful; but propriety demanded she -should not accede to the last, for one step, she wisely considered, from -the line of prudence she had marked out for herself to take, might -plunge her in difficulties from which she would find it impossible to -extricate herself. With an unsteady hand she returned the following -answer:-- - - TO LORD MORTIMER. - - MY LORD,--I cannot comply with your request. You may, if you - please, repeat inexorable Amanda. I had rather incur the - imputation of obstinacy than imprudence, and think it much - better to meet your accusation, than deserve my own. How long I - may reside at St. Catherine's is to myself unknown. When I quit - it, I certainly will not promise to leave any directions where - you may find me. - - The obstacles which have rendered our separation necessary, are, - I am convinced, beyond your lordship's power to conquer. Except - they were removed, any farther interviews between us would be - foolish and imprudent in the extreme. I rejoice to hear you are - leaving the castle. I also rejoice, but am not surprised, to - hear of your tranquillity. From your good sense I expected you - would make exertions against useless regrets, and those - exertions I knew would be attended with success; but, as some - return for the sincere pleasure I feel for your restoration to - tranquillity, seek not to disturb again that of - - AMANDA FITZALAN. - - St. Catherine's, May 12th. - -Scarcely had she sealed this letter when she was called to dinner; but -though she obeyed the summons she could not eat. The exertions her -writing to Lord Mortimer required, and the agitation his letter had -thrown her into, quite exhausted her strength and spirits. The nuns -withdrew soon after dinner, and left her alone with the prioress. In a -few minutes after their departure, the old gardener returned from Castle -Carberry, where he had been delivering her letter. After informing her -he had put it safely into his lordship's hands, he added, with a look -which seemed to indicate a fear lest she should be distressed, that he -had received neither letter nor message from him, though he waited a -long time in expectation of receiving either one or the other; but he -supposed, he said, his lordship was in too great a hurry just then to -give any answer, as a chaise and four was waiting to carry him to -Dublin. - -Amanda burst into tears as the man retired from the room. She saw she -had written to Lord Mortimer for the last time, and she could not -suppress this tribute of regret. She was firmly convinced, indeed, she -should behold him no more. The idea of visiting her she was sure, nay, -she hoped, he would relinquish, when he found, which she supposed would -soon be the case, the schemes or hopes which now buoyed up his spirits -impossible to be realized. - -The prioress sympathized in her sorrow; though not from her own -experience, yet from the experience of others, she knew how dangerous -and bewitching a creature man is, and how difficult it is to remove the -chains which he twines around the female heart. To remove those which -lay so heavy upon the delicate and susceptible heart of her young -friend, without leaving a corrosive wound, was her sincere wish, and by -strengthening her resolution, she hoped success would crown their -endeavors. - -Two hours were elapsed since her messenger's return from the castle, -when Sister Mary entered the room with a large packet, which she put -into Amanda's hands, saying, it was given her by Lord Mortimer's -servant, who rode off the moment he delivered it. - -Sister Mary made no scruple of saying, she should like to know what such -a weighty packet contained. The prioress chide her in a laughing manner -for her curiosity, and drew her into the garden, to give Amanda an -opportunity of examining the contents. - -She was surprised, on breaking the seal, to perceive a very handsome -pocket-book in a blank cover, and found unsealed, a letter to this -effect:-- - - TO MISS FITZALAN. - - I have put it out of your power to return this, by departing - long ere you receive it. Surely, if you have the laudable pride - you profess, you will not hesitate to use the contents of the - pocket-book, as the only means of avoiding a weight of - obligations from strangers. Though discarded as a lover, surely - I may be esteemed as a friend, and with such a title I will be - contented till I can lay claim to a tenderer one. You start at - this last expression, and I have no doubt you will call me a - romantic visionary, for entertaining hopes which you have so - positively assured me can never be realized; but ere I resign - them, I must have something more powerful than this assurance, - my sweet Amanda, to convince me of their fallacy. I was - inexpressibly shocked this morning to learn by your letter, that - your brother had met with misfortune. My blood boils with - indignation against the monster who has, to use your emphatical - expression, been such a source of misery to you both. I shall - make it my particular care to try and discover the place to - which Mr. Fitzalan is gone, and in what situation. By means of - the agents, or some of the officers belonging to the regiment, I - flatter myself with being able to gain some intelligence of him. - I need not add, that, to the utmost extent of my power I will - serve him. My success in this affair, as well as in that which - concerns a much dearer being, you may be convinced you shall - soon hear. Adieu, my Amanda; I cannot say, like Hamlet, "Go, get - you to a nunnery;" but I can say, "Stay there, I charge you." - Seriously, I could wish, except you find your present situation - very unpleasant and inconvenient, not to change it for a short - time. I think, for a temporary abode, you could not find a more - eligible one; and, as I shall be all impatience when I return to - Ireland to see you, a search after you would be truly - insupportable. You have already refused to inform me of your - determination relative to this matter; surely I may venture to - request it may be as I wish, when I assure you, that, except I - can see you in a manner pleasing to both, I never will force - into your presence him, who, let things turn out as they may, - must ever continue Your faithful - - MORTIMER. - -"Gracious Heaven!" said Amanda to herself, "what can he mean? What -scheme can he have in agitation which will remove the obstacles to our -union? He here seems to speak of a certainty of success. Oh, grant, -merciful Power!" she continued, raising her meek eyes to heaven, while a -rosy blush stole upon her cheeks, "grant that indeed he may be -successful. He talks of returning to Ireland; still," proceeded she, -reading over the letter, "of requiring something more powerful than my -assurance to convince him of the fallacy of his hopes. Surely, Lord -Mortimer would not be so cruel as to raise expectations in my bosom -without those in his own were well founded. No, dear Mortimer, I will -not call you a romantic visionary, but the most amiable, the most -generous of men, who for poor Amanda encounters difficulties and -sacrifices every splendid expectation." She rejoiced at the intention he -had declared of seeking out Oscar. She looked forward either to a speedy -interview, or speedy intelligence of this beloved brother, as she knew -Lord Mortimer would seek him with the persevering spirit of benevolence, -and leave no means untried to restore him to her. - -She now examined the contents of the pocket-book. It contained a number -of small bills, to the amount of two hundred pounds,--a large present, -but one so delicately presented, that even her ideas of propriety could -scarcely raise a scruple against her accepting it. They did, however, -suggest one. Uncertain how matters would yet terminate between her and -Lord Mortimer, she was unwilling to receive pecuniary obligations from -him. But when she reflected on his noble and feeling heart, she knew she -should severely wound it by returning his present; she therefore -resolved on keeping it, making a kind of compromise with her feelings -about the matter, by determining that, except entitled to receive them, -she would never more accept favors of this nature from his lordship. The -present one, indeed, was a most seasonable relief, and removed from her -heart a load of anxiety which had weighed on it. After paying her -father's funeral expenses, the people with whom he lodged, and the -apothecary who had attended him, she found herself mistress of but -twenty guineas in the whole world, and more than half of this she -considered as already due to the benevolent sisters of St. Catherine's, -who were ill able to afford any additional expense. - -She had resolved to force them to accept, what indeed she deemed a poor -return for their kindness to her, and she then intended to retire to -some obscure hovel in the neighborhood, as better suited to the state of -her finances, and continue there till her health was sufficiently -restored to enable her to make exertions for her livelihood. But she -shuddered at the idea of leaving St. Catherine's and residing amongst a -set of boors. She felt sensations something similar to those we may -suppose a person would feel who was about being committed to a -tempestuous ocean without any means of security. - -Lord Mortimer had prevented the necessity which had prompted her to -think of a removal, and she now resolved to reside, at least for the -time he had mentioned, in the convent, during which she supposed her -uncertainties relative to him would be over, and that, if it was not her -fate to be his, she should, by the perfect re-establishment of her -health, be enabled to use her abilities in the manner her situation -required. Tears of heartfelt gratitude and sensibility flowed down her -cheeks for him who had lightened her mind of the care which had so -oppressed it. - -She at length recollected the prioress had retired into the garden from -complaisance to her, and yet continued in it, waiting no doubt to be -summoned back to her. She hastily wiped away her tears, and folding up -the precious letter which was bedewed with them, repaired to the garden, -resolving not to communicate its contents, as the divulgement of -expectations (considering how liable all human ones are to be -disappointed) she ever considered a piece of folly. - -She found the prioress and Sister Mary seated under a broken and -ivy-covered arch. "Jesu! my dear," said the latter, "I thought you would -never come to us. Our good mother has been keeping me here in spite of -my teeth, though I told her the sweet cakes I made for tea would be -burned by this time, and that, supposing you were reading a letter from -Lord Mortimer, there could be no harm in my seeing you." Amanda relieved -the impatient Mary, and she took her seat. The prioress cast her -piercing eyes upon her. She perceived she had been weeping, and that joy -rather than sorrow caused her tears. She was too delicate to inquire -into its source; but she took Amanda's hand, and gave it a pressure, -which seemed to say, "I see, my dear child, you have met with something -which pleases you, and my heart sympathizes as much in your happiness as -in your grief." - -Amanda returned the affectionate pressure with one equally tender and a -starting tear. They were soon called by Sister Mary to partake of her -hot cakes, which she had made indeed in hopes of tempting Amanda to eat -after her bad dinner. The whole community were assembled at tea when the -doctor entered the parlor. Amanda blushed and looked grave at his first -entrance; but he soon rallied her out of her gravity. And when the -prioress and the nuns, according to custom, had withdrawn to evening -vespers, he said, with a significant smile, "he feared she had not -attended as much as he wished she should to the contents of the book he -had last brought her." She saw by his manner he was acquainted with her -situation relative to Lord Mortimer, and therefore replied by saying, -"that perhaps, if he knew the motives which influenced her conduct, he -would not think her wrong in disregarding what he had just mentioned." -She also said, "she detested all kinds of stratagem, and was really -displeased with him for practising one upon her." "In a good cause," he -said, "he should never hesitate using one. Lord Mortimer was the finest -young fellow he had ever seen, and had won his favor, and the best -wishes of his heart, from the first moment that he beheld him. He made -me contrive," continued the doctor, "a story to gain admission to your -ladyship, and when I found him so dreadfully anxious about you, I gave -you credit (as I had then no opportunity of judging for myself) for all -the virtues and graces he ascribed to you, and which I have since -perceived you to possess. You smile, and look as if you would call me a -flatterer; seriously, I assure you I am not one. I really think you -worthy of Lord Mortimer, and I assure you that is as great a compliment -as could be paid any woman. His mind was troubled with grief; he -revealed his troubles and perplexities to me, and after hearing them, no -good Christian ever prayed more devoutly for another than I prayed for -your recovery, that all your sorrows, like a novel, might terminate in -marriage." "You are obliging in your wishes," said Amanda, smiling. -"Faith, I am sincere in them," exclaimed he, "and do not know when I -have been so disconcerted as at things not turning out smoothly between -you and his lordship; but I will not despair. In all my troubles, and -Heaven has given me my share, I ever looked to the bright side of -things, and shall always do so for my friends. I yet expect to see you -settled at Castle Carberry, and to be appointed myself physician-general -to your ladyship's household." The mention of an event yet so uncertain -greatly agitated Amanda; she blushed and turned pale alternately, and -convinced her good-natured but loquacious friend, he had touched a chord -which could not bear vibration. He hastily changed the discourse, and as -soon as he saw her composed, rose to take his leave. Amanda detained him -for a minute, to try and prevail on him to take a ten-guinea note; but -he was inflexible, and said with some archness, "till the disorder which -preyed upon Lord Mortimer's heart was in some degree alleviated, he -would receive no recompense for his visits, which he assured Amanda, -from time to time, he would continue to pay her, adding, a certain -person had enjoined him now and then to take a peep within the holy -walls of St. Catherine's." - -The next morning Amanda set about a temporary arrangement of her -affairs. She presented thirty guineas to the sisterhood, which, with -much difficulty, she forced them to accept, though, in reality, it was -much required by them. But when she came to speak of paying for a -continuance, they positively declared they would agree to no such thing, -as she had already so liberally rewarded them for any expense they had -incurred on her account. She told them that if they would not agree to -be paid for lodging and board, she would certainly leave them, though -such a step was contrary to her inclinations; she assured them also she -was at present well able to pay. - -At last it was settled she should give them at the rate of forty pounds -a-year--a salary they thought extremely ample, considering the plain -manner in which they lived. She then had all the things which belonged -to her father and herself brought to the convent, and had the former, -with whatever she did not immediately want, nailed up in a large chest, -that on a short notice they might be removed. Her harp and guitar she -had, in her distress, proposed sending back to the person in Dublin from -whom they were purchased, to sell for her; but she now determined to -keep those presents of her beloved father, except again urged by -necessity to part with them. She had a variety of materials for painting -and working, and proposed employing herself in executing pieces in each -way, not only as a means of amusing her time, but as a resource on an -evil day; thus wisely making use of the present sunshine, lest another -storm should arise which she should not be so well able to struggle -against. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - - "In struggling with misfortunes - Lies the proof of virtue,"--SHAKSPEARE. - - -The turbulence of grief, and the agitation of suspense, gradually -lessened in the mind of Amanda, and were succeeded by a soft and -pleasing melancholy, which sprang from the consciousness of having -always, to the best of her abilities, performed the duties imposed upon -her, and supported her misfortunes with placid resignation. She loved to -think on her father, for amidst her sighs for his loss were mingled the -delightful ideas of having ever been a source of comfort to him, and she -believed, if departed spirits were allowed to review this world, his -would look down upon her with delight and approbation at beholding her -undeviating in the path he had marked out for her to take. The calm -derived from such meditations she considered as a recompense for many -sorrows; it was such, indeed, as nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, -and what the good must experience, though "amidst the wreck of matter -and the crush of worlds." - -She tried to prevent her thoughts from wandering to Lord Mortimer, as -the surest means of retaining her composure, which fled whenever she -reflected on the doubtful balance in which her fate yet hung concerning -him. - -The solitude of St. Catherine's was well adapted to her present -situation and frame of mind. She was neither teased with impertinent or -unmeaning ceremony, but perfect mistress of her own time and actions, -read, worked, and walked, as most agreeable to herself. She did not -extend her walks beyond the convent, as the scenes around it would -awaken remembrances she had not sufficient fortitude to bear; but the -space it covered was ample enough to afford her many different and -extensive rambles. And of a still evening, when nothing but the lowing -of the cattle, or the buzzing of the summer flies, was to be heard, she -loved to wander through the solemn and romantic ruins, sometimes -accompanied by a nun, but much oftener alone. - -A fortnight had elapsed in this manner since Lord Mortimer's departure, -when, one morning, a carriage was heard driving across the common and -stopping at the outer gate of St. Catherine's. Amanda, who was sitting -at work in the parlor with the prioress, started in a universal -trepidation at the sound. It may be easily imagined the idea of Lord -Mortimer was uppermost in her thoughts. The door opened in a few -minutes, and, to her great astonishment, Mrs. Kilcorban and her two -daughters made their appearance. - -Agitation and surprise prevented Amanda from speaking; she curtseyed, -and motioned them to be seated. The young ladies saluted her with an icy -civility, and the mother treated her with a rude familiarity, which she -thought herself authorized in using to one so reduced in circumstances -as Amanda. "Dear me," cried she, "you can't think, child, how shocked we -have all been to hear of your misfortunes. We only returned to the -country yesterday, for we have been in town the whole winter, and to be -sure a most delightful winter we have had of it--such balls, such routs, -such racketings; but, as I was going to say, as soon as we came home I -began, according to my old custom, to inquire after all my neighbors; -and to be sure the very first thing I heard of was the poor captain's -death. Don't cry, my dear, we must all go one time or another; those are -things, of course, as the doctor says in his sermon; so, when I heard of -your father's death and your distress, I began to cast about in my -brains some plan for helping you; and at last I hit upon one which, says -I to the girls, will delight the poor soul, as it will give her an -opportunity of earning decent bread for herself. You must know, my dear, -the tutoress we brought to town would not come back with us--a dirty -trollop, by the bye, and I think her place would be quite the thing for -you. You will have the four young girls to learn French and work too, -and I will expect you, as you have a good taste, to assist the eldest -Miss Kilcorbans in making up their things and dressing. I give twenty -guineas a-year. When we have no company, the tutoress always sits at the -table, and gets, besides this, the best of treatment in every respect." - -A blush of indignation had gradually conquered Amanda's paleness during -Mrs. Kilcorban's long and eloquent speech. "Your intentions may be -friendly, madam," cried she, "but I must decline your proposal." "Bless -me, and why must you decline it? perhaps you think yourself not -qualified to instruct; indeed, this may be the case, for people often -get credit for accomplishments they do not possess. Well, if this is so, -I am still content to take you, as you were always a decent behaved -young body. Indeed, you cannot expect I should give you twenty guineas -a-year. No, no, I must make some abatement in the salary, if I am -forced to get masters to help you in learning the girls." "Miss -Fitzalan, madam," exclaimed the prioress, who had hitherto continued -silent, "never got credit for accomplishments which she did not possess; -her modesty has rather obscured than blazoned forth her perfections; she -does not, therefore, madam, decline your offer from a consciousness of -inability to undertake the office of an instructor, but from a -conviction she never could support impertinence and folly; should her -situation ever require her to exert her talents for subsistence, I trust -she will never experience the mortification of associating with those -who are insensible of her worth, or unwilling to pay her the respect she -merits." "Hoity, toity," cried Mrs. Kilcorban, "what assurance! Why, -madam, many a better man's child would be glad to jump at such an -offer." "Dear madam," said Miss Kilcorban, "perhaps the young lady has a -better settlement in view. We forget Lord Mortimer has been lately at -Castle Carberry, and we all know his lordship is a friend to Captain -Fitzalan's daughter." "Or perhaps," cried Miss Alicia, in a giggling -tone, "she means to be a nun." "Indeed, I suppose she means to be -nothing good," rejoined Mrs. Kilcorban; "and I suppose it was by some -impertinence or other she had a tiff with Lady Greystock. Lord! (looking -round the room), only see her music-books--her harp--her guitar--as if -she had nothing to do but sing and thrum away the whole day. Well, miss -(rising from her chair), you may yet be sorry your friend said so much -about you. I did not come merely to offer to take you into my house, but -to offer you also a good sum for your harp and guitar, supposing you had -no business with such things nowadays; but I dare say you would have -refused this offer." "I certainly should, madam," said Amanda; "it must -be strong necessity which compels me to part with my beloved father's -presents." "Well, well, child, I wish this pride of thine may not yet be -humbled." So saying, she flounced out of the room, followed by her -daughters, who, under an affectation of contempt, evidently showed they -were chagrined by the reception they had met. - -The prioress indulged herself in a long fit of laughter at the passion -into which she had thrown Mrs. Kilcorban; and Amanda, who considered the -lady and her daughters as the most insignificant of beings, soon -recovered from the discomposure their visit had occasioned. In the -course of the evening a letter was delivered her by the servant, who -said the messenger who brought it waited for an answer. Amanda, in a -universal trepidation, broke the seal; but, instead of Lord Mortimer's -as she expected, a hand, to her entirely new, struck her view:-- - - TO MISS FITZALAN. - - MY DEAR CREATURE,--I think I never was so diverted in my life as - at the account my mother and sisters gave of the reception they - met with from you to-day at St. Catherine's. I vow to God it was - excellent. Nor can I help still wondering at their absurdity, in - thinking such a devilish fine girl as you are would sacrifice - your time in instructing a parcel of chits, when it can be - devoted to so much better a purpose! To be brief, my dear girl, - I will take you immediately under my protection, if not your own - fault, bring you to Dublin, settle you in elegant lodgings with - a handsome allowance, and not only make you, but declare you to - be, the grand Sultana of my affection; a situation which, I can - assure you, you will not be a little envied enjoying. In your - answer to this, I shall expect to hear when I may have the - felicity of bringing you from obscurity, to the brilliant scene - you were formed to ornament. Adieu, my dear. Believe me your - devoted, - - B. KILCORBAN. - -The indignation which filled Amanda's breast at reading this scrawl -cannot be expressed. Her blood seemed to boil in her veins. It was some -time ere she could sufficiently compose herself to acquaint the prioress -with the cause of her agitation. It was then agreed that the letter -should be returned with the following lines written on it:-- - - The author of this effusion of ignorance and impertinence has - already inspired all the contempt he merits. Should he repeat - his insolence, something even more mortifying than - contempt--chastisement--must ensue. - -That a repetition of this kind would be the case, she did not believe. -From Kilcorban she had no reason to suspect either the perseverance or -designs of Belgrave. One was a libertine from principle, the other she -believed from fashion; and that to pique his pride would be a sure -method of getting rid of him. - -But the calm she had for some time experienced was destined to be -interrupted. The next morning brought Father O'Gallaghan, the little fat -priest (of whom we have made mention before in our pages), to the -convent. He was not the officiating priest; but notwithstanding this, -paid many visits to the sisterhood, with whom he was a great favorite; -he had been much concerned about Amanda's illness. She was sitting alone -in the parlor, drawing, when he entered it. He seated himself by her, -and the expression of his countenance seemed to declare his heart was -brimful of something pleasant. - -"You won't be offended now, my dear sowl," said he, smirking up in her -face, "with a body for asking you how you would like to leave this -dismal solitude and have a comfortable home of your own, where you might -see your own friends, and have everything warm and cosy about you?" -"Why," said Amanda, "though I do not consider this a dismal solitude, -yet, to be sure, I should have no objection to a pleasant settled -habitation." "Ay, I always thought you a sensible young body. Well, and -what would you say to the person then who could point out such a -habitation? Ay, you little rogue, who could say they had just such a one -in their eye for you." Amanda stared at him with astonishment. She had -at first believed him jesting, but now found him serious. - -"Ay, faith, my dear creature," cried he, continuing his discourse with a -look of the most perfect satisfaction, "I have an offer to make you, -which, I believe, would make many girls jump out of their skins with joy -to hear. You remember the O'Flannaghans, I am sure, where you took tea -last summer. Well, the eldest of the sons (as honest a lad as ever broke -bread) cast a sheep's eye upon you then. But what with your going from -the country, and some other matters, he thought there was no use then in -revealing his flame; but now, when you are come plump in his way again, -faith he plucked up his courage, and told his father all about it. Old -Flannaghan is a good-natured sowl, and is very willing the match should -take place. They have everything snug about them. The old man will give -everything into your spouse's hands. The youngest son will live in the -house till he gets married, and goes off to a farm of his own. The -eldest daughter is married; the second will live with her, and the -youngest will be a little handy assistant to you. So you see, you will -not be tormented with a large family. There is one little matter which, -to be sure, they are a little uneasy about, and that is your being of -different persuasions; but says I to them, when this was started, faith, -says I, you need not give yourself any trouble about it, for I know the -young woman to be a discreet sowl, and I am sure she will make no -hesitation about going to chapel instead of church, when she knows, too, -it is for her own interest. So, my dear sowl, I hope soon to give you -the nuptial benediction, and to be also your spiritual director." - -Amanda had listened to this speech in silent amazement. She now rose, -and would have quitted the room without speaking, to evince her -contempt, had not an idea darted into her mind that such conduct perhaps -might not be construed by the ignorant priest in the manner she wished. -She therefore stopped, and turning to him said; "He could not wonder at -her being offended at his pretending to answer so freely for her in -matters so important as religion; but to prove how presumptuous he was -in everything he said about her, she must assure him his embassy to her -was equally fruitless and disagreeable; and that if Mr. O'Flannaghan -consulted his own happiness, he would seek to unite himself with a woman -brought up in his own sphere of life." So saying, she quitted the room -with a look of dignity which quite confounded the poor priest, who -snatched up his hat in a great hurry, and waddled away to the farm, to -communicate the ill-success of his visit, which had quite crushed his -expectations of wedding presents and pudding feasts, which he had -contemplated in idea with delight. - -It was some time ere Amanda recovered from the discomposure into which -the impertinence of the Kilcorbans and the priest had thrown her. From -what she suffered in consequence of it, she was forcibly convinced how -ill-qualified she was to struggle with a world where she would be -continually liable to such shocks. She had yet a hope of escaping -them--a hope of being guarded by the tutelary care of Lord Mortimer, and -of being one of the happiest of her sex. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - "Lo! I am here to answer to your vows, - And be the meeting fortunate! I come - With joyful tidings; we shall part no more."--AKENSIDE. - - -But a shock more severe than those she had lately experienced was yet in -store for our hapless heroine. About a fortnight after the visit of the -Kilcorbans and the priest, as she was rambling one evening according to -custom amongst the solitary ruins of St. Catherine's, indulging the -pensive meditations of her soul, the figure of a man suddenly darted -from under a broken arch, and discovered to her view the features of the -hated Belgrave. Amanda gave a faint cry, and in unutterable dismay -tottered back a few paces against a wall. "Cruel Amanda!" exclaimed -Belgrave, while his look seemed to imply he would take advantage of her -situation. His look, his voice, operated like a charm to rouse her from -the kind of stupefaction into which she had fallen at first sight of -him, and as he attempted to lay hold of her she sprang past him, and, -with a swiftness which mocked his speed, flew through the intricate -windings of the place till she reached the convent. Her pale and -distracted look, as she rushed into the prioress's apartment, terrified -the good old lady, who hastily interrogated her as to the cause of her -disorder; but Amanda was unable to speak. The appearance of Belgrave she -thought an omen of every ill to her. Her blood ran cold through her -veins at his sight, and terror totally subdued her powers. The prioress -summoned Sister Mary to her relief; drops and water were administered, -and the overloaded heart of the trembling Amanda was relieved by tears. -The prioress again asked the cause of her agitation, but perceiving -Amanda did not like to speak before Sister Mary, she immediately -pretended to think it proceeded from fatigue, and Mary, who was -simplicity itself, readily credited the idea. The prioress soon sent her -upon some pretext from the room, and then, in the gentlest terms, begged -to know what had so cruelly alarmed her young friend. Amanda had already -confided to the prioress the events of her life, so that the good lady, -on hearing Belgrave now mentioned, no longer wondered at the agitation -of Amanda; yet, as her fears she saw were too powerful for her reason, -she endeavored to convince her they were unnecessary. She called to her -remembrance the singular protection she had already experienced from -Heaven, and the protection which, while she was innocent, she would -still have a right to expect. She also mentioned the security of her -present situation--encompassed by friends whose integrity could not be -warped, and whose utmost zeal would be manifested in defeating any -stratagems which might be laid against her. - -Amanda grew composed as she listened to the prioress. She was cheered by -the voice of piety and friendship, and her heart again felt firm and -elevated. She acknowledged that after the singular, nay, almost -miraculous interpositions of Providence she had experienced in her -favor, to give way to terror or despair was sinful, since it showed a -distrust of the Power who has promised with guardian care to watch the -footsteps of the innocent. It was, however, agreed that Amanda should -venture no more from the convent, but confine her rambles to the garden, -which was enclosed with a high wall, and had no places of concealment. -Five weeks yet remained of the period Lord Mortimer had requested her to -stay at St. Catherine's. Before it was expired she trusted and believed -Belgrave would be weary of watching her, and would decamp; if, then, she -neither saw nor heard from Lord Mortimer, she resolved to relinquish -all hope concerning him, and immediately think upon some plan which -should put her in a way of procuring subsistence. - -Her paintings and embroidery still went on. She had executed some -elegant pictures in both, which, if obliged to dispose of, she was sure -would bring a good price; yet, whenever compelled by reflection to this -idea, the tear of tender melancholy would fall upon her lovely cheek--a -tear which was ever hastily wiped away, while she endeavored to fortify -her mind with pious resignation to whatever should be her future fate. - -Three weeks more elapsed without any event to discompose their -tranquillity; but as the termination of the destined period approached, -the agitation of Amanda, in spite of all her efforts to the contrary, -increased. She deemed the awful crisis of her fate at hand, and she -trembled at the reflection. She now for the first time avoided solitude. -She wanted to fly from herself, and sat constantly with the prioress, -who had nothing of the gloomy recluse, save the habit, about her. - -They were chatting together one evening after tea when Sister Mary -entered the room, bearing a large packet, which she rather tossed than -presented to Amanda, exclaiming, "From Lord Mortimer; I wish the -troublesome fellow had not come back again; here we shall have him -frisking or storming continually, and again plaguing us out of our -lives." "From Lord Mortimer!" exclaimed Amanda, starting from her chair, -and clasping the letter between her hands, "Oh, gracious Heaven!" She -said no more, but flew from the room to her chamber. She tore open the -seal. The envelope contained two letters. The first was directed in a -hand unknown to her. Her heart sickened as she dropped it on the ground. -The other was the superscription of Lord Mortimer. She opened it with -revived spirits, and read a follows:-- - - TO MISS FITZALAN. - - I am returned--returned to tell my Amanda that nothing but the - awful fiat of Heaven shall part us more. Yes, my love, a sweet - reward for all our difficulties, our trials--let me add, our - persevering constancy--is at hand; and one name, one interest, - one fate, I trust, will soon be ours. - -Tears of joy gushed from Amanda as she exclaimed, "Can this, can this be -true? Is Lord Mortimer, so long, so hopelessly beloved, indeed returned -to tell me we shall part no more? 'Tis true, 'tis true, and never can my -grateful heart sufficiently acknowledge the goodness it experiences; but -how was this event brought about?" She wiped away her tears, and -resumed the letter. - - Your solemn refusal to unite yourself to me threw me into - agonies; but true love, like true courage, will never despair, - will never yield to difficulties, without first trying every - effort to conquer them. I soon, therefore, roused myself from - the heavy weight which oppressed my spirits at your resolution, - and ere long conceived a project so feasible, so almost certain - of success, that my impatience to realize it cannot be - described; yet you may conceive some idea of it from the abrupt - manner in which I quitted Castle Carberry, without desiring to - bid you adieu; but ere it could be accomplished I plainly saw I - had many difficulties to encounter, difficulties which it was - absolutely essential to overcome, that I might prove to the - world I was not the dupe of love, but the friend, the lover, and - the vindicator of real innocence and virtue. From what I have - said, you may suppose the difficulties I allude to were such as - I expected to encounter in my attempt to unravel the whole of - the deep and execrable plot which involved you in a situation so - distressing to your feelings, and injurious to your character; - and, oh! with what mingled pride and pleasure did I meditate on - being your champion, clearing your fame from each dark - aspersion, and proving, clearly proving, that your mind was as - lovely, as angelic, as your person! - - I was happy, on my arrival in London, to find Lady Martha Dormer - still at Lord Cherbury's house. I have already told you that I - left town on pretence of a visit to my sister, in Wales. My - father, I soon perceived, suspected that had not been the real - motive of my departure: but I also perceived he did not desire - to reveal his suspicions, as he asked some questions concerning - Lady Araminta, which, you may be sure, I answered awkwardly - enough, and, had a comic writer been present, he might have - taken the hint of a good blundering scene from us both. - - The Marquis of Roslin and his family, I learned, continued at - his villa. Their absence from town rejoiced me, as it not only - exempted me from society I abhorred, but, as it gave me an - opportunity of interrogating their household, amongst whom, I - was convinced, I should discover the trusty agents the amiable - marchioness had made use of in her scheme against you. The - morning after my arrival, I accordingly set off to Portman - Square. The man who opened the door knew me not, which I - considered a lucky circumstance, for, not being able to mention - my name to the housekeeper, whom I desired him to send to me, - she was not as much on her guard as she would otherwise have - been. She started as she entered the parlor, and lifted up her - hands and eyes with unfeigned astonishment. Soon, however, - recovering herself, she addressed me in the most obsequious - manner, and spoke as if she supposed I was come purposely to - inquire after her lord and lady, an artful way of trying to - terminate her own suspense by learning the nature of my visit. I - soon gave her to understand it was not of the most amicable kind - to her. I came, I said, to demand either the letter, or an - account of the letter, which I had intrusted to her care for - Miss Fitzalan, which contained a note of large value, and which, - I found, had never been received by that young lady. Her - countenance in a moment condemned her--it spoke stronger than a - thousand tongues against her. She first grew deadly pale, then - fiery red; trembled, faltered, and hung her head, to avoid my - eyes. Her looks, I told her, confirmed the suspicions I was - forced to entertain of her integrity, yet, shocking as the - action was which she had committed, being not only a breach of - trust, but humanity, I was willing to come to an easy and - private accommodation about it, provided she would truly and - fully confess the part she had taken, or knew others to have - taken, in injuring Miss Fitzalan, while she resided in the - marquis's house, by bringing Colonel Belgrave into it. I paused - for her reply. She appeared as if considering how she should - act. I thought I saw something yielding in her face, and, eager - to take advantage of it, I proceeded: "What I have already said - I am going again to repeat, that is, if you confess all you know - relative to the plot which was contrived, and carried into - execution, in this house, against Miss Fitzalan, I will settle - everything relative to the letter and its contents in a manner - pleasing to you. Her innocence is unquestioned by me; but it is - essential to her peace that it should also be so to the rest of - her friends, and they who regard her welfare will liberally - reward those whose allegations shall justify her." - - Upon this she turned to me, with a countenance of the utmost - effrontery, and said she would not tell a lie to please any one. - I will not shock you by repeating all she said. She ended, by - saying, as to the letter she set me at defiance; true, I had - given her one for Miss Fitzalan, but I might remember Miss - Fitzalan was in a fit on the ground at the time, and she had - called in other servants to her assistance, she said, and in the - hurry and bustle which ensued, she knew not what became of it; - others might as well be called upon as her. I could no longer - command my temper. I told her she was a wretch, and only fit for - the diabolical service in which she was employed. The note, - which I enclosed in the letter I had given her for you, I had - received from my father's agent in the country: as a post-note I - had endorsed it, and taken the number in my pocket-book. I - therefore left Portman Square, with a resolution of going to the - bank, and, if not already received, stopping payment. I stepped - into the first hackney-coach I met, and had the satisfaction of - finding it had not been offered at the bank. I suspected she - would be glad to exchange it for cash as soon as possible, and - therefore left my direction, as well as a request for the - detention of any person who should present it. - - In consequence of this, a clerk came the following morning to - inform me a woman had presented the note at the bank, and was, - agreeably to my request, detained till I appeared. I immediately - returned with him, and had the satisfaction of seeing the - housekeeper caught in the snare. She burst into tears at my - appearance, and coming up to me, in a low voice said, "If I - would have mercy upon her, she would in return make a full - confession of all she knew about the affair I had mentioned to - her yesterday." I told her, though she deserved no mercy, yet, - as I had promised on such condition to show her lenity, I would - not violate my word. I received the note, sent for a coach, and - handing the lady into it, soon conveyed her to Portman Square. - She no sooner entered the parlor than she fell on her knees and - besought my forgiveness. I bade her rise, and lose no time in - revealing all she knew concerning the scheme against you. She - then confessed that both she and Mrs. Jane, the attendant who - had been placed about your person, were acquainted and concerned - in all the contrivances the marchioness had laid against you, - who scrupled not in acknowledging to them the inveterate hatred - she bore you. Their scruples--for they pretended to have some in - abetting her schemes--were overruled, by knowing how much it was - in her power to injure them in any future establishment, had - they disobliged her, and by her liberal promises of reward, - which the housekeeper added she had never kept. But this brief - and uncircumstantial account was by no means satisfactory to me. - I called for materials for writing, and insisted she should, to - the best of her recollection, relate every word or circumstance - which had ever passed between her and the marchioness and their - other associates relative to you. She hesitated at this. On - those terms only I said I would grant her my forgiveness; and by - her complying with them, not only that, but a liberal - recompense should be hers. This last promise had the desired - effect. She laid open, indeed, a scene of complicated iniquity; - related the manner in which Colonel Belgrave was brought into - the house by her and Mrs. Jane; how they had stationed - themselves in a place of concealment to listen, by which means - they knew what passed between you, which she now, in almost the - very same words you made use of, repeated to me. As she spoke I - wrote it, and made her sign the paper under a paragraph, - purporting that it was a true confession of the part she had - taken, and knew others to have taken, in attempting to injure - Miss Fitzalan. - - I now mentioned Mrs. Jane, whose evidence I wished for to - corroborate hers. This she assured me I might procure by - promising a reward, as Mrs. Jane was much dissatisfied with the - marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, neither of whom had recompensed - her as she expected for her faithful services to them. She was - now at the villa; but the housekeeper added that she would - strike out some expedient to bring her to town in the course of - the week, and would inform me immediately of her arrival. I told - her the affair of the note should be no more mentioned, and gave - a bill for fifty pounds, as the reward I had promised, and she - eagerly expected. I told her she might promise a similar one in - my name to Mrs. Jane, provided she also told truth. I also told - her I would take care she should suffer no distress by quitting - the marquis's family, which she lamented would be the - consequence of what she had done. - - Mrs. Jane did not come to town as soon as I expected. But on - receiving a summons to inform me of her arrival, I hastened to - the house like an inquisitor-general with my scroll, prepared to - take the confession of the fair culprit, which exactly - corresponded with the housekeeper's, and I had the felicity of - seeing her subscribe her name to it. I gave her the promised - recompense most cheerfully, as I had not half so much trouble in - making her tell truth as I had with the housekeeper. Mrs. - Jennings, your old landlady, and Lady Greystock's faithful - friend, was the next and last person whose malice I wanted to - refute. I made my servant inquire her character in the - neighborhood, and learned it was considered a very suspicious - one. I went to her one morning in my carriage, well knowing that - the appearance of rank and splendor would have greater weight in - influencing a being like her to justice than any plea of - conscience. She appeared lost in astonishment and confusion at - my visit, and I saw waited with trembling expectation to have - the reason of it revealed. I kept her not long in suspense; I - was the friend, I told her, of a young lady, whose character she - had vilely and falsely aspersed. Her conscience, I believed, - would whisper to her heart the name of this lady, and send its - crimson current to her face at the mention of Miss Fitzalan. - - The wretch seemed ready to sink to the earth. I repeated to her - all she had said concerning you to Lady Greystock. I told her of - the consequences of defamation, and declared she might expect - the utmost rigor of the law, except she confessed her assertions - were infamous falsehoods, and the motives which instigated her - to them. She trembled with terror, and supplicated mercy. I - desired her to deserve it by her confession. She then - acknowledged she had grossly and cruelly wronged you by what she - had said to Lady Greystock, and that she had many opportunities - of being convinced, while you resided in her house, that your - virtue and innocence were of the purest nature; but that she was - provoked to speak maliciously against you from resentment at - losing all the rich gifts Colonel Belgrave had promised her if - she brought you to comply with his wishes. She related all the - stratagems they had mutually concerted for your destruction, and - she brought me some letters which I have kept, from him to you, - and which she pretended you had received, lest she should lose - the money he always gave when she was successful in delivering - one. I bid her beware how she ever attempted to vilify - innocence, lest the friends of those at whom she levelled the - arrows of defamation should not be as merciful to her as Miss - Fitzalan's had been; and was the tale of the slanderer thus ever - to be minutely investigated, the evil might die away by degrees, - and many hapless victims escape, who are daily sacrificed to - malice, revenge, or envy. - - Oh! my Amanda, I cannot express the transports I felt when I - found the difficulties, which I dreaded as intervening between - me and happiness, thus removed. I felt myself the happiest of - men; my heart acknowledged your worth, I was convinced of your - love, and in my hands I held the refutation of falsehood, and - the confirmation of your innocence. - - The period for mentioning my project was now arrived. I desired, - the morning after my visit to Mrs. Jennings, to be indulged in a - _tete-à-tete_ in Lady Martha's dressing-room. I believed she - half guessed what the subject of it would be; she saw by my - countenance there was joyful news at hand. I shall not - recapitulate our conversation; suffice it to say, that her - excellent feeling heart participated largely in my satisfaction; - it did more than participate, it wished to increase it, and ere - I could mention my project, she declared my Amanda should - henceforth be considered as her adopted daughter, and should - from her receive such a fortune as such a title claimed. Yes, my - Amanda, the fortune she ever destined for me, she said she - should now consecrate to the purpose of procuring me a treasure - the most valuable Heaven could bestow;--the richest--the most - valuable indeed--a treasure dearer, far dearer to my soul for - all the dangers it has encountered. I fell at Lady Martha's feet - in a transport of gratitude, and acknowledged that she had - anticipated what I was going to say, as I had been determined to - throw myself on her generosity from the time I was convinced of - your inflexible resolution, not to unite yourself to me without - you brought a fortune. - - It was now agreed we should keep Lord Cherbury a little longer - ignorant of our intentions. We proposed taking the marchioness - and Lady Euphrasia by surprise, and hoped, by so doing, to be - able to remove from his eyes the mist which partially had - hitherto spread before them, to obscure the defects of the - above-mentioned ladies. - - He had hinted more than once his wishes for my paying my - compliments at the marquis's villa. I now proposed going thither - myself the ensuing day. He looked equally surprised and pleased - at this proposal: Lady Martha agreed to accompany me, and his - lordship, you may be sure, determined to be one of the party, - that he might supply the deficiencies of his son, which he had - heretofore found pretty manifest in such society. - - We had the happiness to find all the family at home when we - reached the villa. The ladies all expressed themselves delighted - at my unexpected appearance, and quite charmed by my recovered - looks. The marquis, with his usual sang froid, declared himself - glad to see me. Ye smiling deceivers, I cried to myself, as I - surveyed the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, your triumph over - innocence and beauty will soon be over. After passing half an - hour in uninteresting chitchat, I took the opportunity of one of - those pauses in conversation, which so frequently happen, to - commence my attack. It would be as painful to you as to me to - recapitulate all which ensued in consequence of it. Rage, guilt, - and confusion, were conspicuous in the marchioness and Lady - Euphrasia. The marquis and Lady Greystock looked with - astonishment, and my father seemed overwhelmed with surprise and - consternation. - - I said (addressing the marchioness), I now trusted the - resentment her ladyship had entertained against her unoffending - niece was sufficiently appeased by what she had made her suffer, - and that she would rather rejoice than regret the opportunity - which presented itself of vindicating her fame. I wished, I - said, as much as possible, to spare her ladyship's feelings, and - provided she would clear Miss Fitzalan from the obloquy which - the transactions in her house cast upon her, I was willing to - conceal the share her ladyship had in them. - - In a voice of smothered rage, and with a look into which she - threw as much contempt as possible, she replied, "She thanked me - for the attention I professed myself inclined to pay her - feelings; but she fancied I had overlooked all inclination of - this kind when I undertook to bribe her servants to asperse her - character, that Miss Fitzalan's might be cleared. She was - sorry," she said, "to find I could be capable of such - complicated baseness and weakness. Miss Fitzalan, she perceived, - had made me her dupe again; but this was not surprising, as she - was the professed pupil of art. Too late I should behold her in - her native colors, and find the disgrace, which, by artifice, I - now attempted to remove from her character, thrown back upon - her, perhaps, to overwhelm me also by its weight." - - "She has infatuated him," said Lord Cherbury; "she will be the - bane of his life, the destruction of my hopes." "Not Miss - Fitzalan," cried I, assuming as much coolness as possible, - though, like the marchioness, I found it a difficult task; "not - Miss Fitzalan, but the enemies of Miss Fitzalan deceived me. I - own I was the dupe of the scheme contrived against her. Anything - so horrid, so monstrous, so execrable, I did not think could - have entered into the minds of those who were bound by the - united ties of kindred and hospitality to protect her, and I - rather believed I owed my misery to the frailty than to the - turpitude of human nature." "You see, my lord," exclaimed the - marchioness, turning to Lord Cherbury, "Lord Mortimer - acknowledges his passion for this wretched girl." "I do," cried - I, "I glory in confessing it. In loving Miss Fitzalan, I love - virtue itself. In acknowledging a passion for her, I violate no - faith, I break no engagement; my heart ever resisted entering - into any which it could not fulfil." "Unfortunate - prepossession," said Lord Cherbury, sternly. "But why, why, when - you believed her guilty, were you so infatuated as to follow her - to Ireland? Why not calmly resign her to the infamy she - merited?" "I followed her my lord," I replied, "in hope to - withdraw her from her seducer's arms, and place her in her - father's. I hoped, I trusted, I should be able also to alleviate - the bitter destiny of poor Fitzalan. Alas! not in the arms of a - gay, successful seducer, but apparently in the arms of death, - did I find Amanda. I saw her at the solemn hour which consigned - her parent to his grave, and to have doubted her protestations - of innocence then would have been almost impious. Gracious - Heaven! how impossible to disbelieve her truth at the very - moment her gentle spirit seemed about to take its flight to - heaven! From that period she has stood acquitted in my mind, and - from that period I determined to develop, to the utmost of my - power, the machinations which had made me doubt her innocence. - My success in their development has been beyond my expectations; - but Providence is on the side of suffering virtue, and assists - those who stand up in its support." Contrary to my first - intention, my dear Amanda, I have given you a sketch of part of - our conversation. For the remainder, it shall suffice to say, - that the marchioness persevered in declaring I had bribed her - servants to blacken her character, in order to clear Miss - Fitzalan's, an attempt, she repeatedly assured me, I would find - unsuccessful. - - The marquis talked in high terms of the dignity of his house, - and how impossible it was the marchioness should ever have - disgraced it by such actions as I accused her of committing. I - answered him in a manner equally warm, that my accusations were - too well grounded and supported to dread refutation. That it was - not only due to injured innocence, but essential to my own - honor, which would soon be materially concerned in whatever - related to Miss Fitzalan, to have those accusations made public, - if her ladyship refused to contradict the aspersions which might - be thrown upon Miss Fitzalan, in consequence of the scene which - passed at his lordship's house. - - This the marchioness, with mingled rage and contempt, refused - doing, and Lady Euphrasia, after the hint I gave of soon being - united to you, left the room in convulsive agitation. - - Lord Cherbury, I perceived, suspected foul play, by some - speeches which dropped from him, such as, if there had been any - misunderstanding between her ladyship and Miss Fitzalan, it was - better surely to have it done away, or certainly, if any mistake - was proved relative to the affair which happened in her - ladyship's house, it was but justice to the young lady to have - it cleared up. - - Yet, notwithstanding the interest he felt in the cause of - suffering innocence, it was obvious to me that he dreaded a - rupture with the marquis's family, and appeared shocked at the - unequivocal declaration I had made of never being allied to it. - - Lady Martha Dormer took up the cause. The testimony Lord - Mortimer had received, she said, of Miss Fitzalan's innocence - was incontrovertible, and exempted him alike from being - stigmatized either as the dupe of art or love. Humanity, she was - convinced, exclusive of every warmer feeling, would have - influenced him to have undertaken Miss Fitzalan's cause; it was - the cause of innocence and virtue--a cause in which every - detester of scandal and treachery should join, since not only - the defenceless orphan, but the protected child of rank and - prosperity, was vulnerable to their shafts. - - I again repeated the evidence of her servants, and the - refutation of Mrs. Jennings to her former story. I produced, to - strengthen it, the unopened letters of Colonel Belgrave--thus - continuing to put proof upon proof of your innocence, as Sancho - Panza says, upon the shoulders of demonstration. - - The passions of the marchioness rose at last to frantic - violence. She persisted in alleging her integrity, and vilifying - yours; but with a countenance so legibly impressed with guilt - and confusion, that a doubt of her falsehood could not be - entertained even by those who wished to doubt it. - - The scene of violence we now became witness to was painful to - me, and shocking to Lady Martha. I therefore ordered the horses - immediately to her ladyship's chariot, in which, accompanied by - me, she had preceded Lord Cherbury's coach, from the idea that - our continuance at the villa might not be quite so long as his - lordship's. - - As we expected, his lordship stayed behind, with the hope, I - perceived, of being able to calm the perturbations of the - marchioness, and lessen the breach between us. He returned the - next day to town. I have so long dwelt upon disagreeable scenes, - that to go over any others would be dreadful; nor should I hint - to you that I had such scenes to encounter, was it not to excuse - and account to you for my absence from Castle Carberry. Our - difficulties (you see I already unite your interests with mine) - began to decrease, and are at last happily overcome. Lady Martha - made me write her intentions relative to you, and his lordship - was quite satisfied with them. He authorizes me to assure you he - longs to receive you into his family, at once a boast and - acquisition to it, and he says, he shall consider himself under - obligations to you, if you hasten, as much as possible, the - period of becoming one of its members, thus giving him an - opportunity of making early amends, by attention to the - daughter, for the injustice he did the father. - - Lady Martha Dormer's intentions I have only hinted to you; in - the letter, which I have the pleasure of enclosing, she is more - explicit concerning them. I have given you this long narrative - on paper, that when we meet our conversation may be unembittered - by any painful retrospect, and that we may enjoy uninterrupted - the bright prospect which now lies before us. - - But ere I close my letter, I must inform you that, knowing you - could never be selfishly wrapped up in your own enjoyments, I - made every possible inquiry relative to your brother, and was at - length referred by the agent of his late regiment to an officer - in it; with some difficulty I found he had quitted his quarters - on leave of absence. I wrote immediately to his family - residence, and after waiting long and impatiently for an answer - to my letter, I dispatched a special messenger to learn whether - he was there or not. The courier returned with a polite note - from the officer's father, informing me his son was gone on an - excursion of pleasure with some friends, and that if he knew - where to find him, he would have transmitted my letter, which I - might depend on being answered the moment he returned. I have no - doubt but we shall receive intelligence from him concerning Mr. - Fitzalan. It shall then be our business, if his situation is not - already pleasing, to change it, or render it as much so as - possible to him. Keep up your spirits, therefore, about him, for - by the time we arrive in England I expect a letter from his - friend, and let me not be any more pained by seeing your - countenance clouded with care or anxiety. As a reward for - reining in my impatience to see you this evening, be propitious - to my request for early admission to-morrow. If charitable, you - will allow me to breakfast with you, for I shall take none - except with you; and without an express command to the contrary, - shall take it for granted I am expected. 'Tis said that contrast - heightens pleasure, and I believe the saying--I believe that, - without having felt pain in all its acuteness, as I have done, I - never should have felt such pleasure as I now enjoy. After so - often giving you up, so often lamenting you as lost forever, to - think I shall soon call you mine, is a source of transport which - words cannot express. Mine, I may say, is the resurrection of - happiness, for has it not been revived from the very grave of - despair? But I forgot that you have Lady Martha Dormer's letter - still to peruse. I acknowledge that, for old friendship's sake, - I supposed you would give mine the preference; but in all reason - it is time I should resign my place to her ladyship. But ere I - bid you adieu, I must tell you that Araminta is a sincere - participator in our happiness. She arrived from Wales but a few - minutes previous to my leaving London, and I would not allow her - time, as she wished, to write to you. I almost forgot to tell - you that the marquis's family, amongst whom Lady Greystock is - still numbered, instead of returning to town, set out for - Brighthelmstone. I have learned, contrary to my and their - expectations, that neither the housekeeper nor Mrs. Jane have - been dismissed, but both sent to a distant seat of the - marquis's. As we know the marchioness's revengeful disposition, - it is plain she has some secret motive for not gratifying it - immediately by their dismission; but what it is can be of little - consequence for us to learn, since we are both too well guarded - to suffer from any future plot of hers. Like every other which - was formed against my dear Amanda, I trust they will ever prove - abortive. I was disturbed within a few miles of Castle Carberry - by a gentleman passing on horseback, who either strongly - resembled, or was Colonel Belgrave. My blood boiled in my veins - at his sight. I left the carriage, mounted one of my servant's - horses, and endeavored to overtake him. He certainly avoided me - by taking some cross-road, as his speed could not have - outstripped mine. My efforts to discover his habitation were - equally unsuccessful. As to your personal security I had no - apprehensions, having heard constantly from my good friend the - doctor about you; but I dreaded the wretch, if it were really - him, might disturb your tranquillity, either by forcing into - your presence, or writing. Thank Heaven, from all intrusions or - dangers of this kind my Amanda will now be guarded. But again am - I trespassing on the time you should devote to Lady Martha's - letter. Adieu, and do not disappoint my hopes of being allowed - to visit you early. - - MORTIMER. - -Amanda perused this letter with emotions which can be better conceived -than described. She could scarcely have parted with it without a second -reading, had not Lady Martha's demanded her attention. She snatched it -hastily from the ground where it hitherto lay neglected, and read to the -following purpose:-- - - That I warmly and sincerely congratulate my dear and amiable - Miss Fitzalan on the happy revolution in her affairs, she will - readily believe, persuaded as she must be of the deep interest I - take in whatever concerns a person on whom the happiness of him - whom I have loved from childhood so materially--so entirely, I - may say--depends. - - Yet do not suppose me, my dear Miss Fitzalan, so selfish as not - to be able to rejoice at your happiness on your own account, - exclusive of every consideration relative to Lord Mortimer. Long - since I was taught by description to esteem and admire you, and - even when the hope of being connected with you became extinct, I - could not so totally forego that admiration as to feel - uninterested about you. Oh I how truly do I rejoice at the - revival of the hope I have just mentioned, and at its revival - with every prospect of its being speedily realized! I shall - consider Lord Mortimer as one of the most fortunate of men in - calling you his, and to think I have been able to promote his - happiness gives me a satisfaction which never was, nor ever will - be, equalled by any circumstance in my life. - - Though I cannot give my adopted daughter a fortune by any means - equal to that which Lady Euphrasia Sutherland will possess, Lord - Cherbury is fully sensible that her perfections will abundantly - make up for any deficiency in this respect. Ten thousand pounds, - and one thousand a year, is at present to be her portion, and - the reversion of the remainder of my fortune is to be secured to - her and Lord Mortimer; the final adjustment of all affairs is to - take place at my house in the country, whither I propose going - immediately, accompanied by Lady Araminta, and where we shall - both most impatiently expect your arrival, which, we mutually - entreat, may be hastened as much as possible, consistent with - your health and convenience. Lord Cherbury has promised to - follow us in a few days, so that I suppose he will also be at - Thornbury to receive you. Would to Heaven, my dear Miss - Fitzalan, injured virtue and innocence may always meet with such - champions to vindicate them as Lord Mortimer. Was that the case, - we should see many lovely victims of scorn and reproach raising - their heads with triumph and satisfaction. But pardon my - involuntarily adverting to past scenes, though, at the same - time, I think you have reason to rejoice at your trials, which - served as so many tests and proofs of the estimable qualities - you possess. Farewell, my dear Miss Fitzalan. I have been brief - in my letter, because I know I should not be pardoned by a - certain person, if I engrossed too much of your time. I told him - I would give you a hint of the impetuosity of his disposition; - but he told me, perhaps to prevent this, that you were already - acquainted with it. In one instance I shall commend him for - displaying it: that is, in hastening you to Thornbury, to the - arms of your sincere and affectionate friend, - - MARTHA DORMER. - -Amanda's happiness was now almost as great as it could be in this world; -almost I say, for it received alloy from the melancholy consideration -that her father, that faithful and affectionate friend who had shared -her troubles, could not be a partaker of her joys; but the sigh of -unavailing regret which rose in her mind she checked, by reflecting, -that happiness all perfect was more than humanity could either support -or expect, and with pious gratitude she bent to the Power who had -changed the discolored prospect, by which she had been so long -surrounded, into one of cheerfulness and beauty. - -If her pride was wounded by the hint, though so delicately conveyed, -which Lord Mortimer had given of the difficulties he encountered in -gaining Lord Cherbury's approbation, it was instantly relieved by the -flattering commendations of Lady Martha Dormer, and to be connected with -her and Lady Araminta, she looked upon amongst the most valuable -blessings she could enjoy. - -To express what she felt for Lord Mortimer would be impossible--language -could not do justice to her feelings--she felt love, gratitude, and -admiration for him, all in the fullest extent, and all united, and she -wept in the fulness of her heart over the joyful assurance of being his. -With the two letters in her hand, she repaired to the prioress's -apartment, whom she found alone. The good old lady saw the traces of -tears on Amanda's face, and exclaimed, in a voice which evinced her -sympathy in her concerns, "Oh! I fear, my child, something has happened -to disturb you!" Amanda presented her the letters, and bid her judge -from them whether she had not reason to be agitated. As the prioress -read, her sudden and broken exclamations manifested her surprise and -pleasure, and frequently were her spectacles removed to wipe from off -them the tears of joy by which they were bedewed. When she finished the -welcome packet, she turned to Amanda, who had been attentively watching -the various turns in her countenance, and gave her a congratulatory -embrace. "Lord Mortimer is worthy of you, my child," said the prioress, -"and that is the highest eulogium I can pass on him." After commenting -upon different parts of the letter, she asked Amanda a little archly, -"whether she intended sending an express command to his lordship against -coming early in the morning?" Amanda honestly confessed she had no such -intention, and expressed her wish to behold him. The prioress said she -would have breakfast prepared for them in the garden parlor, and that -she would take care they should not be interrupted. She also promised to -keep everything secret till matters were arranged for Amanda's removal -from St. Catherine's. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - - "Thus let me hold thee to my heart, - And every care resign; - And shall we never--never part, - Oh! thou my all that's mine."--GOLDSMITH. - - -Joy is as great an enemy to repose as anxiety. Amanda passed an almost -sleepless night, but her thoughts were too agreeably employed to allow -her to suffer from want of rest; early as she arose in the morning, she -was but a short time in the parlor before Lord Mortimer arrived. He -appeared with all the transports of his soul beaming from his eyes, and -was received by Amanda with tender and trembling emotion. He caught her -to his heart as a treasure restored to him by the immediate hand of -Heaven. He pressed her to it with silent ecstasy. Both for a few moments -were unable to speak; but the tears which burst from Amanda, and those -that stopped on the glowing cheeks of Lord Mortimer, expressed their -feelings more forcibly than any language could have done. - -Amanda at length found utterance, and began to thank his lordship for -all the difficulties he had gone through in vindicating her fame. He -hastily stopped those effusions of gratitude, by bidding her ask her -heart whether he had not been serving himself as well as her by what he -had done. - -From the soft confusion into which his transports threw her, Amanda -endeavored to recover herself by repairing to the breakfast table, on -which the good sisters had spread all the niceties (adapted for a -morning repast) which the convent could produce: but her hand was -unsteady, she spilt the tea in pouring it out, and committed twenty -blunders in helping Lord Mortimer. He laughed a little archly at her -embarrassment, and insisted on doing the honors of the table himself, to -which Amanda, with a deep blush, consented; but breakfast was little -attended to. Amanda's hand was detained in Lord Mortimer's, while his -eyes were continually turning towards her, as if to assure his heart -that, in the lovely evidence of his happiness, there was no deception; -and the tenderness Amanda had no longer reason to restrain beamed from -her looks, which also evinced her perfect sensibility of her present -felicity--a felicity heightened by her approving conscience testifying -she had merited it. The pure, the delightful satisfaction resulting from -this reflection gave such radiance to her complexion, that Lord Mortimer -repeatedly declared her residence at St. Catherine's had made her more -beautiful than ever. Twelve o'clock struck, and found them still -loitering over the breakfast table. "The nuns will think we have made a -tolerable feast," cried Lord Mortimer, smiling, while Amanda rose with -precipitation. "I need not," continued he, following her, "like Sterne, -ask nature what has made the meal so delicious; I need only ask my own -heart, and it will inform me, love and tenderness." Amanda blushed, and -they went together into the garden. She would have walked before the -windows of the convent, but Lord Mortimer forced her gently into a dark, -sequestered alley. Here their conversation became more connected than it -had been hitherto. The generous intentions of Lady Martha Dormer, and -the arrangements she had made for the reception and nuptials of Amanda, -were talked over. The marriage was to take place at Thornbury, Lady -Martha's seat; they were to continue there for a month after its -solemnization, and from thence to go to an estate of Lord Cherbury's for -the remainder of the summer; a house in one of the squares was to be -taken and prepared for their residence in winter, and Lady Martha Dormer -had promised, whenever she came to town, which was but seldom, she would -make their house her home, provided they would promise to spend every -Christmas, and three months at least in summer, with her at Thornbury. -Lord Mortimer said he had his choice of any of the earl's seats, but -chose none, from an idea of the Hall being more agreeable to Amanda. She -assured him it was, and he proceeded to mention the presents which Lady -Martha had prepared for her, also the carriages and retinue he had -provided, and expected to find at Thornbury against she reached it, -still asking if the arrangements he had made met her approbation. - -Amanda was affected even to tears by the solicitude he showed to please -her; and he, perceiving her emotions, changed the discourse to talk -about her removal from St. Catherine's. He entreated her not to delay it -longer than was absolutely necessary to adjust matters for it. She -promised compliance to this entreaty, acknowledging that she but obeyed -her inclinations in doing so, as she longed to be presented to her -generous patroness, Lady Martha, and to her amiable and beloved Lady -Araminta. Lord Mortimer, delicately considerate about all which -concerned her, begged she would speak to the prioress to procure a -decent female, who should be a proper attendant for her in her journey. -They should travel together in one chaise, and he would follow them in -another. Amanda promised she would lose no time in making this request, -which, she had no doubt, would be successful. - -Lord Mortimer presented her with a very beautiful embroidered purse, -containing notes to the amount of five hundred pounds. Amanda blushed -deeply, and felt her feelings a little hurt at the idea of being obliged -to Lord Mortimer for everything. He pressed her hand, and in a voice of -soothing tenderness, told her he should be offended if she did not, from -this moment, consider her interest inseparable from his. The notes, he -said, of right belonged to her, as they amounted to but the individual -sum he had already devoted to her use. He requested she would not curb -in the least her generous spirit, but fulfil, to the utmost extent, all -the claims which gratitude had upon her. The benevolent sisters of St. -Catherine's were the foremost in the list of those who had conferred -obligations upon her, and he desired she would not only reward them -liberally at present, but promise them an annual stipend of fifty -pounds. - -Amanda was truly delighted at this. To be able to contribute to the -comfort of those who had so largely promoted hers, was a source of -exquisite felicity. Lord Mortimer presented her with his picture, which -he had drawn in London for that purpose. It was a striking likeness, and -most elegantly set with brilliants, which formed, a cipher upon a plait -of hair at the back. This was indeed a precious present to Amanda, and -she acknowledged it was such. Lord Mortimer said, that "in return for it -he should expect hers at some future time;" but added, smiling, "I shall -not heed the shadow till I procure the substance." He also gave her a -very beautiful ring, with an emblematical device, and adorned in the -same manner as his picture, which Lady Martha had sent as a pledge of -future friendship; and he now informed her, "that her ladyship, -accompanied by Lady Araminta, intended meeting them at Holyhead, that -all due honor and attention might be paid to her adopted daughter." - -In the midst of their conversation the dinner-bell rang from the -convent. Amanda started, and declared she had not supposed it half so -late. The arch smile which this speech occasioned in Lord Mortimer, -instantly made her perceive it had been a tacit confession of the -pleasure she enjoyed in their _tete-à-tete_. - -She blushed, and telling him she could not stay another moment, was -hurrying away. He hastily caught her, and holding both her hands, -declared she should not depart, neither would he to his solitary dinner, -till she promised he might return to her early in the evening. To this -she consented, provided he allowed her to have the prioress and Sister -Mary at least at tea. This was a condition Lord Mortimer by no means -liked to agree to, and he endeavored to prevail on her to drop it; but -finding her inflexible, he said she was a provoking girl, and asked her -if she was not afraid that, when he had the power, he would retaliate -upon her for all the trials she put his patience to. But since she would -have it so, why, it must be so to be sure, he said; but he hoped the -good ladies would have too much conscience to sit out the whole evening -with them. That was all chance, Amanda said. The bell again rang, and he -was forced to depart. - -She took the opportunity of being alone with the prioress for a few -minutes, to speak to her about procuring a female to attend her in her -journey. The prioress said she doubted not but she could procure her an -eligible person from the neighboring town, and promised to write there -that very evening, to a family who would be able to assist her -inquiries. - -Both she and Sister Mary were much pleased by being invited to drink tea -with Lord Mortimer. He came even earlier than was expected. Poor Amanda -was terrified, lest her companions should overhear him repeatedly asking -her, whether they would not retire immediately after tea. Though not -overheard, the prioress had too much sagacity not to know her departure -was desired; she, therefore, under pretence of business, retired and -took Mary along with her. - -Amanda and Lord Mortimer went into the garden. He thanked her for not -losing time in speaking to the prioress about her servant, and said that -he hoped, at the end of the week at farthest, she would be ready to -begin her journey. Amanda readily promised to use all possible dispatch. -They passed some delightful hours in rambling about the garden, and -talking over their felicity. - -The prioress's expectation was answered relative to a servant. In the -course of two days she produced one in every respect agreeable to -Amanda, and things were now in such forwardness for her departure, that -she expected it would take place as soon as Lord Mortimer had mentioned. -His time was passed almost continually at St. Catherine's, never leaving -it except at dinner-time, when he went to Castle Carberry. His residence -there was soon known, and visitors and invitations without number came -to the castle, but he found means of avoiding them. - -Amanda, laughing, would often tell him he retarded the preparations for -her journey by being always with her; this, he said, was only a pretext -to drive him away, for that he rather forwarded them by letting her lose -no time. - -Lord Mortimer, on coming to Amanda one evening as usual, appeared -uncommonly discomposed, his face was flushed, and his whole manner -betrayed agitation. He scarcely noticed Amanda; but seating himself, -placed his arm upon a table, and leaned his head dejectedly upon it. -Amanda was inexpressibly shocked--her heart panted with apprehension of -ill; but she felt too timid to make any inquiry. He suddenly knit his -brows, and muttered between his teeth, "Curse on the wretch!" - -Amanda could no longer keep silence. "What wretch," she exclaimed, "or -what is the meaning of this disorder?" "First tell me, Amanda," said he, -looking very steadfastly at her, "have you seen any stranger here -lately?" "Good Heaven!" replied she, "what can you mean by such a -question? But I solemnly assure you I have not." "Enough," said he, -"such an assurance restores me to quiet; but, my dear Amanda," coming -over to her, and taking her hands in his, "since you have perceived my -agitation, I must account to you for it. I have just seen Belgrave; he -was but a few yards from me on the Common when I saw him; but the mean -despicable wretch, loaded as he is with conscious guilt, durst not face -me. He got out of my way by leaping over the hedge which divides the -Common from a lane with many intricate windings. I endeavored, but -without success, to discover the one he had retreated through." "I see," -said Amanda, pale and trembling, "he is destined to make me wretched. I -had hoped indeed that Lord Mortimer would no more have suffered his -quiet to be interrupted by him; it implies such a doubt," said she, -weeping, "as shocks my soul! If suspicion is thus continually to be -revived, we had better separate at once, for misery must be the -consequence of a union without mutual confidence." "Gracious Heaven!" -said Lord Mortimer, "how unfortunate I am to give you pain. You mistake -entirely, indeed, my dearest Amanda, the cause of my uneasiness. I swear -by all that is sacred, no doubt, no suspicion of your worth, has arisen -in my mind. No man can think more highly of a woman than I do of you; -but I was disturbed lest the wretch should have forced himself into your -presence, and lest you, through apprehension for me, concealed it from -me." - -This explanation calmed the perturbation of Amanda. As an atonement for -the uneasiness he had given her, she wanted Lord Mortimer to promise he -would not endeavor to discover Belgrave. This promise he avoided giving, -and Amanda was afraid of pressing it, lest the spark of jealousy, which -she was convinced existed in the disposition of Lord Mortimer, should be -blown into a flame. That Belgrave would studiously avoid him she -trusted, and she resolved that if the things that she had deemed it -necessary to order from the neighboring town were not finished, to wait -no longer for them, as she longed now more than ever to quit a place she -thought dangerous to Lord Mortimer. The ensuing morning, instead of -seeing his lordship at breakfast, a note was brought to her couched in -these words: - - TO MISS FITZALAN. - - I am unavoidably prevented from waiting on my dear Amanda this - morning, but in the course of the day she may depend on either - seeing or hearing from me again. She can have no excuse now on - my account about not hastening the preparations for her journey, - and when we meet, if I find that her time has not been employed - for this purpose, she may expect a severe chiding from her - faithful - - MORTIMER. - -This note filled Amanda with the most alarming disquiet. It was evident -to her that he was gone in pursuit of Belgrave. She ran into the hall to -inquire of the messenger about his master, but he was gone. She then -hastened to the prioress and communicated her apprehensions to her. - -The prioress endeavored to calm them, by assuring her she might be -convinced that Belgrave had taken too many precautions to be discovered. - -Amanda's breakfast, however, remained untouched, and her things -unpacked, and she continued the whole morning the picture of anxiety, -impatiently expecting the promised visit or letter. Neither came, and -she resolved to send, after dinner, the old gardener to Castle Carberry -to inquire about Lord Mortimer. While she was speaking to him for that -purpose, the maid followed her into the garden, and told her there was a -messenger in the parlor from Lord Mortimer. She flew thither, but what -words can express her surprise when the supposed messenger, raising a -large hat, which shadowed his face, and removing a handkerchief, which -he had hitherto held up to it, discovered to her view the features of -Lord Cherbury? She could only exclaim, "Gracious Heaven! has anything -happened to Lord Mortimer?" ere she sunk into a chair in breathless -agitation. - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - - "My heavy heart - The prophetess of woe, foretells some ill - At hand." - - -Lord Cherbury hastened to support and calm her agitation, by assuring -her Lord Mortimer was in perfect safety. Recovering a little by this -assertion, she asked him "how he was assured of this?" He answered, -"because he had seen him, though without being perceived by him, about -an hour ago." Amanda, restored to her faculties by being assured he was -uninjured, began to reflect on the suddenness of Lord Cherbury's visit. -She would have flattered herself he came to introduce her to his family -himself, had not his looks almost forbid such an idea. They were gloomy -and disordered; his eyes were fastened on her, yet he appeared unwilling -to speak. - -Amanda felt herself in too awkward and embarrassing a situation to break -the unpleasant silence. At last Lord Cherbury suddenly exclaimed, "Lord -Mortimer does not, nor must not, know of my being here." "Must not!" -repeated Amanda, in inconceivable astonishment. - -"Gracious Heaven!" said Lord Cherbury, starting from the chair on which -he had thrown himself opposite her, "how shall I begin, how shall I tell -her! Oh! Miss Fitzalan," he continued, approaching her, "I have much to -say, and you have much to hear which will shock you. I believed I could -better in an interview have informed you of particulars, but I find I -was mistaken. I will write to you." "My lord," cried Amanda, rising, all -pale and trembling, "tell me now; to leave me in suspense, after -receiving such dreadful hints, would be cruelty. Oh! surely, if Lord -Mortimer be safe--if Lady Martha Dormer--if Lady Araminta is well--I can -have nothing so very shocking to hear." "Alas!" replied he, mournfully -shaking his head, "you are mistaken. Be satisfied, however, that the -friends you have mentioned are all well. I have said I would write to -you. Can you meet me this evening amongst the ruins?" Amanda gave an -assenting bow. "I shall then," pursued he, "have a letter ready to -deliver you. In the mean time, I must inform you no person in the world -knows of my visit here but yourself, and of all beings Lord Mortimer is -the last I should wish to know it. Remember, then, Miss Fitzalan," -taking her hand, which he grasped with violence, as if to impress his -words upon her heart, "remember that upon your secrecy everything most -estimable in life, even life itself, perhaps, depends." - -With these dreadful and mysterious words he departed, leaving Amanda a -picture of horror and surprise. It was many minutes ere she moved from -the attitude in which he left her, and when she did, it was only to walk -in a disordered manner about the room, repeating his dreadful words. He -was come, perhaps, to part her and Lord Mortimer, and yet, after -consenting to their union, surely Lord Cherbury could not be guilty of -such treachery and deceit. Yet, if this was not the case, why conceal -his coming to Ireland from Lord Mortimer? Why let it be known only to -her? And what could be the secrets of dreadful import he had to -communicate? - -From these self-interrogations, in which her reason was almost -bewildered, the entrance of the prioress drew her. - -She started at seeing the pale and distracted looks of Amanda, and -asked, "if she had heard any bad tidings of Lord Mortimer?" - -Amanda sighed heavily at this question, and said, "No." The secrecy she -had been enjoined to she durst not violate, by mentioning the mysterious -visit to her friend. Unable, however, to converse on any other subject, -she resolved to retire to her chamber. She placed her illness and -agitation to the account of Lord Mortimer, and said a little rest was -absolutely necessary for her, and begged, if his lordship came in the -course of the evening, he might be told she was too ill to see him. - -The prioress pressed her to stay for tea. She refused, and, as she -retired from the room, desired nothing might be said of the person who -had just seen her to Lord Mortimer, saying, with a faint smile, "she -would not make him vain by letting him know of her anxiety about him." -She retired to her chamber, and endeavored to control her perturbations, -that she might be the better enabled to support what she had so much -reason to apprehend. Neither the prioress nor the nuns, in obedience to -her injunctions, intruded upon her, and at the appointed hour she softly -opened the chamber door, and, every place being clear, stole softly from -the convent. - -She found Lord Cherbury waiting for her amidst the solitary ruins. He -had a letter in his hand, which he presented to her the moment she -appeared. - -"In this letter, Miss Fitzalan," said he, "I have opened to you my whole -heart. I have disburdened it of secrets which have long oppressed it. I -have intrusted my honor to your care. From what I have said, that its -contents are of a sacred nature, you may believe, should they be -considered in any other light by you, the consequence may, nay, must be -fatal." He said this with a sternness that made Amanda shrink. "Meditate -well on the contents of that letter, Miss Fitzalan," continued he, with -a voice of deep solemnity, "for it is a letter which will fix your -destiny and mine. Even should the request contained in it be refused, -let me be the first acquainted with the refusal. Then indeed I shall -urge you no more to secrecy, for what will follow, in consequence of -such a refusal, must divulge all." "Oh! tell me, tell me," said Amanda, -catching hold of his arm, "tell me what is the request or what it is I -am to fear. Oh! tell me all at once, and rid me of the torturing -suspense I endure." "I cannot," he cried, "indeed, I cannot. To-morrow -night I shall expect your answer here at the same hour." - -At this moment Lord Mortimer's voice calling upon Amanda was heard. Lord -Cherbury dropped her hand, which he had taken, and instantly retired -amongst the windings of the pile, from whence Lord Mortimer soon -appeared, giving Amanda only time to hide the fatal letter. - -"Good Heavens!" exclaimed he, "what could have brought you hither, and -who was the person who just departed from you?" It was well for Amanda -that the twilight gave but an imperfect view of her face. She felt her -color come and go; a cold dew overspread her forehead; she leaned -against a rude fragment of the building, and faintly exclaimed, "the -person----" "Yes," said Lord Mortimer, "I am sure I heard retreating -footsteps." "You are mistaken," repeated Amanda, in the same faint -accent. "Well," said he, "though you may dispute the evidence of my -ears, you cannot the evidence of my eyes. I see you here, and I am -astonished at it." "I came here for air," said Amanda. "For air!" -repeated Lord Mortimer; "I own I should have thought the garden better -adapted for such a purpose; but why come hither in a clandestine manner? -Why, if you have the fears you would persuade me you have, expose -yourself to danger from the wretch who haunts the place, by coming here -alone. When I went to the convent I was told you were indisposed, and -could not be disturbed. I could not depart, however, without making an -effort to see you; but you can easier imagine than I describe the -consternation I felt when you could not be found. It was wrong, indeed, -Amanda, it was wrong to come here alone, and affect concealment." -"Gracious Heaven!" said Amanda, raising her hands and eyes, and bursting -into tears, "how wretched am I!" - -She was indeed at this moment superlatively wretched. Her heart was -oppressed by the dread of evil, and she perceived suspicions in Lord -Mortimer which she could not attempt to remove, lest an intimation of -the secret she was so awfully enjoined to keep should escape. - -"Ah! Amanda," said Lord Mortimer, losing in a moment the asperity with -which he had addressed her at first, "ah! Amanda, like the rest of your -sex, you know too well the power of your tears not to use them. Forget, -or at least forgive, all I have said. I was disappointed in not seeing -you the moment I expected, and that put me out of temper. I know I am -too impetuous, but you will in time subdue every unruly passion. I put -myself into your hands, and you shall make me what you please." - -He now pressed her to his bosom, and finding her tremble universally, -again implored her forgiveness, as he imputed the agitation she betrayed -entirely to the uneasiness he had given her. She assured him, with a -faltering voice, he had not offended her. Her spirits were affected, she -said, by all she had suffered during the day. Lord Mortimer placing, as -she wished, those sufferings to his own account, declared her anxiety at -once pained and pleased him; adding, he would truly confess what -detained him from her during the day as soon as they returned to the -convent. - -Their return to it relieved the sisterhood, who had also been seeking -Amanda, from many apprehensions. The prioress and Sister Mary followed -them into the parlor, where Lord Mortimer begged "they would have -compassion on him, and give him something for his supper, as he had -scarcely eaten anything the whole day." Sister Mary instantly replied, -"he should be gratified, as Amanda was in the same predicament, and she -hoped he would be now able to prevail on her to eat." The cloth was -accordingly laid, and a few trifles placed upon it. Sister Mary would -gladly have stayed, but the prioress had understanding enough to think -the supper would be more palatable if they were absent, and accordingly -retired. - -Lord Mortimer now, with the most soothing tenderness, tried to cheer his -fair companion, and make her take some refreshment; but his efforts for -either of those purposes were unsuccessful, and she besought him not to -think her obstinate, if she could not in a moment recover her spirits. -To divert his attention a little from himself, she asked him to perform -his promise, by relating what had kept him the whole day from St. -Catherine's. - -He now acknowledged "he had been in search of Belgrave; but the -precautions he had taken to conceal himself baffled all inquiries, which -convinces me," continued Lord Mortimer, "if I wanted conviction about -such a matter, that he has not yet dropped his villanous designs upon -you; but the wretch cannot always escape the vengeance he merits." "May -he never," cried Amanda, fervently yet involuntarily, "meet it from your -hands." "We will drop that part of the subject," said Lord Mortimer, "if -you please. You must know," continued he, "after scouring the whole -neighborhood, I fell in, about four miles hence, with a gentleman who -had visited at the Marquis of Roslin's last summer. He immediately asked -me to accompany him home to dinner. From his residence in the country I -thought it probable he might be able to give some account of Belgrave, -and therefore accepted the invitation; but my inquiries were as -fruitless here as elsewhere. When I found it so, I was on thorns to -depart, particularly as all the gentlemen were set in for drinking, and -feared I might be thrown into an improper situation to visit my Amanda. -I was on the watch, however, and, to use their sporting term, literally -stole away." "Thank Heaven!" said Amanda, "your inquiries proved -fruitless. Oh! never, never repeat them. Think no more about a wretch so -despicable." "Well," cried Lord Mortimer, "why don't you hurry me from -the neighborhood? Fix the day, the moment for our departure. I have been -here already five days. Lady Martha's patience is, I dare say, quite -exhausted by this time, and should we delay much longer, I suppose, she -will think we have both become converts to the holy rites of this -convent, and that I, instead of taking the vows which should make me a -joyful bridegroom, am about taking those which shall doom me to -celibacy. Seriously, what but want of inclination can longer detain -you?" "Ah!" said Amanda, "you know too well that my departure cannot be -retarded by want of inclination." "Then why not decide immediately upon -the day?" Amanda was silent; her situation was agonizing; how could she -fix upon a day, uncertain whether she did not possess a letter which -would prevent her ever taking the projected journey! - -"Well," said Lord Mortimer, after allowing her some time to speak, "I -see I must fix the day myself; this is Tuesday--let it be Thursday." -"Let us drop the subject this night, my lord," said Amanda; "I am really -ill, and only wait for your departure to retire to rest." Lord Mortimer -obeyed her, but with reluctance, and soon after retired. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - - "As one condemned to leap a precipice, - Who sees before his eyes the depths below, - Stops short, and looks about for some kind shrub - To break his dreadful fall."--DRYDEN. - - -Amanda went to her chamber the moment Lord Mortimer departed: the nuns -were already retired to rest, so that the stillness which reigned -through the house added to the awfulness of her feelings, as she sat -down to peruse a letter which she had been previously informed would fix -her fate. - - TO MISS FITZALAN. - - To destroy a prospect of felicity, at the very moment its - enveloping glooms are dispersed, is indeed the source of pangs - most dreadful; yet such are the horrors of my destiny, that - nothing but intervening between you, Mortimer and happiness, can - save me from perdition. Appalled at this dreadful assertion, the - letter drops from your trembling hands; but oh! dear Miss - Fitzalan, cast it not utterly aside till you peruse the rest of - the contents, and fix the destiny of the most wretched of - mankind, wretched in thinking he shall interrupt not only your - peace, but the peace of a son so noble, so gracious, so idolized - as Mortimer is by him; but I will not longer torture your - feelings by keeping you in suspense; the preface I have already - given is sufficient, and I will be explicit: gambling, that - bane of fame and fortune, has been my ruin; but whilst I - indulged, so well did I conceal my propensity for it, that even - those I called my friends were ignorant of it. With shame I - confess I was ever foremost to rail against this vice, which was - continually drawing sums in secret from me, that would have - given comfort and affluence to many a child in want. For some - time my good and bad fortune were so equal, that my income - suffered no considerable diminution. About five years ago a Mr. - Freelove, a particular friend of mine, died, and left to my care - his only son, whom, I dare say, you may recollect having seen at - my house last winter. This young man's property was consigned to - my care, to manage as much for his advantage as I could; it - consisted of a large estate and fifty thousand pounds. At the - period Freelove became my ward, I had had a constant run of - ill-luck for many months. The ardor of gaming (unlike every - other passion) is rather increased than diminished by - disappointment. Without being warned, therefore, by ill-success, - I still went on, till all I could touch of my own property was - gone. Did I then retire, ashamed of my folly? No. I could not - bear to do so, without another effort to recover my losses, and - in that effort risked something more precious than I had ever - yet done--namely, my honor, by using the money which lay in my - hands belonging to Freelove; the long period which was to elapse - ere he came of age, emboldened me to this. Ere that period I - trusted I should have retrieved my losses, and be enabled not - only to discharge the principal, but whatever interest it would - have brought, if applied to another purpose. I followed the bent - of my evil genius, sum after sum taken up, and all alike buried - in the accursed vortex which had already swallowed so much from - me! But when I found all was gone, oh, Miss Fitzalan! I still - tremble at the distraction of that moment. - - All, as I have said before, that I could touch of my property - was gone; the remainder was so settled I had no power over it, - except joined by my son. Great as was the injury that he would - sustain by mortgaging it, I was confident he never would - hesitate doing so if acquainted with my distress; but to let him - know it was worse than a death of torture could be to me; his - early excellence, the nobleness of his principles, mingled in - the love I felt for him a degree of awe; to confess myself a - villain to such a character, to acknowledge my life had been a - scene of deceit; to be abashed, confounded in the presence of my - son--to meet his piercing eye--to see the blush of shame mantle - his cheeks for his father's crimes--Oh, horrible!--most - horrible! I raved at the idea, and resolved, if driven by - necessity to tell him of my baseness, not to survive the - confession. At this critical juncture the Marquis of Roslin came - from Scotland to reside in London. An intimacy which had been - dormant for years between our families was then revived, and I - soon found that an alliance between them would be pleasing. The - prospect of it raised me from the very depth of despair. But my - transports were of short continuance, for Mortimer not only - showed but expressed the strongest repugnance to such a - connection. Time and daily experience, I trusted, would so - forcibly convince him of the advantages of it, as at last to - conquer this repugnance. Nor did the hope of an alliance taking - place entirely forsake my heart, till informed that his was - already bestowed upon another object. My feelings at this - information I shall not attempt to describe. All hope of saving - myself from dishonor was now cut off; for though dutiful and - attentive to me in the highest degree, I could not flatter - myself that Mortimer would blindly sacrifice his reason and - inclination to my will. The most fatal intentions again took - possession of my mind; but the uncertainties he suffered on your - account kept me in horrible suspense as to their execution. - After some months of torture, I began again to revive, by - learning that you and Mortimer were inevitably separated. And - such is the selfish nature of vice; so abandoned is it to all - feelings of humanity, that I rather rejoiced at, than lamented - the supposed disgrace of the daughter of my friend. But the - persevering constancy of Mortimer--rather let me say the - immediate interposition of Providence--soon gave her reason to - triumph over the arts of her enemies, and I was again reduced to - despair. Mortimer, I dare say, from motives of delicacy, has - concealed from you the opposition I gave to his wishes after - your innocence was cleared, and the intentions of Lady Martha - Dormer relative to you were made known. At last I found I must - either seem to acquiesce in these wishes and intentions, or - divulge my real motive for opposing them; or else quarrel with - my son and sister, and appear in their eyes the most selfish of - human beings. I, therefore, to appearance acquiesced, but - resolved in reality to throw myself upon your mercy, believing - that a character so tender, so perfect, so heroic-like as yours - has been, through every scene of distress, would have compassion - on a fallen fellow-creature. Was my situation otherwise than it - now is--were you even portionless--I should rejoice at having - you united to my family, from your own intrinsic merit. Situated - as I now am, the fortune Lady Martha Dormer proposes giving you - can be of no consequence to me. The projected match between you - and Mortimer is yet a secret from the public--of course it has - not lessened his interest with the Roslin family. I have already - been so fortunate as to adjust the unlucky difference which took - place between them, and remove any resentment they entertained - against him; and I am confident the first overture he should - make for a union with Lady Euphrasia would be successful. The - fortune which would immediately be received with her is sixty - thousand pounds, and five thousand a-year. The first would be - given up to me in place of the settlement I should make on Lord - Mortimer; so that you see, my dear Miss Fitzalan, his marriage - with Lady Euphrasia would at once extricate me from all my - difficulties. Freelove in a few months will be of age, and the - smallest delay in settling with him, after he attains that - period, must brand me with dishonor. I stand upon the verge of a - dreadful abyss, and it is in your power only to preserve me from - plunging into it--you who, like an angel of mercy, may bid me - live, and save me from destruction. Yet think not in resigning - Lord Mortimer, if, indeed, such a resignation should take place, - you sacrifice your own interest. No; it shall be my grateful - care to secure to you independence; and I am confident, among - the many men you must meet, sensible of your worth, and - enraptured with your charms, you may yet select one as - calculated to render you happy as Mortimer; while he, - disappointed of the object of his affections, will, I have no - doubt, without longer hesitation, accept the one I shall again - propose to him. But should you determine on giving him up, you - ask how, and by what means, you can break with him after what - has passed, without revealing your real motive for doing so to - him. That is indeed a difficulty; but after going so far, I must - not hesitate in telling you how it can be removed. You must - retire secretly from his knowledge, and leave no clue behind by - which you can be traced. If you comply with the first of my - requests, but stop short here, you will defeat all that your - mercy, your pity, your compassion, would do to save me, since - the consequence of any hesitation must be a full explanation, - and I have already said it, and now repeat it in the most solemn - manner, that I will not survive the divulgement of my - secret--for never, no, never will I live humbled in the eyes of - my son. If, then, you comply, comply not in part. Pardon me, - dear Miss Fitzalan, if you think there is anything arbitrary in - my style. I would have softened, if I could, all I had to say, - but the time, the danger, the necessity, urged me to be - explicit. I have now to you, as to a superior Being, opened my - whole heart. It rests with you whether I shall live to atone - for my follies, or by one desperate action terminate them. - Should you show me mercy, unworthy as I am of it--should you in - compassion to poor Mortimer, comply with a request which can - only save him from the pangs he would feel at a father's - quitting life unbidden, my gratitude, my admiration, my - protection whilst I live, will be yours, and the first act of my - restored life will be to secure you a competence. I shall wait - with trembling anxiety for your appearance tomorrow night. Till - then, believe me - - Your sincere, though most unhappy friend, - - CHERBURY. - -The fatal letter fell from Amanda. A mist overspread her eyes, and she -sunk senseless on her chair; but the privation of her misery was of -short duration, and she recovered as if from a dreadful dream. She felt -cold, trembling, and terrified. She looked round the room with an eye of -apprehension and dismay, bewildered as to the cause of her wretchedness -and terror, till the letter at her feet again struck her sight. - -"Was there no way," she asked herself, as she again examined the -contents, "was there no way by which the dreadful sacrifice it doomed -her to could be avoided?" Lady Martha and Lord Mortimer would unite -their efforts to save the honor of their wretched relative; they would -soothe his feelings; they would compassionate his failings; they -would----; but she started in the midst of these ideas--started as from -ideas fraught with guilt and horror, as those fatal words rushed upon -her mind--"I will not survive the divulgement of my secret;" and she -found that to save the father she must resign the son. How unworthy of -such a sacrifice! engaged as she was to Lord Mortimer, she began to -doubt whether she had a right to make it. What a doubt! She shuddered -for having conceived it, and reproached herself for yielding a moment to -the suggestions of tenderness which had given rise to it. She resolved -without a farther struggle to submit to reason and to virtue, convinced -that, if accessory to Lord Cherbury's death, nothing could assuage her -wretchedness, and that the unhappiness Lord Mortimer would suffer at -losing her would be trifling compared to that he would feel if he lost -his father by an act of suicide. - -"In my fate," exclaimed she, in the low and broken accent of despair, -"there is no alternative. I submit to it without a farther struggle; I -dare not call upon one being to advise me. I resign him, therefore," she -continued, as if Lord Cherbury was really present to hear her -resignation; "I resign Lord Mortimer, but, oh, my God!" raising her -hands with agony to heaven, "give me fortitude to bear the horrors of my -situation! Oh, Mortimer! dear, invaluable Mortimer! the hand of fate is -against our union, and we must part, never, never more to meet! From -the imputation of ingratitude and guilt I shall not be allowed to -vindicate myself. No, I am completely the victim of Lord Cherbury--the -cruel, perfidious Cherbury, whose treachery, whose seeming acquiescence -in the wishes of his son, has given me joy but to render my misery more -acute!" - -That Lord Mortimer would impute withdrawing herself from him to an -attachment for Belgrave she was convinced, and that her fame as well as -peace should be sacrificed to Lord Cherbury, caused such a whirl of -contending passions in her mind, that reason and reflection for a few -minutes yielded to their violence, and she resolved to vindicate herself -to Lord Mortimer. This resolution, however, was of short continuance. As -her subsiding passions again gave her power to reflect, she was -convinced that by trying to clear herself of an imaginary crime, she -should commit a real one--since to save her own character Lord -Cherbury's must be stigmatized; and the consequence of such an act he -had already declared--so that not only by the world, but by her own -conscience, she should forever be accused of accelerating his death. - -"It must, it must be made!" she wildly cried; "the sacrifice must be -made, and Mortimer is lost to me forever." She flung herself on the bed, -and passed the hours till morning in agonies too great for description. -From a kind of stupefaction rather than sleep, into which she had -gradually sunk towards morning, she was roused by a gentle tap at her -chamber door, and the voice of Sister Mary informing her that Lord -Mortimer was below, and impatient for his breakfast. - -Amanda started from the bed, and bid her tell his lordship she would -attend him immediately. She then adjusted her dress, tried to calm her -spirits, and, with uplifted hands and eyes, besought Heaven to support -her through the trials of the day. - -Weak and trembling she descended to the parlor. The moment she entered -it, Lord Mortimer, shocked and surprised by her altered looks, -exclaimed, "Gracious Heaven! what is the matter?" Then feeling the -feverish heat of her hands, continued, "Why, why, Amanda, had you the -cruelty to conceal your illness? Proper assistance might have prevented -its increasing to such a degree." With unutterable tenderness he folded -his arms about her, and, while her drooping head sunk on his bosom, -declared he would immediately send for the physician who had before -attended her. - -"Do not," said Amanda, while tears trickled down her cheeks, "do not," -continued she, in a broken voice, "for he could do me no good." "No -good!" repeated Lord Mortimer, in a terrified accent. "I mean," cried -she, "he would find it unnecessary to prescribe anything for me, as my -illness only proceeds from the agitation I suffered yesterday. It made -me pass an indifferent night, but quietness to-day will recover me." - -Lord Mortimer was with difficulty persuaded to give up his intention; -nor would he relinquish it till she had promised, if not better before -the evening, to inform him, and let the physician be sent for. - -They now sat down to breakfast, at which Amanda was unable either to -preside or eat. When over, she told Lord Mortimer she must retire to her -chamber, as rest was essential for her; but between nine and ten in the -evening she would be happy to see him. He tried to persuade her that she -might rest as well upon the sofa in the parlor as in her chamber, and -that he might then be allowed to sit with her; but she could not be -persuaded to this, she said, and begged he would excuse seeing her till -the time she had already mentioned. - -He at last retired with great reluctance, but not till she had several -times desired him to do so. - -Amanda now repaired to her chamber, but not to indulge in the supineness -of grief, though her heart felt bursting, but to settle upon some plan -for her future conduct. In the first place, she immediately meant to -write to Lord Cherbury, as the best method she could take of acquainting -him with her compliance, and preventing any conversation between them, -which would now have been insupportable to her. - -In the next place, she designed acquainting the prioress with the sudden -alteration in her affairs, only concealing the occasion of that -alteration, and, as but one day intervened between the present and the -one fixed for her journey, meant to beseech her to think of some place -to which she might retire from Lord Mortimer. - -Yet such was the opinion she knew the prioress entertained of Lord -Mortimer, that she almost dreaded she would impute her resignation of -him to some criminal motive, and abandon her entirely. If this should be -the case (and scarcely could she be surprised if it was), she resolved -without delay to go privately to the neighboring town, and from thence -proceed immediately to Dublin. How she should act there, or what would -become of her, never entered her thoughts; they were wholly engrossed -about the manner in which she should leave St. Catherine's. - -But she hoped, much as appearances were against her, she should not be -deserted by the prioress. Providence, she trusted, would be so -compassionate to her misery, as to preserve her this one friend, who -could not only assist but advise her. - -As soon as she had settled the line of conduct she should pursue, she -sat down to pen her renunciation of Lord Mortimer, which she did in the -following words:-- - - TO THE EARL OF CHERBURY. - - MY LORD,--To your wishes I resign my happiness; my happiness, I - repeat, for it is due to Lord Mortimer to declare that a union - with such a character as his must have produced the highest - felicity. It is also due to my own to declare, that it was - neither his rank nor his fortune, but his virtues, which - influenced my inclination in his favor. - - Happy had it been for us all, my lord, but particularly for me, - had you continued steady in opposing the wishes of your son. My - reverence for paternal authority is too great ever to have - allowed me to act in opposition to it. I should not then, by - your seeming acquiescence to them, have been tempted to think my - trials all over. - - But I will not do away any little merit your lordship may - perhaps ascribe to my immediate compliance with your request, by - dwelling upon the sufferings it entails on me. May the - renunciation of my hopes be the means of realizing your - lordship's, and may superior fortune bring superior happiness to - Lord Mortimer! - - I thank your lordship for your intentions relative to me; but - whilst I do so, must assure you, both now and forever, I shall - decline having them executed for me. - - I shall not disguise the truth. It would not be in your - lordship's power to recompense the sacrifice I have made you; - and, besides, pecuniary obligations can never sit easy upon a - feeling mind, except they are conferred by those we know value - us, and whom we value ourselves. I have the honor to be, your - lordship's obedient servant, - - AMANDA FITZALAN. - -The tears she had with difficulty restrained while writing, now burst -forth. She rose and walked to the window, to try if the air would remove -the faintness which oppressed her. From it she perceived Lord Mortimer -and the prioress in deep conversation, at a little distance from the -convent. She conjectured she was their subject; for, as Lord Mortimer -retired, the prioress, whom she had not seen that day before, came into -her chamber. After the usual salutations--"Lord Mortimer has been -telling me you were ill," said she. "I trusted a lover's fears had -magnified the danger; but truly, my dear child, I am sorry to say that -this is not the case. Tell me, my dear, what is the matter? Surely now, -more than ever, you should be careful of your health." "Oh, no!" said -Amanda, with a convulsive sob. "Oh, no" wringing her hands, "you are -sadly mistaken." The prioress grew alarmed, her limbs began to tremble, -she was unable to stand, and, dropping on the nearest chair, besought -Amanda, in a voice expressive of her feelings, "to explain the reason of -her distress." - -Amanda knelt before her, she took her hands, she pressed them to her -burning forehead and lips, and bedewed them with her tears, while she -exclaimed, "she was wretched." "Wretched!" repeated the prioress. "For -Heaven's sake be explicit--keep me no longer in suspense--you sicken my -very heart by your agitation--it foretells something dreadful!" - -"It does indeed," said Amanda. "It foretells that Lord Mortimer and I -shall never be united!" - -The prioress started, and surveyed Amanda with A look which seemed to -say, "she believed she had lost her senses;" then, with assumed -composure, begged "she would defer any farther explanation of her -distress till her spirits were in a calmer state." "I will not rise," -cried Amanda, taking the prioress's hand, which, in her surprise, she -had involuntarily withdrawn. "I will not rise till you say that, -notwithstanding the mysterious situation in which I am involved, you -will continue to be my friend. Oh! such an assurance would assuage the -sorrows of my heart." - -The prioress now perceived that it was grief alone which disordered -Amanda; but how she had met with any cause for grief, or what could -occasion it, were matters of astonishment to her. "Surely my dear -child," cried she, "should know me too well to desire such an assurance; -but, however mysterious her situation may appear to others, she will -not, I trust and believe, let it appear so to me. I wait with impatience -for an explanation." "It is one of my greatest sorrows," exclaimed -Amanda, "that I cannot give such an explanation. No, no," she continued -in an agony, "a death-bed confession would not authorize my telling you -the occasion of Lord Mortimer's separation and mine." The prioress now -insisted on her taking a chair, and then begged, as far as she could, -without farther delay, she would let her into her situation. - -Amanda immediately complied. "An unexpected obstacle to her union with -Lord Mortimer," she said, "had arisen, an obstacle which, while -compelled to submit to it, she was bound most solemnly to conceal." It -was expedient, therefore, she should retire from Lord Mortimer, without -giving him the smallest intimation of such an intention, lest, if he -suspected it, he should inquire too minutely, and by so doing, plunge -not only her but himself into irremediable distress. To avoid this, it -was necessary all but the prioress should be ignorant of her scheme: and -by her means she hoped she should be put in away of finding such a -place of secrecy and security as she should require. She besought the -prioress, with streaming eyes, not to impute her resignation of Lord -Mortimer to any unworthy motive; to that Heaven, which could alone -console her for his loss, she appealed for her innocence. She besought -her to believe her sincere; to pity, but not condemn her; to continue -her friend now, when her friendship was most needful in this her deep -distress, and she assured her, if it was withdrawn, she believed she -could no longer struggle with her sorrows. - -The prioress remained silent for a few minutes, and then addressed her -in a solemn voice. "I own, Miss Fitzalan, your conduct appears so -inexplicable, so astonishing, that nothing but the opinion I have formed -of your character, from seeing the manner in which you have acted since -left to yourself, could prevent my esteem from being diminished; but I -am persuaded you cannot act from a bad motive, therefore, till that -persuasion ceases, my esteem can know no diminution. From this -declaration you maybe convinced that, to the utmost of my power, I will -serve you; yet, ere you finally determine and require such service, -weigh well what you are about; consider in the eyes of the world you are -about acting a dishonorable part, in breaking your engagement with Lord -Mortimer without assigning some reason for doing so. Nothing short of a -point of conscience should influence you to this." "Nothing short of it -has," replied Amanda; "therefore pity, and do not aggravate my feelings, -by pointing out the consequences which will attend the sacrifice I am -compelled to make; only promise (taking the prioress's hand),--only -promise, in this great and sad emergency, to be my friend." - -Her looks, her words, her agonies, stopped short all the prioress was -going to say. She thought it would be barbarity any longer to dwell upon -the ill consequences of an action, which she was now convinced some -fatal necessity compelled her to; she therefore gave her all the -consolation now in her power, by assuring her she would immediately -think about some place for her to retire to, and would keep all that had -passed between them a profound secret. She then insisted on Amanda's -lying down, and trying to compose herself; she brought her drops to -take, and drawing the curtains about her, retired from the room. In two -hours she returned. Though she entered the chamber softly, Amanda -immediately drew back the curtain, and appeared much more composed than -when the prioress had left her. The good woman would not let her rise, -but sat down on the bed to tell her what she had contrived for her. - -"She had a relation in Scotland," she said, "who, from reduced -circumstances, had kept a school for many years. But as the infirmities -of age came on, she was not able to pay so much attention to her pupils -as their friends thought requisite, and she had only been able to retain -them by promising to get a person to assist her. As she thought her -cousin (the prioress) more in the way of procuring such a one than -herself, she had written to her for that purpose. A clever, well-behaved -young woman, who would be satisfied with a small salary, was what she -wanted. I should not mention such a place to you," said the prioress, -"but that the necessity there is for your immediately retiring from Lord -Mortimer leaves me no time to look out for another. But do not imagine I -wish you to continue there. No, indeed; I should think it a pity such -talents as you possess should be buried in such obscurity. What I think -is, that you can stay there till you grow more composed, and can look -out for a better establishment." "Do not mention my talents," said -Amanda; "my mind is so enervated by grief, that it will be long before I -can make any great exertion, and the place you have mentioned is, from -its obscurity, just such a one as I desire to go to." "There is, -besides, another inducement," said the prioress, "namely, its being but -a few miles from Port-Patrick, to which place a fair wind will bring you -in a few hours from this. I know the master of a little wherry, which is -perpetually going backwards and forwards. He lives in this neighborhood, -and both he and his wife consider themselves under obligations to me, -and will rejoice, I am sure, at an opportunity of obliging me. I shall -therefore send for him this evening, informing him of the time you wish -to go, and desire his care till he leaves you himself at Mrs. -Macpherson's." - -Amanda thanked the prioress, who proceeded to say, "that on the -presumption of her going to her cousin's, she had already written a -letter for her to take; but wished to know whether she would be -mentioned by her own or a fictitious name." - -Amanda replied, "By a fictitious one," and, after a little -consideration, fixed on that of Frances Donald, which the prioress -accordingly inserted, and then read the letter:-- - - TO MRS. MACPHERSON. - - DEAR COUSIN,--The bearer of this letter, Frances Donald, is the - young person I have procured you for an assistant in your - school. I have known her some time, and can vouch for her - cleverness and discretion. She is well born, and well educated, - and has seen better days: but the wheel of fortune is - continually turning, and she bears her misfortunes with a - patience that to me is the best proof she could give of a real - good disposition. I have told her you give but ten pounds - a-year. Her going proves she is not dissatisfied with the - salary. I am sorry to hear you are troubled with rheumatic - pains, and hope, when you have more time to take care of - yourself, you will grow better. And all the sisters join me in - thanking you for your kind inquiries after them. We do tolerably - well in the little school we keep, and trust our gratitude to - Heaven for its present goodness will obtain a continuance of it. - I beg to hear from you soon; and am, my dear cousin, your - sincere friend and affectionate kinswoman, - - ELIZABETH DERMOT. - - St. Catherine's. - -"I have not said as much as you deserve," said the prioress; "but if the -letter does not meet your approbation, I will make any alteration you -please in it." Amanda assured her it did, and the prioress then said, -"that Lord Mortimer had been again at the convent to inquire after her, -and was told she was better." Amanda said, "she would not see him till -the hour she had appointed for his coming to supper." The prioress -agreed, that as things were changed, she was right in being in his -company as little as possible, and, to prevent her being in his way, she -should have her dinner and tea in her own room. The cloth was -accordingly laid in it, nor would the good-natured prioress depart till -she saw Amanda eat something. Sister Mary, she said, was quite anxious -to come in, and perform the part of an attendant, but was prevented by -her. - -The distraction of Amanda's thoughts was now abated, from having -everything adjusted relative to her future conduct, and the company of -the prioress, who returned to her as soon as she had dined, prevented -her losing the little composure she had with such difficulty acquired. - -She besought the prioress not to delay writing after her departure, and -to relate faithfully everything which happened in consequence of her -flight. She entreated her not to let a mistaken compassion for her -feelings influence her to conceal anything, as anything like the -appearance of concealment in her letter would only torture her with -anxiety and suspense. - -The prioress solemnly promised she would obey her request, and Amanda, -with tears, regretted that she was now unable to recompense the kindness -of the prioress and the sisterhood, as she had lately intended doing by -Lord Mortimer's desire, as well as her own inclination. The prioress -begged her not to indulge any regret on that account, as they considered -themselves already liberally recompensed, and had, besides, quite -sufficient to satisfy their humble desires. - -Amanda said she meant to leave a letter on the dressing-table for Lord -Mortimer, with the notes which he had given her enclosed in it. "The -pictures and the ring," said she, with a falling tear, "I cannot part -with;" for the things which she had ordered from the neighboring town, -she told the prioress she would leave money in her hands, also a present -for the woman, who had been engaged to attend her to England, as some -small recompense for her disappointment. She meant only to take some -linen and her mourning to Scotland; the rest of her things, including -her music and books, at some future and better period might be sent -after her. - -Amanda was in debt to the sisterhood for three months' board and -lodging, which was ten guineas. Of the two hundred pounds which Lord -Mortimer had given her on leaving Castle Carberry, one hundred and -twenty pounds remained, so that though unable to answer the claims of -gratitude, she thanked Heaven she was able to fulfil those of justice. -This she told the prioress, who instantly declared, "that, in the name -of the whole sisterhood, she would take upon her to refuse anything from -her." Amanda did not contest the point, being secretly determined how to -act. The prioress drank tea with her. When over, Amanda said she would -lie down, in order to try and be composed against Lord Mortimer come. -The prioress accordingly withdrew, saying, "she should not be disturbed -till then." - -By this means Amanda was enabled to be in readiness for delivering her -letter to Lord Cherbury at the proper hour. Her heart beat with -apprehension as it approached. She dreaded Lord Mortimer again -surprising her amongst the ruins, or some of the nuns following her to -them. At last the clock gave the signal for keeping her appointment. She -arose, trembling, from the bed, and opened the door. She listened, and -no noise announced any one's being near. The moments were precious. She -glided through the gallery, and had the good fortune to find the -hall-door open. She hastened to the ruins, and found Lord Cherbury -already waiting there. She presented him the letter in silence. He -received it in the same manner; but when he saw her turning away to -depart, he snatched her hand, and, in a voice that denoted the most -violent agitation, exclaimed: "Tell me, tell me, Miss Fitzalan, is this -letter propitious?" "It is," replied she, in a faltering voice. "Then -may Heaven eternally bless you," cried he, falling at her feet, and -wrapping his arms about her. His posture shocked Amanda, and his -detention terrified her. - -"Let me go, my lord," said she. "In pity to me, in mercy to yourself, -let me go; for one moment longer and we may be discovered." - -Lord Cherbury started up--"From whom," cried he, "can I hear about -you?" "From the prioress of St. Catherine's," replied Amanda, in a -trembling voice; "she only will know the secret of my retreat." - -He again snatched her hand and kissed it with vehemence. "Farewell, thou -angel of a woman!" he exclaimed, and disappeared amongst the ruins. -Amanda hurried back, dreading every moment to meet Lord Mortimer; but -she neither met him nor any other person. She had scarcely gained her -chamber ere the prioress came to inform her his lordship was in the -parlor. She instantly repaired to it. The air had a little changed the -deadly hue of her complexion, so that from her looks he supposed her -better, and her words strengthened the supposition. She talked with him, -forced herself to eat some supper, and checked the tears from falling, -which sprang to her eyes, whenever he mentioned the happiness they must -experience when united, the pleasure they should enjoy at Thornbury, and -the delight Lady Martha and Lady Araminta would experience whenever they -met. - -Amanda desired him not to come to breakfast the next morning, nor to the -convent till after dinner, as she should be so busy preparing for her -journey she would have no time to devote to him. He wanted to convince -her he should not retard her preparations by coming, but she would not -allow this. - -Amanda passed another wretched night. She breakfasted in the morning -with the nuns, who expressed their regret at losing her--a regret, -however, mitigated by the hope of shortly seeing her again, as Lord -Mortimer had promised to bring her to Castle Carberry as soon as she had -visited his friends in England. This was a trying moment for Amanda. She -could scarcely conceal her emotions, or keep herself from weeping aloud, -at the mention of a promise never to be fulfilled. She swallowed her -breakfast in haste, and withdrew to her chamber on pretence of settling -her things. Here she was immediately followed by the nuns, entreating -they might severally be employed in assisting her. She thanked them with -her usual sweetness, but assured them no assistance was necessary, as -she had but few things to pack, never having unlocked the chests which -had come from Castle Carberry. They retired on receiving this assurance, -and Amanda, fearful of another interruption, instantly sat down to write -her farewell letter to Lord Mortimer. - - TO LORD MORTIMER. - - MY LORD,--A destiny, which neither of us can control, forbids - our union. In vain were obstacles encountered and apparently - overcome; one has arisen to oppose it which we never could have - thought of, and, yielding to it, as I am compelled by dire - necessity to do, I find myself separated from you, without the - remotest hope of our ever meeting again--without being allowed - to justify my conduct, or offer one excuse which might, in some - degree, palliate the abominable ingratitude and deceit I may - appear guilty of; appear, I say, for in reality my heart is a - stranger to either, and is now agonized at the sacrifice it is - compelled to make; but I will not hurt your lordship's feelings - by dwelling on my own sufferings. Already have I caused you too - much pain, but never again shall I cross your path to disturb - your peace, and shade your prospect of felicity; no, my lord, - removed to a tedious distance, the name I love no more will sink - upon my ear, the delusive form of happiness no more will mock - me. - - Had everything turned out according to my wishes, perhaps - happiness, so great, so unexpected, might have produced a - dangerous revolution in my sentiments, and withdrawn my thoughts - too much from heaven to earth: if so, oh! blessed be the power - that snatched from my lips the cup of joy, though at the very - moment I was tasting the delightful beverage. - - I cannot bid you pity me, though I know myself deserving of - compassion; I cannot bid you forbear condemning me, though I - know myself undeserving of censure. In this letter I enclose the - notes I received from your lordship; the picture and the ring I - have retained; they will soon be my only vestiges of former - happiness. Farewell, Lord Mortimer, dear and invaluable friend, - farewell forever. May that peace, that happiness you so truly - deserve to possess, be yours, and may they never again meet with - such interruptions as they have received from the unfortunate - - AMANDA M. FITZALAN. - -This letter was blistered with her tears; she laid it in a drawer till -evening, and then proceeded to pack whatever she meant to take with her -in a little trunk. In the midst of this business the prioress came in to -inform her she had seen the master of the wherry, and settled everything -with him. He not only promised to be secret, but to sail the following -morning at four o'clock, and conduct her himself to Mrs. Macpherson's. -About three he was to come to the convent for her; he had also promised -to provide everything necessary on board for her. - -Matters being thus arranged, Amanda told the prioress, to avoid -suspicion, she would leave the money she intended for the woman who had -been engaged to accompany her to England on her dressing-table, with a -few lines purporting who it was for. The prioress approved of her doing -so, as it would prevent any one from suspecting she was privy to her -departure. She was obliged to leave her directly, and Amanda took the -opportunity of putting up fifteen guineas in a paper--five for the -woman, and ten for the nuns. She wished to do more for them, but feared -to obey the dictates of generosity, while her own prospect of provision -was so uncertain. She wrote as follows to the prioress:-- - - TO MRS. DERMOT. - - DEAR MADAM,--Was my situation otherwise than it now is, be - assured I never should have offered the trifle you will find in - this paper as any way adequate to the discharge of my debt; to - you and your amiable companions, I regret my inability (more - than I express) of proving my gratitude to you and them for all - your kindness--never will they be obliterated from my - remembrance; and He who has promised to regard those that - befriend the orphan, will reward you for them. I have also left - five guineas for the woman you were so good as to engage to - attend me to England. I trust she will think them a sufficient - recompense for any trouble or disappointment I may have - occasioned her. - - Farewell, dear Mrs. Dermot, dear and amiable inhabitants of St. - Catherine's farewell. As Amanda will never forget you in hers, - so let her never be forgotten in your orisons, and never cease - to believe her. - - Grateful, sincere, and affectionate, - - A. M. FITZALAN. - -By this time she was summoned to dinner. Her spirits were sunk in the -lowest dejection at the idea of leaving the amiable women who had been -so kind to her, and above all at the idea of the last sad evening she -was to pass with Lord Mortimer. - -His lordship came early to the convent. The dejected looks of Amanda -immediately struck him, and renewed all his apprehensions about her -health. She answered his tender inquiries by saying she was fatigued. - -"Perhaps," said he, "you would like to rest one day, and not commence -your journey to-morrow!" - -"No, no," cried Amanda, "it shall not be deferred. To-morrow," continued -she, with a smile of anguish, "I will commence it." - -Lord Mortimer thanked her for a resolution, he imagined, dictated by an -ardent desire to please him; but at the same time again expressed his -fears that she was ill. - -Amanda perceived that if she did not exert herself her dejection would -lead him to inquiries she would find it difficult to evade; but as to -exert herself was impossible, in order to withdraw his attention in some -degree from herself, she proposed that, as this was the last evening -they would be at the convent, they should invite the nuns to drink tea -with them. Lord Mortimer immediately acquiesced in the proposal, and the -invitation being sent was accepted. - -But the conversation of the whole party was of a melancholy kind. Amanda -was so much beloved among them, that the prospect of losing her filled -them with a regret which even the idea of seeing her soon again could -not banish. About nine, which was their hour for prayers, they rose to -retire, and would have taken leave of Lord Mortimer, had he not informed -them, that on Miss Fitzalan's account, he would not commence the -journey next day till ten o'clock, at which time he would again have the -pleasure of seeing them. - -When they withdrew he endeavored to cheer Amanda, and besought her to -exert her spirits. Of his own accord, he said, he would leave her early, -that she might get as much rest as possible against the ensuing day. He -accordingly rose to depart. What an agonizing moment for Amanda; to -hear, to behold the man, so tenderly beloved, for the last time; to -think that ere that hour the next night she should be far, far away from -him, considered as a treacherous and ungrateful creature, despised, -perhaps execrated, as a source of perpetual disquiet and sorrow to him! -Her heart swelled at those ideas with feelings she thought would burst -it: and when he folded her to his bosom, and bid her be cheerful against -the next morning, she involuntarily returned the pressure, by straining -him to her heart in convulsive agitation, whilst a shower of tears burst -from her. Lord Mortimer, shocked and surprised at these tears and -emotions, reseated her, for her agitation was contagious, and he -trembled so much he could not support her; then throwing himself at her -feet, "My Amanda! my beloved girl!" cried he, "what is the matter? Is -any wish of your heart yet unfulfilled? If so, let no mistaken notion of -delicacy influence you to conceal it--on your happiness you know mine -depends; tell me, therefore, I entreat, I conjure you, tell me, is there -anything I can do to restore you to cheerfulness?" "Oh, no!" said -Amanda, "all that a mortal could do to serve me you have already done, -and my gratitude, the fervent sense I have of the obligations I lie -under to you, I cannot fully express. May Heaven," raising her streaming -eyes,--"may Heaven recompense your goodness by bestowing the choicest of -its blessings on you!" "That," said Lord Mortimer, half smiling, "it has -already done in giving you to me, for you are the choicest blessing it -could bestow; but tell me, what has dejected you in this manner! -something more than fatigue, I am sure." - -Amanda assured him "he was mistaken;" and, fearful of his further -inquiries, told him, "she only waited for his departure to retire to -rest, which she was convinced would do her good." - -Lord Mortimer instantly rose from his kneeling posture: "Farewell, then, -my dear Amanda," cried he, "farewell, and be well and cheerful against -the morning." - -She pressed his hand between hers, and laying her cold wet cheek upon -it: "Farewell," said she; "when we next meet I shall, I trust, be well -and cheerful; for in heaven alone (thought she at that moment) we shall -ever meet again." - -On the spot in which he left her Amanda stood motionless, till she heard -the hall-door close after him; all composure then forsook her, and, in -an agony of tears and sobs, she threw herself on the seat he had -occupied. The good prioress, guessing what her feelings at this moment -must be, was at hand, and came in with drops and water, which she forced -her to take, and mingled the tears of sympathy with hers. - -Her soothing attentions in a little time had the effect she desired. -They revived in some degree her unhappy young friend, who exclaimed, -"that the severest trial she could ever possibly experience was now -over." "And will, I trust and believe," replied the prioress, "even in -this life be yet rewarded." - -It was agreed that Amanda should put on her habit, and be prepared -against the man came for her. The prioress promised, as soon as the -house was at rest, to follow her to her chamber. Amanda accordingly went -to her apartment and put on her travelling dress. She was soon followed -by the prioress, who brought in bread, wine, and cold chicken; but the -full heart of Amanda would not allow her to partake of them, and her -tears, in spite of her efforts to restrain them, again burst forth. "She -was sure," she said, "the prioress would immediately let her know if any -intelligence arrived of her brother, and she again besought her to write -as soon as possible after her departure, and to be minute." - -She left the letters--one for Lord Mortimer and the other for the -prioress--on the table, and then with a kind of melancholy impatience -waited for the man, who was punctual to the appointed hour of three, and -announced his arrival by a tap at the window. She instantly rose and -embraced the prioress in silence, who, almost as much affected as -herself, had only power to say, "God bless you, my dear child, and make -you as happy as you deserve to be." - -Amanda shook her head mournfully, as if to say she expected no -happiness, and then, softly stepping along the gallery, opened the -hall-door, where she found the man waiting. Her little trunk was already -lying in the hall. She pointed it out to him, and as soon as he had -taken it they departed. - -Never did any being feel more forlorn than Amanda now did. What she -suffered when quitting the marchioness's was comparatively happiness to -what she now endured. She then looked forward to the protection, -comfort, and support of a tender parent; now she had nothing in view -which could in the least cheer or alleviate her feelings. She cast her -mournful eyes around, and the objects she beheld heightened, if -possible, her anguish. She beheld the old trees which shaded the grave -of her father waving in the morning breeze, and oh! how fervently at -that moment did she wish that by his side she was laid beneath their -shelter! - -She turned from them with a heart-rending sigh, which reached the ear of -the man who trudged before her. He instantly turned, and seeing her pale -and trembling, told her he had an arm at her service, which she gladly -accepted, being scarcely able to support herself. A small boat was -waiting for them about half a mile above Castle Carberry. It conveyed -them in a few moments to the vessel, which the master previously told -her would be under weigh directly. She was pleased to find his wife on -board, who conducted Amanda to the cabin, where she found breakfast laid -out with neatness for her. She took some tea and a little bread, being -almost exhausted with fatigue. Her companion, imputing her dejection to -fears of crossing the sea, assured her the passage would be very short, -and bid her observe how plainly they could see the Scottish hills, now -partially gilded by the beams of the rising sun; but, beautiful as they -appeared, Amanda's eyes were turned from them to a more interesting -object,--Castle Carberry. She asked the woman if she thought the castle -could be seen from the opposite coast? and she replied in the negative. - -"I am sorry for it," said Amanda, mournfully. She continued at the -window for the melancholy pleasure of contemplating it, till compelled -by sickness to lie down on the bed. The woman attended her with the most -assiduous care, and about four o'clock in the afternoon informed her -they had reached Port-Patrick. Amanda arose, and sending for the master, -told him, as she did not wish to go to an inn, she would thank him to -hire a chaise to carry her directly to Mrs. Macpherson's. He said she -should be obeyed; and Amanda having settled with him for her passage, he -went on shore for that purpose, and soon returned to inform her a -carriage was ready. Amanda, having thanked his wife for her kind -attention, stepped into the boat, and entered the chaise the moment she -landed. Her companion told her he was well acquainted with Mrs. -Macpherson, having frequently carried packets from Mrs. Dermot to her. -She lived about five miles from Port-Patrick, he said, and near the -sea-coast. They accordingly soon reached her habitation. It was a -small, low house, of a grayish color, situated in a field almost covered -with thistles, and divided from the road by a rugged-looking wall. The -sea lay at a little distance from it. The coast hereabouts was extremely -rocky, and the prospect on every side wild and dreary in the extreme. - -Amanda's companion, by her desire, went first into the house to prepare -Mrs. Macpherson for her reception. He returned in a few minutes, and -telling her she was happy at her arrival, conducted her into the house. -From a narrow passage, they turned into a small, gloomy-looking parlor, -with a clay floor. Mrs. Macpherson was sitting in an old-fashioned -arm-chair--her face was sharp and meagre--her stature low, and, like -Otway's ancient Beldame, doubled with age; her gown was gray stuff, and, -though she was so low, it was not long enough to reach her ankle; her -black-silk apron was curtailed in the same manner, and over a little -mob-cap she wore a handkerchief tied under the chin. She just nodded to -Amanda on her entrance, and, putting on a pair of large spectacles, -surveyed her without speaking. Amanda presented Mrs. Dermot's -introductory letter, and then, though unbidden, seated herself on the -window-seat till she had perused it. Her trunk, in the mean time, was -brought in, and she paid for the carriage, requesting at the same time -the master of the vessel to wait till she had heard what Mrs. Macpherson -would say. At length the old lady broke silence, and her voice was quite -as sharp as her face. - -"So, child," said she, again surveying Amanda, and then elevating her -spectacles to have a better opportunity of speaking, "why, to be sure I -did desire my cousin to get me a young person, but not one so young, so -very young, as you appear to be." "Lord bless you!" said the man, "if -that is a fault, why, it is one will mend every day." "Ay, ay," cried -the old dame, "but it will mend a little too slow for me. However, -child, as you are so well recommended, I will try you. My cousin says -something of your being well born, and having seen better days. However, -child, I tell you beforehand, I shall not consider what you have been, -but what you are now. I shall therefore expect you to be mild, regular, -and attentive--no flaunting, no gadding, no chattering, but staid, -sober, and modest." "Bless your heart," said the man, "if you look in -her face you will see she'll be all you desire." "Ay, ay, so you may -say; but I should be very sorry to depend upon the promise of a -face--like the heart, it is often treacherous and deceitful; so pray, -young woman, tell me, and remember I expect a conscientious answer, -whether you think you will be able to do as I wish?" "Yes, madam," -replied Amanda, in a voice almost choked by the variety of painful -emotions she experienced. - -"Well, then, we are agreed, as you know the salary I give." The master -of the vessel now took his leave, never having been asked by Mrs. -Macpherson to take any refreshment. - -The heart of Amanda sunk within her from the moment she entered Mrs. -Macpherson's door. She shuddered at being left with so unsocial a being -in a place so wild and dreary. A hovel near St. Catherine's she would -have thought a palace in point of real comfort to her present -habitation, as she then could have enjoyed the soothing society of the -tender and amiable nuns. The presence of the master of the vessel, from -the pity and concern he manifested for her, had something consolatory in -it, and when he left the room she burst into tears, as if then, and not -till then, she had been utterly abandoned. She hastily followed him out. -"Give my love, my best love," said she, sobbing violently, and laying -her trembling hand on his, "to Mrs. Dermot, and tell her, oh! tell her -to write directly, and give me some comfort." - -"You may depend on my doing so," replied he, "but cheer up, my dear -young lady; what though the old dame in the parlor is a little cranky, -she will mend, no doubt; so Heaven bless you, and make you as happy as -you deserve to be." - -Sad and silent, Amanda returned to the parlor, and seating herself in -the window, strained her eyes after the carriage which had brought her -to this dismal spot. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - - "Of joys departed, never to return, - How bitter the remembrance!"--BLAIR. - - -"Well, child," said Mrs. Macpherson, "do you choose to take anything?" -"I thank you, madam," replied Amanda, "I should like a little tea." "Oh! -as to tea, I have just taken my own, and the things are all washed and -put by; but, if you like a glass of spirits and water, and a crust of -bread, you may have it." Amanda said she did not. "Oh! very well," -cried Mrs. Macpherson, "I shall not press you, for supper will soon be -ready." She then desired Amanda to draw a chair near hers, and began -torturing her with a variety of minute and trifling questions relative -to herself, the nuns, and the neighborhood of St. Catherine's. - -Amanda briefly said, "her father had been in the army, that many -disappointments and losses had prevented his making any provision for -her, and that on his death, which happened in the neighborhood of the -convent, the nuns had taken her out of compassion, till she procured an -establishment for herself." "Ay, and a comfortable one you have procured -yourself, I promise you," said Mrs. Macpherson, "if it is not your own -fault." She then told Amanda, "she would amuse her by showing her her -house and other concerns." This indeed was easily done, as it consisted -but of the parlor, two closets adjoining it, and the kitchen, on the -opposite side of the entry; the other concerns were a small garden, -planted with kail, and the field covered with thistles. "A good, -comfortable tenement this," cried Mrs. Macpherson, shaking her head with -much satisfaction, as she leaned upon her ebony-headed cane, and cast -her eyes around. She bid Amanda admire the fine prospect before the -door, and, calling to a red-haired and bare-legged girl, desired her to -cut some thistles to put into the fire, and hasten the boiling of the -kail. On returning to the parlor she unlocked a press, and took out a -pair of coarse, brown sheets to air for Amanda. She herself slept in one -closet, and in the other was a bed for Amanda, laid on a half-decayed -bedstead, without curtains, and covered with a blue-stuff quilt. The -closet was lighted by one small window, which looked into the garden, -and its furniture consisted of a broken chair, and a piece of -looking-glass stuck to the wall. - -The promised supper was at length served. It consisted of a few heads of -kail, some oaten bread, a jug of water, and a small phial half full of -spirits, which Amanda would not taste, and the old lady herself took but -sparingly. They were lighted by a small candle, which, on retiring to -their closets, Mrs. Macpherson cut between them. - -Amanda felt relieved by being alone. She could now without restraint -indulge her tears and her reflections; that she could never enjoy any -satisfaction with a being so ungracious in her manners and so contracted -in her notions, she foresaw; but, disagreeable as her situation must be, -she felt inclined to continue in it, from the idea of its giving her -more opportunities of hearing from Mrs. Dermot than she could have in -almost any other place, and by these opportunities alone could she -expect to hear of Lord Mortimer; and to hear of him, even the most -trifling circumstance, though divided, forever divided from him, would -be a source of exquisite though melancholy pleasure. - -To think she should hear of him, at once soothed and fed her melancholy. -It lessened the violence of sorrow, yet without abating its intenseness; -it gave a delicious sadness to her soul she thought would be ill -exchanged for any feelings short of those she must have experienced, if -her wishes had been accomplished. She enjoyed the pensive luxury of -virtuous grief, which mitigates the sharp - - "With gracious drops - Of cordial pleasure," - -and which Akenside so beautifully describes; nor can I forbear quoting -the lines he has written to illustrate the truth-- - - "Ask the faithful youth - Why the cold urn of her, whom long he loved - So often fills his arms, so often draws - His lonely footsteps at the silent hour, - To pay the mournful tribute of his tears? - O, he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds - Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego - That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise - Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes - With virtue's kindest looks his aching heart, - And turns his tears to rapture." - -Fatigued by the contending emotions she experienced, as well as the -sickness she went through at sea, Amanda soon retired to her flock bed, -and fell into a profound slumber, in which she continued till roused in -the morning by the shrill voice of Mrs. Macpherson, exclaiming, as she -rapped at the door, "Come, come, Frances, it is time to rise." - -Amanda started from her sleep, forgetting both the name she had adopted -and the place where she was; but Mrs. Macpherson again calling her to -rise, restored her to her recollection. She replied she would attend her -directly, and, hurrying on her clothes, was with her in a few minutes. -She found the old lady seated at the breakfast-table, who, instead of -returning her salutation, said, "that on account of her fatigue she -excused her lying so long in bed this morning, for it was now eight -o'clock; but in future she would expect her to rise before six in -summer, and seven in winter, adding, as there was no clock, she would -rap at her door for that purpose every morning." - -Amanda assured her "she was fond of rising early, and always accustomed -to it." The tea was now poured out; it was of the worst kind, and -sweetened with coarse brown sugar; the bread was oaten, and there was no -butter. Amanda, unused to such unpalatable fare, swallowed a little of -it with difficulty, and then, with some hesitation, said "she would -prefer milk to tea." Mrs. Macpherson frowned exceedingly at this, and, -after continuing silent a few minutes, said, "she had really made tea -for two people, and she could not think of having it wasted; besides, -she added, the economy of her house was so settled she could not -infringe it for any one." She kept no cow herself, and only took in as -much milk as served her tea and an old tabby-cat. - -Amanda replied, "it was of no consequence," and Mrs. Macpherson said, -indeed she supposed so, and muttered something of people giving -themselves airs they had no pretensions to. The tea-table was removed -before nine, when the school began; it consisted of about thirty girls, -most of them daughters of farmers in the neighborhood. Amanda and they -being introduced to each other (and she being previously informed what -they were taught), was desired to commence the task of instructing them -entirely herself that day, as Mrs. Macpherson wanted to observe her -manner--a most unpleasant task indeed for poor Amanda, whose mind and -body were both harassed by anxiety and fatigue. As she had undertaken -it, however, she resolved to go through it with as much cheerfulness and -alacrity as possible. She accordingly acquitted herself to the -satisfaction of Mrs. Macpherson, who only found fault with her too great -gentleness, saying, the children would never fear her. At two the school -broke up, and Amanda, almost as delighted as the children to be at -liberty, was running into the garden to try if the air would be of use -to a very violent headache; when she was called back to put the forms -and other things in order. She colored, and stood motionless, till -recollecting that if she refused to obey Mrs. Macpherson a quarrel would -probably ensue, which, circumstanced as she was, without knowing where -to go to, would be dreadful, she silently performed what she had been -desired to do. Dinner was then brought in; it was as simple and as -sparing as a Braman could desire it to be. When over, Mrs. Macpherson -composed herself to take a nap in the large chair, without making any -kind of apology to Amanda. - -Left at liberty, Amanda would now have walked out; but it had just begun -to rain, and everything looked dreary and desolate. From the window in -which she pensively sat she had a view of the sea; it looked black and -tempestuous, and she could distinguish its awful and melancholy roaring -as it dashed against the rocks. The little servant-girl, as she cleaned -the kitchen, sung a dismal Scotch ditty, so that all conspired to -oppress the spirits of Amanda with a dejection greater than she had -before ever experienced; all hope was now extinct, the social ties of -life seemed broken, never more to be reunited. She had now no father, no -friend, no lover, as heretofore, to soothe her feelings, or alleviate -her sorrows. Like the poor Belvidera she might have said, - - "There was a time - Her cries and sorrows - Were not despised, when, if she chanced to sigh, - Or but look sad, a friend or parent - Would have taken her in their arms, - Eased her declining head upon their breasts, - And never left her till they found the cause; - But now let her weep seas, - Cry till she rend the earth, sigh till she burst - Her heart asunder, she is disregarded." - -Like a tender sapling, transplanted from its native soil, she seemed to -stand alone, exposed to every adverse blast. Her tears gushed forth, and -fell in showers down her pale cheeks. She sighed forth the name of her -father: "Oh! dear and most benignant of men," she exclaimed, "my father -and my friend; were you living, I should not be so wretched; pity and -consolation would then be mine. Oh! my father, one of the dreariest -caverns in yonder rocks would be an asylum of comfort were you with me; -but I am selfish in these regrets, certain as I am that you exchanged -this life of wretchedness for one of eternal peace, for one where you -were again united to your Malvina." - -Her thoughts adverted to what Lord Mortimer, in all probability, now -thought of her; but this was too dreadful to dwell upon, convinced as -she was, that, from appearances, he must think most unfavorably of her. -His picture was hung in her bosom, she drew it out. She gazed with -agonizing tenderness upon it. She pressed it to her lips, and prayed for -its original. From this indulgence of sorrow she was disturbed by the -waking of Mrs. Macpherson. She hastily wiped away her tears, and hid the -beloved picture. The evening passed most disagreeably. Mrs. Macpherson -was tedious and inquisitive in her discourse, and it was almost as -painful to listen as to answer her. Amanda was happy when the hour for -retiring to bed arrived, and relieved her from what might be called a -kind of mental bondage. - -Such was the first day Amanda passed in her new habitation, and a week -elapsed in the same manner without any variation, except that on Sunday -she had a cessation from her labors, and went to the kirk with Mrs. -Macpherson. At the end of the week she found herself so extremely ill -from the fatigue and confinement she endured, as Mrs. Macpherson would -not let her walk out, saying, "gadders were good for nothing"--that she -told her, except allowed to go out every evening, she must leave her, as -she could not bear so sedentary a life. Mrs. Macpherson looked -disconcerted, and grumbled a good deal; but as Amanda spoke in a -resolute manner, she was frightened lest she should put her threats into -execution, she was so extremely useful in the school; and at last told -her she might take as much exercise as she pleased every day after -dinner. - -Amanda gladly availed herself of this permission. She explored all the -romantic paths about the house; but the one she chiefly delighted to -take was that which led to the sea. She loved to ramble about the beach; -when fatigued to sit down upon the fragment of a rock and look towards -the opposite shore. Vainly then would she try to discover some of the -objects she knew so well. Castle Carberry was utterly undistinguishable, -but she knew the spot on which it stood, and derived a melancholy -pleasure from looking that way. In these retired rambles she would -freely indulge her tears, and gaze upon the picture of Lord Mortimer. -She feared no observation; the rocks formed a kind of recess about her, -and in going to them she seldom met a creature. - -A fortnight passed in this way, and she began to feel surprise and -uneasiness at not hearing from Mrs. Dermot. If much longer silent, she -resolved on writing, feeling it impossible to endure much longer the -agony her ignorance of Lord Mortimer's proceedings gave her. The very -morning previous to the one she had fixed for writing she saw a sailor -coming to the house, and believing he was the bearer of a letter to her, -she forgot everything but her feelings at the moment, and starting from -her seat ran from the room. She met him a few yards from the house, and -then perceived he was one of the sailors of the vessel she had come over -in. "You have a letter for me, I hope?" said Amanda. The man nodded, and -fumbling in his bosom for a moment, pulled out a large packet, which -Amanda snatched with eager transport from him; and knowing she could -not attempt to bring him into the house for refreshment, gave him a -crown to procure it elsewhere, which he received with thankfulness, and -departed. She then returned to the parlor, and was hastening to her -closet to read the letter, when Mrs. Macpherson stopped her. "Hey-day," -cried she, "what is the matter?--what is all this fuss about? Why, one -would think that was a love letter, you are so very eager to read it." -"It is not, then, I can assure you" said Amanda. "Well, well; and who is -it from?" Amanda reflected that if she said from Mrs. Dermot a number of -impertinent questions would be asked her. She therefore replied: "From a -very particular friend." "From a very particular friend! Well, I suppose -there is nothing about life or death in it, so you may wait till after -dinner to read it; and pray sit down now, and hear the children their -spelling lessons." This was a tantalizing moment to Amanda. She stood -hesitating whether she should obey, till reflecting that if she went now -to read the packet, she should most probably be interrupted ere she had -got through half the contents, she resolved on putting it up till after -dinner. The moment at last came for Mrs. Macpherson's usual nap, and -Amanda instantly hastened to a recess amongst the rocks, where seating -herself, she broke the seal. The envelope contained two letters. The -first she cast her eyes upon was directed in Lord Cherbury's hand. She -trembled, tore it open, and read as follows:-- - - TO MISS FITZALAN. - - In vain, my dear madam, do you say you never will receive - pecuniary favors from me. It is not you, but I, should lie under - obligations from their acceptance. I should deem myself the most - ungrateful of mankind if I did not insist on carrying this - point. I am but just returned to London, and shall immediately - order my lawyer to draw up a deed entitling you to three hundred - pounds a year, which, when completed, I shall transmit to the - prioress (as I have this letter) to send to you. I am sensible, - indeed, that I never can recompense the sacrifice you have made - me. The feelings it has excited I shall not attempt to express, - because language could never do them justice; but you may - conceive what I must feel for the being who has preserved me - from dishonor and destruction. I am informed Lord Mortimer has - left Ireland, and therefore daily expect him in town. I have now - not only every hope, but every prospect, of his complying with - my wishes. This, I imagine, will be rather pleasing to you to - hear, that you may know the sacrifice you have made is not made - in vain, but will be attended with all the good consequences I - expected to derive from it. I should again enjoy a tolerable - degree of peace, were I assured you were happy; but this is an - assurance I will hope soon to receive; for if you are not happy, - who has a right to expect being so?--you whose virtue is so - pure, whose generosity is so noble, so heroic, so far superior - to any I have ever met with! - - That in this world, as well as the next, you may be rewarded for - it, is, dear madam, the sincere wish of him who has the honor to - subscribe himself your most grateful, most obliged, and most - obedient, humble servant, - - CHERBURY. - -"Unfeeling man!" exclaimed Amanda, "how little is your heart interested -in what you write, and how slight do you make of the sacrifice I have -made you; how cruelly mention your hopes, which are derived from the -destruction of mine! No, sooner would I wander from door to door for -charity, than be indebted to your ostentatious gratitude for -support--you, whose treachery and vile deceit have ruined my happiness." -She closed the letter, and committing it to her pocket, took up the -other, which she saw by the direction was from her dear Mrs. Dermot. - - TO MISS DONALD. - - Ah! my dear child, why extort a promise from me of being minute - in relating everything which happened in consequence of your - departure--a promise so solemnly given that I dare not recede - from it; yet most unwillingly do I keep it, sensible as I am - that the intelligence I have to communicate will but aggravate - your sorrows. Methinks I hear you exclaim at this: "Surely, my - dear Mrs. Dermot, you who know my disposition and temper so - well, might suppose I would receive such intelligence with a - fortitude and patience that would prevent its materially - injuring me." Well, my dear, hoping this will be the case, I - begin, without further delay, to communicate particulars. You - left me, you may remember, about three o'clock. I then went to - bed, but so fatigued and oppressed I could scarcely sleep, and - was quite unrefreshed by what I did get. After prayers I - repaired to the parlor, where the assiduous care of Sister Mary - had already prepared everything for your breakfast and Lord - Mortimer's. I told the sisters not to appear till they were sent - for. I had not been long alone when Lord Mortimer came - in--cheerful, blooming, animated. Never did I see happiness so - strongly impressed in any countenance as in his. He looked, - indeed, the lover about receiving the precious reward of - constancy. He asked me had I seen you? I answered, No. He soon - grew impatient, said you were a lazy girl, and feared you would - make a bad traveller. He then rang the bell, and desired the - maid to go and call you. Oh! my dear girl, my heart almost died - within me at this moment. I averted my head, and pretended to be - looking at the garden to conceal my confusion. The maid returned - in a few minutes, and said you were not above. "Well," said Lord - Mortimer, "she is in some other apartment; pray search, and - hasten her hither." In a few minutes after she departed, Sister - Mary, all pale and breathless, rushed into the room. "Oh, - heavens!" cried she, "Miss Fitzalan cannot be found; but here - are two letters I found on her dressing-table--one for you, - madam, and one for Lord Mortimer." I know not how he looked at - this instant, for a guilty consciousness came over my mind, - which prevented my raising my eyes to his. I took the letter in - silence, opened, but had no power to read it. Sister Mary stood - by me, wringing her hands and weeping, as she exclaimed, - "What--what does she say to you?" I could neither answer her nor - move, till a deep sigh, or rather groan, from Lord Mortimer - roused me. I started from my seat, and perceive him pale and - motionless, the letter open in his hand, upon which his eyes - were riveted. I threw open the garden door to give him air. This - a little revived him. "Be comforted, my lord," said I. He shook - his head mournfully, and waving his hand for me neither to speak - nor follow him, passed into the garden. "Blessed Heaven!" said - Sister Mary again, "what does she say to you!" I gave her your - letter, and desired her to read it aloud, for the tears which - flowed at the affecting situation of Lord Mortimer quite - obscured my sight. And here, my dear child, I must declare that - you have been too generous, and also, that the sum you betrayed - us into taking is but considered as a loan by us. But, to return - to my first subject. The alarm concerning you now became - general, and the nuns crowded into the room--grief and - consternation in every countenance. In about half an hour I saw - Lord Mortimer returning to the parlor, and I then dismissed - them. He had been endeavoring to compose himself, but his - efforts for doing so were ineffectual. He trembled, was pale as - death, and spoke with a faltering voice. He gave me your letter - to read, and I put mine into his hand. "Well, my lord," said I, - on perusing it, "we must rather pity than condemn her." "From my - soul," cried he, "I pity her--I pity such a being as Amanda - Fitzalan, for being the slave, the prey of vice. But she has - been cruel to me; she has deceived, inhumanly deceived me, and - blasted my peace for ever!" "Ah, my lord!" I replied, "though - appearances are against her, I can never believe her guilty. - She, who performed all the duties of a child, as Amanda Fitzalan - did, and who, to my certain knowledge, was preparing herself for - a life of poverty, can never be a victim to vice." "Mention her - no more," cried he; "her name is like a dagger to my heart. The - suspicions which, but a few nights ago, I could have killed - myself for entertaining, are now confirmed. They intruded on my - mind from seeing Belgrave haunting this place, and from finding - her secreted amidst the ruins at a late hour. Ah, heavens! when - I noticed her confusion, how easily did she exculpate herself to - a heart prepossessed like mine in her favor! Unhappy, - unfortunate girl! sad and pitiable is thy fate! but may an early - repentance snatch thee from the villain who now triumphs in thy - ruin; and may we, since thus separated, never meet again. So - well," continued he, "am I convinced of the cause of her flight, - that I shall not make one inquiry after her." I again attempted - to speak in your justification, but he silenced me. I begged he - would allow me to get him breakfast. He could touch nothing, and - said he must return directly to Castle Carberry, but promised, - in the course of the day, to see me again. I followed him into - the hall. At the sight of your corded boxes, he started, and - shrunk back, with that kind of melancholy horror which we - involuntarily feel when viewing anything that belonged to a - dear, lost friend. I saw his emotions were agonizing. He hid his - face with his handkerchief, and, with a hasty step, ascended to - his carriage, which, with a travelling chaise, was waiting at - the door. - - I own I was often tempted, in the course of conversation, to - tell him all I knew about you; but the promise I had given you - still rose to my view, and I felt, without your permission, I - could not break it; yet, my dear, it is shocking to me to have - such imputations cast on you. We cannot blame Lord Mortimer for - them. Situated as you were with him, your conduct has naturally - excited the most injurious suspicions. Surely, my child, though - not allowed to solve the mystery which has separated you from - him, you may be allowed to vindicate your conduct. The sacrifice - of fame and happiness is too much. Consider and weigh well what - I say, and, if possible, authorize me to inform Lord Mortimer - that I know of your retreat, and that you have retired neither - to a lover nor a friend; but to indigence and obscurity, led - thither by a fatal necessity which you are bound to conceal, and - feel more severely from that circumstance. He would, I am - confident, credit my words; and then, instead of condemning, - would join me in pitying you. The more I reflect on your - unaccountable separation, the more am I bewildered in - conjectures relative to it, and convinced more strongly than - ever of the frailty of human joy, which, like a summer cloud, is - bright, but transitory in its splendor. Lord Mortimer had left - the convent about two hours, when his man arrived to dismiss the - travelling chaise and attendants. I went out and inquired after - his lord. "He is very bad, madam," said he, "and this has been a - sad morning for us all." Never, my dear Miss Fitzalan, did I, or - the sisterhood, pass so melancholy a day. About five in the - afternoon, I received another visit from Lord Mortimer. I was - alone in the parlor, which he entered with an appearance of the - deepest melancholy; one of his arms was in a sling. I was - terrified, lest he and Belgrave had met. He conjectured, I - fancy, the occasion of the terror my countenance expressed, for - he immediately said he had been ill on returning to Castle - Carberry, and was bled. He was setting off directly for Dublin, - he said, from whence he intended to embark for England. "But I - could not depart, my dear, good friend," continued he, "without - bidding you farewell; besides, I wanted to assure you, that any - promise which the unfortunate girl made you in my name I shall - hold sacred." I knew he alluded to the fifty pounds which he had - desired you to tell me should be annually remitted to our house. - I instantly, therefore, replied, that we had already been - rewarded beyond our expectation or desires for any little - attention we showed Miss Fitzalan; but his generous resolution - was not to be shaken. He looked weak and exhausted. I begged - permission to make tea for him ere he commenced his journey. He - consented. I went out of the room to order in the things. When I - returned, he was standing at the window which looked into the - garden, so absorbed in meditation that he did not hear me. I - heard him say, "Cruel Amanda! is it thus you have rewarded my - sufferings?" I retreated, lest he should be confused by - supposing himself overheard, and did not return till the maid - brought in the tea things. - - When he arose to depart, he looked wavering and agitated, as if - there was something on his mind he wanted courage to say. At - last, in a faltering voice, while the deadly paleness of his - complexion gave way to a deep crimson, he said, "I left Miss - Fitzalan's letter with you." Ah, my dear! never did man love - woman better than he did, than he now loves you. I took the - letter from my pocket, and presented it to him. He put it in his - bosom, with an emotion that shook his whole frame. I hailed this - as a favorable opportunity for again speaking in your favor. I - bid him retrospect your past actions, and judge from them - whether you could be guilty of a crime----. He stopped me short. - He begged me to drop a subject he was unable to bear. Had he - been less credulous, he said, he should now have been much - happier; then wringing my hand, he bid me farewell, in a voice, - and with a look, that drew tears from me. "Ah, my dear madam!" - cried he, "when this day commenced, how differently did I think - it would have terminated!" - - I attended him to his carriage. He was obliged to lean upon his - man as he ascended to it, and his looks and agitation proclaimed - the deepest distress. I have sent repeatedly to Castle Carberry - since his departure to inquire about him, and have been - informed, that they expect to hear nothing of him till Lord - Cherbury's agent comes into the country, which will not be these - three months. - - I have heard much of the good he did in the neighborhood. He has - a bounteous and benevolent spirit indeed. To our community he - has been a liberal benefactor, and our prayers are daily - offered up for his restoration to health and tranquillity. - Amongst his other actions, when in Dublin, about three months - ago, he ordered a monument to the memory of Captain Fitzalan, - which has been brought down since your departure, and put up in - the parish church, where he is interred. I sent Sister Mary and - another of the nuns the other evening to see it, and they - brought me a description of it. It is a white marble urn, - ornamented with a foliage of laurel, and standing upon a - pedestal of gray, on which the name of the deceased, and words - to the following effect, are inscribed, namely: "That he whose - memory it perpetuates, performed the duties of a Christian and a - soldier, with a fidelity and zeal that now warrants his enjoying - a blessed recompense for both." - - I know this proof of respect to your father will deeply affect - you; but I would not omit telling it, because, though it will - affect, I am confident it will also please you. The late events - have cast a gloom over all our spirits. Sister Mary now prays - more than ever; and you know I have often told her she was only - fit for a religious vocation. It is a bad world, she says, we - live in, and she is glad she has so little to say to it. - - I am longing to hear from you. Pray tell me how you like Mrs. - Macpherson. I have not seen her since her youth, and years often - produce as great a change in the temper as the face. At any - rate, your present situation is too obscure for you to continue - in, and, as soon as your thoughts are collected and composed, - you must look out for another. I hope you will be constant in - writing; but I tell you beforehand, you must not expect me to be - punctual in my answers--I have been so long disused to writing, - and my eyes are grown so weak. This letter has been the work of - many days; besides, I have really nothing interesting to - communicate: whenever I have, you may be assured I shall not - lose a moment in informing you. - - The woman was extremely thankful for the five guineas you left - her. Lord Mortimer sent her five more by his man; so that she - thinks herself well rewarded for any trouble or disappointment - she experienced. If you wish to have any of your things sent to - you, acquaint me; you know I shall never want an opportunity by - the master of the vessel. He speaks largely of your generosity - to him, and expresses much pity at seeing so young a person in - such melancholy. May Heaven, if it does not remove the source, - at least lessen this melancholy. - - If possible, allow me to write to Lord Mortimer, and vindicate - you from the unworthy suspicions he entertains of you. I know he - would believe me, and I should do it without discovering your - retreat. Farewell, my dear girl. I recommend you constantly to - the care of Heaven, and beg you to believe you will ever be dear - and interesting to the heart of - - ELIZABETH DERMOT. - - St. Catherine's. - -Poor Amanda wept over this letter. "I have ruined the health, the peace -of Lord Mortimer," she exclaimed, "and he now execrates me as the source -of his unhappiness. Oh! Lord Cherbury, how severely do I suffer for your -crime!" She began to think her virtue had been too heroic in the -sacrifice she had made. But this was a transient idea, for when she -reflected on the disposition of Lord Cherbury, she was convinced the -divulgement of his secret would have been followed by his death; and, -great as was her present wretchedness, she felt it light compared to the -horrors she knew she would experience could she accuse herself of being -accessory to such an event. She now drank deeply of the cup of misery, -but conscious rectitude, in some degree, lessened its noxious -bitterness. She resolved to caution Mrs. Dermot against mentioning her -in any manner to Lord Mortimer. She was well convinced he would believe -no asseveration of her innocence. And even if he did, what end could it -answer? Their union was opposed by an obstacle not to be surmounted, and -if he sought and discovered her retreat, it would only lead to new -sorrows, perhaps occasion some dreadful catastrophe. "We are separated," -cried she, folding her hands together, "forever separated in this world, -but in Heaven we shall again be reunited." - -Absorbed in the reflections and sorrow this letter gave rise to, she -remained in her seat till Mrs. Macpherson's little girl suddenly -appeared before her, and said her mistress had made tea, and was -wondering what kept her out so long. - -Amanda instantly arose, and carefully putting up the letter, returned to -the house, where she found Mrs. Macpherson in a very bad humor. She -grumbled exceedingly at Amanda's staying out so long, and taking notice -of her eyes being red and swelled, said, "indeed, she believed she was -right in supposing she had got a love-letter." Amanda made no reply, and -the evening passed away in peevishness on one side and silence on the -other. - -The charm which had hitherto rendered Amanda's situation tolerable was -now dissolved, as Mrs. Dermot had said she could write but seldom, and -scarcely expected to have anything interesting to relate. She would -gladly, therefore, have left Mrs. Macpherson immediately, but she knew -not where to go. She resolved, however, ere winter had entirely set in, -to request Mrs. Dermot to look out for some other place for her: as she -had connections in Scotland, she thought she might recommend her to them -as a governess, or a fit person to do fine works for a lady. She rose -long before her usual hour the next morning, and wrote a letter -expressive of her wishes and intentions to Mrs. Dermot, which she sent -by a poor man, who lived near the house, to the post-town, rewarding him -liberally for his trouble. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - - "Who knows the joys of friendship, - The trust, security and mutual tenderness, - The double joys, where each is glad for both; - Friendship, our only wealth, our last retreat and strength, - Secure against ill-fortune and the world?"--ROWE. - - -Among Mrs. Macpherson's pupils were two little girls, who pleased and -interested Amanda greatly. Their father, for whom they were in mourning, -had perished in a violent storm, and their mother had pined in health -and spirits ever since the fatal accident. The kindness with which -Amanda treated them, they repaid with gratitude and attention. It had a -double effect upon their little hearts, from being contrasted with the -sour austerity of Mrs. Macpherson. They told Amanda, in a whisper, one -morning, that their mamma was coming to see their dear, good Frances -Donald. - -Accordingly, in the course of the day, Mrs. Duncan came. She was young -and pleasing in her appearance; her weeds and deep dejection rendered -her a most interesting object. She sat by Amanda, and took an -opportunity, while Mrs. Macpherson was engaged with some of the -children, to tell her, in a low voice, "she was truly obliged to her for -the great attention and kindness she showed her little girls, so unlike -their former treatment at the school." "The task of instructing them was -hers," she said, "till her declining health and spirits rendered her no -longer able to bear it." Amanda assured her, "it was a pleasure to -instruct minds so docile and sweet tempered as theirs." Mrs. Duncan, as -she rose to depart, asked her and Mrs. Macpherson to tea that evening, -which invitation was instantly accepted by Mrs. Macpherson, who was -extremely fond of being sociable everywhere but in her own house. Mrs. -Duncan lived at but a little distance, and everything in and about her -house was neat and comfortable. She had an old neighbor in the parlor, -who kept Mrs. Macpherson in chat, and gave her an opportunity of -conversing freely with Amanda. She remarked the delicacy of her looks, -and said "She believed she was ill-qualified to endure so fatiguing a -life as her present one." She mentioned her own lonely and melancholy -life, and the happiness she would derive from having such a companion, -and expressed her hopes of often enjoying her society. Amanda said this -would be impossible without disobliging Mrs. Macpherson; and Mrs. -Duncan, on reflection, allowed it would be so. She then inquired if she -ever walked? Amanda replied she did; and was asked where she generally -rambled? By the sea-side, she answered. Mrs. Duncan sighed deeply, and -her eyes filled with tears. "It is there I generally ramble too," said -she. This led to the mention of her late loss. "Mr. Duncan had been the -kindest, best of husbands," she said; "the first years of their marriage -were attended with difficulties, which were just removed, when he was -lost on a party of pleasure, with several others. It was some -consolation, however," continued Mrs. Duncan, "that the body was cast -upon the shore, and I had the power of paying the last rites of decency -and respect to him." In short, between her and Amanda there appeared a -mutual sympathy, which rendered them truly interesting to each other. -From this period they generally met every evening, and passed many hours -on the "sea-beat shore," talking, and often weeping, over joys departed, -never to return! Mrs. Duncan was too delicate to inquire into Amanda's -former situation; but was well convinced it had been very different from -her present one. Amanda, however, of her own accord, told her what she -had told Mrs. Macpherson respecting herself. Mrs. Duncan lamented her -misfortunes; but since she had met them, blessed the happy chance which -conducted her near her habitation. - -A month passed in this manner, when one evening, at the usual place of -meeting, Mrs. Duncan told her, "that she believed she should soon be -quitting that part of the country." Amanda started, and turned pale at -this disagreeable intelligence. She had received no answer to her letter -from Mrs. Dermot, consequently dreaded that necessity would compel her -to remain in her present situation, and on Mrs. Duncan's society she had -depended for rendering it bearable to her. - -"I have been invited, my dear girl," said Mrs. Duncan, leaning on her -arm as they walked up and down the beach, "to reside with an aunt, who -has always been kind, and particularly so to me in my distress. She -lives about ten miles from this, at an old place called Dunreath Abbey, -of which she is housekeeper. Have you ever heard of it?" Amanda's -agitation at hearing her mother's native habitation mentioned, is not to -be described. Her heart palpitated; she felt her color change, and said -Yes and No to Mrs. Duncan, without knowing what she answered. Then -recollecting herself, she replied, "she had heard of it." "Well, then, -my dear," continued Mrs. Duncan, "my aunt, as I have already told you, -is housekeeper there. She lives in great grandeur, for it is a -magnificent old seat, and has the absolute command of everything, as -none of the family have resided at it since the Earl of Dunreath's -decease. My aunt is lately grown weary of the profound solitude in which -she lives, and has asked me, in a letter which I received this morning, -to go immediately and take up my residence with her, promising, if I do, -she will leave everything she is worth to me and my children; and as her -salary is very good, I know she must have saved a good deal. This is a -very tempting offer, and I am only withheld from accepting it directly -by the fear of depriving my children of the advantages of education." -"Why," said Amanda, "what they learn at Mrs. Macpherson's they could -easily learn anywhere else." "But I intended, when they were a little -older," replied Mrs. Duncan, "to go to some one of the neighboring towns -with them. If I once go to my aunt, I must entirely relinquish such an -idea, and to a boarding-school I could not send them, for I have not -fortitude to bear a separation from them. What I wish, therefore, is to -procure a person who would be at once a pleasing companion for me, and -an eligible governess for them. With such a person, the solitude of -Dunreath Abbey would be rather agreeable than irksome to me." - -She looked earnestly at Amanda as she spoke, and Amanda's heart began to -throb with hope and agitation. "In short, my dear girl," continued she, -"you of all others, to be explicit, are the person I would choose to -bring along with me. Your sweet society would alleviate my sorrows, and -your elegant accomplishments give to my children all the advantages I -desire them to possess." "I am not only flattered, but happy by your -prepossession in my favor," replied Amanda. - -"I am pleased we agree in point of inclination," said Mrs. Duncan; "but -I must now inform you that my aunt has always been averse to admit any -strangers to the Abbey. Why, I know not, except it is by the commands of -the family; and she tells me in her letter, that if I accept her -invitation, I must not on any account let it be known where I am -removing to. I dare not, therefore, bring you with me without her -permission; but I shall write immediately and request it. In the course -of a day or two I may expect an answer. In the mean time, give Mrs. -Macpherson no intimation of our present intentions, lest they should be -defeated." Amanda promised she would not, and they separated. - -She was now in a state of the greatest agitation, at the probability -there was that she might visit the seat of her ancestors. She dreaded a -disappointment, and felt that, if she went there as the companion of -Mrs. Duncan, she should be better situated than a few hours before she -had ever expected to be again. Two evenings after her conversation with -Mrs. Duncan, on going to the beach to meet her, she saw her approaching -with an open letter in her hand, and a smile on her face, which informed -her its contents were pleasing. They were so indeed, as they gave -permission to have Amanda brought to the Abbey, provided she promised -inviolable secrecy as to where she was going. This Amanda cheerfully -did, and Mrs. Duncan said she had some affairs to settle, which would -prevent their departure for a few days. At whatever time she appointed, -her aunt was to send a carriage for then, and it was now agreed that -Mrs. Macpherson should be informed Mrs. Duncan was leaving that part of -the country, and had engaged Amanda as a governess to her children. - -Mrs. Duncan then mentioned her own terms. Amanda assured her an idea of -them had never entered her thoughts. Mrs. Duncan said she was sure of -that, but at the same time thought between the most intimate friends -exactness should be preserved. Everything being settled to their mutual -satisfaction, they separated, and the following day, after school broke -up, Amanda informed Mrs. Macpherson of her intended departure. The old -dame was thunderstruck, and for some time unable to speak; but when she -recovered the use of her tongue, she expressed the utmost rage and -indignation against Amanda, Mrs. Duncan, and the prioress. Against the -first for thinking of leaving her, the second for inveigling her away, -and the third for recommending a person who could serve her in such a -manner. When she stopped, exhausted by her violence, Amanda took the -opportunity of assuring her that she had no reason to condemn any of -them; as for her part, previous to Mrs. Duncan's offer, she intended to -leave her, being unable to bear a life of such fatigue; that as her -removal would not be immediate, Mrs. Macpherson could suffer no -inconvenience by it, there being time enough to look out for another -person ere it took place. But the truth now broke from Mrs. Macpherson; -angry as she was with Amanda, she could not help confessing, that she -never again expected to meet with a person so well qualified to please -her, and a torrent of bitter reproaches again burst forth for her -quitting her. - -Amanda resented them not, but did all in her power to mollify her; as -the most effectual method of doing so, she declared she meant to take -no recompense for the time she had been with her, and added, if she had -her permission, she would write that evening to Mrs. Dermot about a -woman she had seen at the convent, whom she thought well qualified to be -an assistant in her school. This was the woman who had been engaged to -attend her to England. Mrs. Macpherson at last consented she should -write for her, as her wrath had gradually subsided from the moment -Amanda declared she would take no payment. Amanda accordingly wrote to -Mrs. Dermot, and informed her of the agreeable change there was about -taking place in her situation; also of Mrs. Macpherson's displeasure, -and her own wish that a person might immediately be procured to fill the -place she was resigning. She mentioned the woman already spoken of as a -proper person, but requested, if she consented to come, she might not be -allowed to do so till she had left Mrs. Macpherson's, else who she -really was would be betrayed. She now thought little of the tedious and -disagreeable days she spent, as the eagerness with which she saw Mrs. -Duncan preparing for their departure promised so speedily to change -them. She received an answer from Ireland even sooner than she expected. -Mrs. Dermot congratulated her on having met with so amiable a friend as -Mrs. Duncan, said the woman accepted the offer made in Mrs. Macpherson's -name, but should not depart till she had written for that purpose, and -concluded her letter by saying, there was no intelligence yet of Lord -Mortimer. Mrs. Macpherson was pleased to find she should not be long -without a companion, and two days after the receipt of the letter Mrs. -Duncan told Amanda their journey was fixed for the ensuing day, and -begged Amanda to sleep at her house that night, to which she gladly -consented; accordingly, after dinner she took leave of Mrs. Macpherson, -who grumbled out a farewell, and a hope that she might not have reason -to repent quitting her, for the old lady was so incensed to have the -place Mrs. Duncan was going to concealed from her that all her ill-humor -had returned. Amanda with a pleasure she could scarcely conceal, quitted -her inhospitable mansion, and, attended by a man who carried her trunk, -soon found herself at Mrs. Duncan's, where she was received with every -demonstration of joy. The evening passed sociably away; they rose early -in the morning, and had just breakfasted when the expected carriage from -Dunreath Abbey arrived. It was a heavy, old-fashioned chaise, on whose -faded panels the arms of the Dunreath family were still visible. Mrs. -Duncan's luggage had been sent off the preceding day, so that there was -nothing now to delay them. Mrs. Duncan made Amanda and the children go -into the chaise before her, but, detained by an emotion of the most -painful nature, she lingered sometime after them upon the threshold. She -could not indeed depart from the habitation where she had experienced so -many happy days with the man of her tenderest affections without a flood -of tears, which spoke the bitterness of her feelings. Amanda knew too -well the nature of those feelings to attempt restraining them; but the -little children, impatient to begin their journey, called out to their -mamma to come into the carriage. She started when they spoke, but -instantly complied with their desire: and when they expressed their -grief at seeing her cheeks wet with tears, kissed them both, and said -she would soon recover her spirits. She accordingly exerted herself for -that purpose, and was soon in a condition to converse with Amanda. The -day was fine and serene; they travelled leisurely, for the horses had -long outlived their mettlesome days, and gave them an opportunity of -attentively viewing the prospects on each side, which were various, -romantic, and beautiful; the novelty of the scenes, the disagreeable -place she had left, and the idea of the one she was going to, helped a -little to enliven the pensive soul of Amanda, and she enjoyed a greater -degree of tranquillity than she had before experienced since her -separation from Lord Mortimer. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - - "My listening powers - Were awed, and every thought in silence hung - And wondering expectation."--AKENSIDE. - - -"My dear Fanny," said Mrs. Duncan, addressing our heroine by her -borrowed name, "if at all inclined to superstition, you are now going to -a place which will call it forth. Dunreath Abbey is gothic and gloomy in -the extreme, and recalls to one's mind all the stories they ever heard -of haunted houses and apparitions. The desertion of the native -inhabitants has hastened the depredations of time, whose ravages are -unrepaired, except in the part immediately occupied by the domestics. -Yet what is the change in the building compared to the revolution which -took place in the fortunes of her who once beheld a prospect of being -its mistress. The earl of Dunreath's eldest daughter, as I have often -heard from many, was a celebrated beauty, and as good as she was -handsome, but a malignant step-mother thwarted her happiness, and forced -her to take shelter in the arms of a man who had everything but fortune -to recommend him--but, in wanting that, he wanted everything to please -her family. After some years of distress, she found means to soften the -heart of her father; but here the invidious step-mother again -interfered, and prevented her experiencing any good effects from his -returning tenderness, and, it was rumored, by a deep and iniquitous -scheme, deprived her of her birthright. Like other rumors, however, it -gradually died away; perhaps from Lady Malvina and her husband never -hearing of it, and none but them had a right to inquire into its truth. -But if such a scheme was really contrived, woe be to its fabricator; the -pride and pomp of wealth can neither alleviate nor recompense the stings -of conscience. Much rather," continued Mrs. Duncan, laying her hands -upon her children's heads as they sat at her feet,--"much rather would I -have my babes wander from door to door, to beg the dole of charity, than -live upon the birthright of the orphan. If Lady Dunreath, in reality, -committed the crime she was accused of, she met, in some degree, a -punishment for it. Soon after the Earl's death she betrayed a partiality -for a man every way inferior to her, which partiality, people have not -scrupled to say, commenced and was indulged to a criminal degree during -the lifetime of her husband. She would have married him, had not her -daughter the Marchioness of Roslin, interfered. Proud and ambitious, her -rage at the prospect of such an alliance, knew no bounds, and, seconded -by the marquis, whose disposition was congenial to her own, they got the -unfortunate mother into their power, and hurried her off to a convent in -France. I know not whether she is yet living; indeed, I believe there -are few either know or care, she was so much disliked for her haughty -disposition. I have sometimes asked my aunt about her, but she would -never gratify my curiosity. She has been brought up in the family, and -no doubt thinks herself bound to conceal whatever they choose. She lives -in ease and plenty, and is absolute mistress of the few domestics that -reside at the Abbey. But of those domestics I caution you in time, or -they will be apt to fill your head with frightful stories of the Abbey, -which sometimes, if one's spirits are weak, in spite of reason, will -make an impression on the mind. They pretend that the Earl of Dunreath's -first wife haunts the Abbey, venting the most piteous moans, which they -ascribe to grief for the unfortunate fate of her daughter, and that -daughter's children being deprived of their rightful patrimony. I -honestly confess, when at the Abbey a few years ago, during some -distresses of my husband, I heard strange noises one evening at twilight -as I walked in a gallery. I told my aunt of them, and she was quite -angry at the involuntary terror I expressed, and said it was nothing but -the wind whistling through some adjoining galleries which I heard. But -this, my dear Fanny," said Mrs. Duncan, who on account of her children -had continued the latter part of her discourse in a low voice, "is all -between ourselves; for my aunt declared she would never pardon my -mentioning my ridiculous fears, or the yet more ridiculous fears of the -servants, to any human being." - -Amanda listened in silence to Mrs. Duncan's discourse, fearful that if -she spoke she should betray the emotions it excited. - -They at last entered between the mountains that enclosed the valley on -which the Abbey stood. The scene was solemn and solitary. Every -prospect, except one of the sea, seen through an aperture in one of the -mountains, was excluded. Some of these mountains were bare, craggy, and -projecting. Others were skirted with trees, robed with vivid green, and -crowned with white and yellow furze. Some were all a wood of -intermingled shades, and others covered with long and purple heath. -Various streams flowed from them into the valley. Some stole gently down -their sides in silver rills, giving beauty and vigor wherever they -meandered. Others tumbled from fragment to fragment, with a noise not -undelightful to the ear, and formed for themselves a deep bed in the -valley, over which trees, that appeared coeval with the building, bent -their old and leafy heads. - -At the foot of what to the rest was called a gently swelling hill lay -the remains of the extensive gardens which had once given the luxuries -of the vegetable world to the banquets of the Abbey; but the buildings -which had nursed those luxuries were all gone to decay, and the gay -plantations were overrun with the progeny of neglect and sloth. - -The Abbey was one of the most venerable looking buildings Amanda had -ever beheld; but it was in melancholy grandeur she now saw it--in the -wane of its days, when its glory was passed away, and the whole pile -proclaimed desertion and decay. She saw it when, to use the beautiful -language of Hutchinson, its pride was brought low, when its magnificence -was sinking in the dust, when tribulation had taken the seat of -hospitality, and solitude reigned, where once the jocund guest had -laughed over the sparkling bowl, whilst the owls sang nightly their -strains of melancholy to the moonshine that slept upon its mouldering -battlements. - -The heart of Amanda was full of the fond idea of her parents, and the -sigh of tender remembrance stole from it. "How little room," thought -she, "should there be in the human heart for the worldly pride which so -often dilates it, liable as all things are to change! the distress in -which the descendants of noble families are so often seen, the decline -of such families themselves, should check the arrogant presumption with -which so many look forward to having their greatness and prosperity -perpetuated through every branch of their posterity. - -"The proud possessors of this Abbey, surrounded with affluence, and -living in its full enjoyment, never perhaps admitted the idea as at all -probable, that one of their descendants should ever approach the seat of -her ancestors without that pomp and elegance which heretofore -distinguished its daughters. Alas! one now approaches it neither to -display nor contemplate the pageantry of wealth, but meek and lowly; not -to receive the smile of love, or the embrace of relatives, but afflicted -and unknown, glad to find a shelter, and procure the bread of -dependence, beneath its decaying roof." - -Mrs. Duncan happily marked not Amanda's emotion as she gazed upon the -Abbey. She was busily employed in answering her children's questions, -who wanted to know whether she thought they would be able to climb up -the great big hills they saw. - -The carriage at last stopped before the Abbey. Mrs. Bruce was already at -the door to receive them. She was a little, smart old woman, and -welcomed her niece and the children with an appearance of the greatest -pleasure. On Amanda's being presented to her, she gazed steadfastly in -her face a few minutes, and then exclaimed, "Well, this is very strange; -though I know I could never have seen this young lady before, her face -is quite familiar to me." - -The hall into which they entered was large and gloomy, paved with black -marble, and supported by pillars, through which the arched doors that -led to various apartments were seen. Rude implements, such as the -Caledonians had formerly used in war and hunting, were ranged along the -walls. Mrs. Bruce conducted them into a spacious parlor, terminated by -an elegant saloon. This, she told them, had once been the -banquetingroom. The furniture, though faded, was still magnificent, and -the windows, though still in the gothic style, from being enlarged -considerably beyond their original dimensions, afforded a most -delightful view of the domain. - -"Do you know," said Mrs. Duncan, "this apartment, though one of the -pleasantest in the Abbey in point of situation, always makes me -melancholy. The moment I enter it I think of the entertainments once -given in it, and then its present vacancy and stillness almost instantly -reminds me that those who partook of these entertainments are now almost -all humbled with the dust!" Her aunt laughed, and said, "she was very -romantic." - -The solemnity of the Abbey was well calculated to heighten the awe which -stole upon the spirit of Amanda from her first view of it. No noise was -heard throughout it, except the hoarse creaking of the massy doors, as -the servants passed from one room to another, adjusting Mrs. Duncan's -things, and preparing for dinner. Mrs. Duncan was drawn into a corner of -the room by her aunt, to converse, in a low voice, about family affairs, -and the children were rambling about the hall, wondering and inquiring -about everything they saw. - -Thus left to herself, a soft languor gradually stole over the mind of -Amanda, which was almost exhausted from the emotions it had experienced. -The murmuring sound of waterfalls, and the buzzing of the flies that -basked in the sunny rays which darted through the casements, lulled her -into a kind of pensive tranquillity. - -"Am I really," she asked herself, "in the seat of my ancestors? Am I -really in the habitation where my mother was born--where her irrevocable -vows were plighted to my father? I am; and oh! within it may I at last -find an asylum from the vices and dangers of the world; within it may my -sorrowing spirit lose its agitation, and subdue, if not its affections, -at least its murmurs, at the disappointment of those affections." - -The appearance of dinner interrupted her. She made exertions to overcome -any appearance of dejection, and the conversation, if not lively, was at -least cheerful. After dinner Mrs. Duncan, who had been informed by -Amanda of her predilection for old buildings, asked her aunt's -permission to show her the Abbey. Mrs. Bruce immediately arose, and said -she would have that pleasure herself. She accordingly led the way. Many -of the apartments yet displayed the sumptuous taste of those who had -furnished them. "It is astonishing to me," said Mrs. Duncan, "that so -magnificent a pile as this should be abandoned, as I may say, by its -possessors." "The Marquis of Roslin's castle is a more modern structure -than this," said Mrs. Bruce, "and preferred by them on that account." -"So, like the family monument," rejoined Mrs. Duncan, "they are merely -satisfied with permitting this to stand, as it may help to transmit the -marchioness's name to posterity." "How far does the marquis live from -this?" asked Amanda. "About twelve miles," replied Mrs. Bruce, who did -not appear pleased with her niece's conversation, and led the way to a -long gallery ornamented with portraits of the family. This gallery -Amanda knew well by description. This was the gallery in which her -father had stopped to contemplate the picture of her mother, and her -heart throbbed with impatience and anxiety to see that picture. - -Mrs. Bruce, as she went before her, told her the names of the different -portraits. She suddenly stopped before one. "That," cried she, "is the -Marchioness of Roslin's, drawn for her when Lady Augusta Dunreath." -Amanda cast her eyes upon it, and perceived in the countenance the same -haughtiness as still distinguished the marchioness. She looked at the -next panel, and found it empty. - -"The picture of Lady Malvina Dunreath hung there," said Mrs. Bruce; "but -after her unfortunate marriage it was taken down." "And destroyed," -exclaimed Amanda mournfully. "No; but it was thrown into the old chapel, -where, with the rest of the lumber (the soul of Amanda was struck at -these words), it has been locked up for years." "And is it impossible to -see it?" asked Amanda. "Impossible, indeed," replied Mrs. Bruce. "The -chapel, and the whole eastern part of the Abbey, have long been in a -ruinous situation, on which account it has been locked up." "This is the -gallery," whispered Mrs. Duncan, "in which I heard the strange noises; -but not a word of them to my aunt." Amanda could scarcely conceal the -disappointment she felt at finding she could not see her mother's -picture. She would have entreated the chapel might be opened for that -purpose, had she not feared exciting suspicions by doing so. - -They returned from the gallery to the parlor; and in the course of -conversation Amanda heard many interesting anecdotes of her ancestors -from Mrs. Bruce. Her mother was also mentioned, and Mrs. Bruce, by -dwelling on her worth, made amends, in some degree, to Amanda for having -called her picture lumber. She retired to her chamber with her mind at -once softened and elevated by hearing of her mother's virtues. She -called upon her father's spirit, upon them whose kindred souls were -reunited in heaven, to bless their child, to strengthen, to support her -in the thorny path marked out for her to take; nor to cease their -tutelary care till she was joined to them by Providence. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - - "Such on the ground the fading rose we see, - By some rude blast torn from the parent tree! - The daffodil so leans his languid head, - Newly mown down upon his grassy bed!"--LEE. - - -Experience convinced Amanda that the change in her situation was, if -possible, more pleasing than she expected it would be. Mrs. Duncan was -the kindest and most attentive of friends. Mrs. Bruce was civil and -obliging, and her little pupils were docile and affectionate. Could she -have avoided retrospection, she would have been happy; but the -remembrance of past events was too deeply impressed upon her mind to be -erased; it mingled in the visions of the night, in the avocations of the -day, and in the meditations of her lonely hours, forcing from her heart -the sighs of regret and tenderness. Her mornings were devoted to her -pupils, and in the evenings she sometimes walked with Mrs. Duncan, -sometimes read aloud whilst she and her aunt were working; but whenever -they were engaged in chatting about family affairs, or at a game of -piquet (which was often the case), as Mrs. Bruce neither loved walking -nor working, she always took that opportunity of retiring from the room, -and either rambled through the dark and intricate windings of the Abbey, -or about the grounds contiguous to it. She sighed whenever she passed -the chapel which contained the picture of her mother; it was in a -ruinous condition, but a thick foliage of ivy partly hid while it -proclaimed its decay; the windows were broken in many places, but all -too high to admit the possibility of her gaining admittance through -them, and the door was strongly secured by massy bars of iron, as was -every door which had a communication with the eastern part of the Abbey. -A fortnight passed away at the Abbey without anything happening to -disturb the tranquillity which reigned in it. No one approached it, -except a few of the wandering children of poverty, and its inhabitants -seemed perfectly content with their seclusion from the world. Amanda, by -Mrs. Duncan's desire, had told Mrs. Dermot to direct her letters to a -town about five miles from the Abbey; thither a man went every day, but -constantly returned without one for her. - -"Why," she asked herself, "this anxiety for a letter, this -disappointment at not receiving one, when I neither expect to hear -anything interesting or agreeable? Mrs. Dermot has already said she had -no means of hearing about Lord Mortimer; and, even if she had, why -should I desire such intelligence, torn as I am from him forever?" - -At the expiration of another week an incident happened, which again -destroyed the composure of our heroine. Mrs. Bruce one morning hastily -entered the room, where she and Mrs. Duncan were sitting with the little -girls, and begged they would not stir from it till she had told them to -do so, as the Marquis of Roslin's steward was below stairs, and if he -knew of their residence at the Abbey, she was confident he would reveal -it to his lord, which she had no doubt would occasion her own dismission -from it. The ladies assured her they would not leave the apartment, and -she retired, leaving them astonished at the agitation she betrayed. - -In about two hours she returned, and said she came to release them from -confinement, as the steward had departed. "He has brought unexpected -intelligence," said she; "the marquis and his family are coming down to -the castle. The season is so far advanced, I did not suppose they would -visit it till next summer; I must, therefore," continued she, addressing -her niece, "send to the neighboring town to procure lodgings for you -till the family leave the country, as no doubt some of them will come to -the Abbey, and to find you in it would, I can assure you, be attended -with unpleasant consequences to me." - -Mrs. Duncan begged she would not suffer the least uneasiness on her -account, and proposed that very day leaving the Abbey. "No," Mrs. Bruce -replied, "there is no necessity for quitting it for a few days longer; -the family," continued she, "are coming down upon a joyful occasion, to -celebrate the nuptials of the marquis's daughter, Lady Euphrasia -Sutherland." "Lady Euphrasia's nuptials!" exclaimed Amanda, in an -agitated voice, and forgetting her own situation. "To whom is she going -to be married?" "To Lord Mortimer," Mrs. Bruce replied, "the Earl of -Cherbury's only son; a very fine young man. I am told the affair has -been long talked of; but----" Here she was interrupted by a deep sigh, -or rather groan, from the unfortunate Amanda, who at the same moment -fell back in her chair, pale and without motion. Mrs. Duncan screamed, -and flew to her assistance. Mrs. Bruce, equally frightened, though less -affected, ran for restoratives, and the children clasped her knees and -wept. From her pensive look and manner, Mrs. Duncan suspected, from -their first acquaintance, that her heart had experienced a -disappointment of the tenderest nature. Her little girls, too, had told -her that they had seen Miss Donald crying over a picture. Her suspicions -concerning such a disappointment were now confirmed by the sudden -emotion and illness of Amanda. But she had all the delicacy which -belongs to true sensibility, and determined never to let Amanda know she -conjectured the source of her sorrows, certain as she was that they had -never originated from any misconduct. - -Mrs. Bruce's drops restored Amanda's senses; but she felt weak and -trembling, and begged she might be supported to her room, to lie down on -the bed. Mrs. Bruce and Mrs. Duncan accordingly led her to it. The -former almost immediately retired, and the tears of Amanda now burst -forth. She wept a long time without intermission; and as soon as her -sobs would permit her to speak, begged Mrs. Duncan to leave her to -herself. Mrs. Duncan knew too well the luxury of secret grief to deny -her the enjoyment of so melancholy a feast, and directly withdrew. - -The wretched Amanda then asked herself, "if she had not known before -that the sacrifice she made Lord Cherbury would lead to the event she -now regretted?" It was true she did know it. But whenever an idea of its -taking place occurred, she had so sedulously driven it from her mind, -that she at last almost ceased to think about it. Were he to be united -to any other woman than Lady Euphrasia, she thought she would not be so -wretched. "Oh, Mortimer! beloved of my soul!" she cried, "were you going -to be united to a woman sensible of your worth, and worthy of your noble -heart, in the knowledge of your happiness my misery would be lessened. -But what a union of misery must minds so uncongenial as yours and Lady -Euphrasia's form! Alas! am I not wretched enough in contemplating my own -prospect of unhappiness, but that yours, also, must be obtruded upon me? -Yet perhaps," she continued, "the evils that I dread on Lord Mortimer's -account may be averted. Oh, that they may!" said she, with fervor, and -raising her hands and eyes. "Soften, gracious Heaven! soften the flinty -nature of Lady Euphrasia. Oh, render her sensible of the blessing you -bestow in giving her Lord Mortimer! and render her not only capable of -inspiring, but of feeling tenderness. May she prove to him the tender -friend, the faithful, the affectionate companion the unfortunate Amanda -would have been! Oh, may she build her happiness on his! and may his be -great as his virtues--extensive as his charities! and may the knowledge -of it soothe my afflicted heart!" - -Her spirits were a little elevated by the fervency of her language. But -it was a transient elevation. The flush it spread over her cheeks soon -died away, and her tears again began to flow. "Alas!" she cried, "in a -few days it will be criminal to think of Lord Mortimer as I have -hitherto done; and I shall blush," continued she, gazing at his picture, -"to contemplate this dear shadow, when I reflect its original is the -husband of Lady Euphrasia." - -The dinner-bell now sounded through the Abbey, and almost at the same -minute she heard a tap at her door. She started, and reflected for the -first time that her deep dejection would naturally excite suspicions as -to its source, if longer indulged. Shocked at the idea of incurring -them, she hastily wiped away her tears, and opening the door, found her -friend Mrs. Duncan at it, who begged she would come down to dinner. -Amanda did not refuse, but was obliged to use the supporting arm of her -friend to reach the parlor. She could not eat. With difficulty could she -restrain her tears, or answer the inquiries Mrs. Bruce made, after what -she supposed a mere bodily indisposition. She forced herself, however, -to continue in the parlor till after tea, when cards being produced, she -had an opportunity of going out, and indulging her anguish without fear -of interruption. Unable, however, to walk far, she repaired to the old -chapel, and sitting down by it, leaned her head against its decayed and -ivy-covered walls. She had scarcely sat in this manner a minute, when -the stones gave way, with a noise which terrified her, and she would -have fallen backwards had she not caught at some projecting wood. She -hastily rose, and found that the ivy entirely concealed the breach. She -examined it, however, and perceived it large enough to admit her into -the chapel. A sudden pleasure pervaded her heart at the idea of being -able to enter it, and examine the picture she had so long wished to -behold. There was nothing to oppose her entrance but the ivy. This she -parted with difficulty, but so as not to strip it from the wall, and -after stepping over the fallen rubbish, she found herself in the body of -the chapel. The silent hour of twilight was now advanced, but the -moonbeams that darted through the broken roof prevented the chapel from -being involved in utter darkness. Already had the owls begun their -strains of melancholy on its mouldering pillars, while the ravens -croaked amongst the luxuriant trees that rustled round it. Dusty and -moth-eaten banners were suspended from the walls, and rusty casques, -shields, and spears were promiscuously heaped together, the useless -armor of those over whose remains Amanda now trod with a light and -trembling foot. She looked for the picture, and perceived one reclined -against the wall near the altar. She wiped away the dust, and perceived -this was indeed the one she sought, the one her father had so often -described to her. The light was too imperfect for her to distinguish the -features, and she resolved, if possible, to come at an earlier hour the -ensuing evening. She felt impressed with reverential awe as she stood -before it. She recollected the pathetic manner in which her father had -mentioned his emotions as he gazed upon it, and her tears began to flow -for the disastrous fate of her parents and her own. She sunk in an agony -of grief, which mournful remembrances and present calamities excited, -upon the steps of that altar, where Fitzalan and Malvina had plighted -their irrevocable vows. She leaned her arm on the rails, but her face -was turned to the picture, as if it could see and would pity her -distress. She remained in this situation till the striking of the Abbey -clock warned her to depart. In going towards the entrance she perceived -a small arched door at the opposite side. As the apartments Lady Malvina -had occupied were in this part of the building, she resolved on visiting -them before she left the Abbey, lest the breach in the wall should be -discovered ere she returned to it. She returned to the parlor ere the -ladies had finished their game of piquet, and the next evening, -immediately after tea, repaired to the chapel, leaving them engaged as -usual at cards. She stood a few minutes before it, to see if any one was -near; but perceiving no object she again entered it. She had now -sufficient light to examine the picture; though faded by the damp, it -yet retained that loveliness for which its original was so admired, and -which Amanda had so often heard eloquently described by her father. She -contemplated it with awe and pity. Her heart swelled with the emotions -it excited, and gave way to its feelings in tears. To weep before the -shade of her mother, seemed to assuage the bitterness of those feelings. -She pronounced the name of her parents, she called herself their -wretched orphan, a stranger, and a dependant in the mansion of her -ancestors. She pronounced the name of Lord Mortimer in the impassioned -accents of tenderness and distress. As she thus indulged the sorrows of -her soul in tears and lamentations, she suddenly heard a faint noise, -like an advancing footstep near her. She started up, for she had been -kneeling before her mother's picture, terrified lest her visit to the -chapel had been discovered, which she knew, if the case, would mortally -disoblige Mrs. Bruce, though why she should be so averse to any one's -visiting it she could not conceive. She listened in trembling anxiety a -few minutes. All again was still, and she returned to the parlor, where -she found the ladies as she had left them, determined, notwithstanding -her late fright, to return the next evening to the chapel, and visit the -apartments that were her mother's. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - - "What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade, - Invites my steps?"--POPE. - - -The next evening Amanda's patience was put to the test; for after tea -Mrs. Duncan proposed a walk, which seemed to cut off her hopes of -visiting the chapel that evening; but after strolling some time about -the valley, complaisance for her aunt made Mrs. Duncan return to the -parlor, where she was expected to take her usual hand at piquet. The -hour was late, and the sky so gloomy, that the moon, though at its full, -could scarcely penetrate the darkness; notwithstanding all this, Amanda -resolved on going to the chapel, considering this, in all probability, -the only opportunity she would have of visiting the apartments her -mother had occupied (which she had an irrepressible desire to enter), as -in two days she was to accompany Mrs. Duncan to lodgings in the -neighboring town; she accordingly said she had a mind to walk a little -longer. Mrs. Bruce bade her beware of catching cold, and Mrs. Duncan -said she was too fond of solitary rambles; but no opposition being made -to her intention, she hurried to the chapel, and, entering the little -arched door, found herself in a lofty hall, in the centre of which was a -grand staircase, the whole enlightened by a large gothic window at the -head of the stairs. She ascended them with trepidation, for her -footsteps produced a hollow echo, which added something awful to the -gloom that enveloped her. On gaining the top of the stairs she saw two -large folding doors on either side, both closed. She knew the direction -to take, and, by a small exertion of strength, pulled the one on the -left side open, and perceived a long gallery, which she knew was -terminated by the apartments she wanted to visit. Its almost total -darkness, however, nearly conquered her wish, and shook her resolution -of proceeding; but ashamed, even to herself, to give way to -superstitious fears, or turn back without gratifying her inclination -after going so far, she advanced into the gallery, though with a -trembling step, and as she let the door out of her hand, it shut to with -a violence that shook the whole building. The gallery on one side had a -row of arched doors, and on the other an equal number of windows; but so -small, and placed so high, as scarcely to admit a ray of light. Amanda's -heart began to beat with unusual quickness, and she thought she should -never reach the end of the gallery. She at last came to a door, it was -closed, not fastened; she pushed it gently open, and could just discern -a spacious room. This, she supposed, had been her mother's -dressing-room. The moonbeams, as if to aid her wish of examining it, -suddenly darted through the casements. Cheered by the unexpected light, -she advanced into the room: at the upper end of it something in white -attracted her notice. She concluded it to be the portrait of Lady -Malvina's mother, which she had been informed hung in this room. She -went up to examine it; but her horror may be better conceived than -described, when she found herself not by a picture, but by the real form -of a woman, with a death-like countenance! She screamed wildly at the -terrifying spectre, for such she believed it to be, and quick as -lightning flew from the room. Again was the moon obscured by a cloud, -and she involved in utter darkness. She ran with such violence, that, as -she reached the door at the end of the gallery, she fell against it. -Extremely hurt, she had not power to move for a few minutes; but while -she involuntarily paused, she heard approaching footsteps. Wild with -terror, she instantly recovered her faculties, and attempted opening it; -but it resisted all her efforts. "Protect me, Heaven!" she exclaimed, -and at the moment felt an icy hand upon hers! Her senses instantly -receded, and she sunk to the floor. When she recovered from her -insensibility she perceived a glimmering light around her. She opened -her eyes with fearfulness, but no object appeared, and to her great joy -she saw the door standing open, and found that the light proceeded from -the large window. She instantly rose, and descended the staircase with -as much haste as her trembling limbs could make; but again, what was her -horror when, on entering the chapel, the first object she beheld was the -same that had already alarmed her so much! She made a spring to escape -through the entrance, but the apparition, with a rapidity equal to her -own, glided before her, and with a hollow voice, as she waved an -emaciated hand, exclaimed, "Forbear to go." - -A deadly faintness again came over Amanda; she sunk upon a broken seat, -and put her hand over her eyes to shut out the frightful vision. - -"Lose," continued the figure, in a hollow voice, "lose your -superstitious fears, and in me behold not an airy inhabitant of the -other world, but a sinful, sorrowing, and repentant woman." - -The terrors of Amanda gave way to this unexpected address; but her -surprise was equal to what these terrors had been; she withdrew her -hand, and gazed attentively on the form before her. - -"If my eye, if my ear deceives me not," it continued, "you are a -descendant of the Dunreath family. I heard you last night, when you -imagined no being near, call yourself the unfortunate orphan of Lady -Malvina Fitzalan." "I am indeed her child," replied Amanda. "Tell me, -then, by what means you have been brought hither. You called yourself a -stranger, and a dependant in the house of your ancestors." "I am both," -said Amanda; "my real name is concealed, from circumstances peculiarly -distressing, and I have been brought to the Abbey as an instructress to -two children related to the person who takes care of it." "My prayers at -length," exclaimed the ghastly figure, raising her hollow eyes and -emaciated hands,--"my prayers have reached the Throne of Mercy, and, as -a proof that my repentance is accepted, power is given me to make -reparation for the injuries I have committed. Oh! thou," she cried, -turning to Amanda, "whose form revives in my remembrance the youth and -beauty blasted by my means, if thy mind as well as face, resembles Lady -Malvina's, thou wilt, in pity to my sufferings, forbear to reproach my -crimes. In me," she continued, "you behold the guilty but contrite widow -of the Earl of Dunreath." - -Amanda started. "Oh, gracious Heaven!" she exclaimed, "can this be -possible?" "Have you not been taught to execrate my name?" asked the -unhappy woman. "Oh! no," replied Amanda. "No," replied Lady Dunreath, -"because your mother was an angel. But did she not leave a son?" "Yes," -said Amanda. "And does he live?" "Alas! I do not know," replied Amanda, -melting into tears; "distress separated us, and he is not more ignorant -of my destiny than I am of his." "It is I," exclaimed Lady Dunreath, -"have been the cause of this distress. It is I, sweet and sainted -Malvina, have been the cause of calamity to your children; but, blessed -be the wonder-working hand of Providence," she continued, "which has -given me an opportunity of making some amends for my cruelty and -injustice. But," she proceeded, "as I know the chance which led you to -the chapel, I dread to detain you longer, lest it should lead to a -discovery. Was it known that you saw me, all my intentions would be -defeated. Be secret, then, I conjure you, more on your account than my -own, and let not Mrs. Bruce have the smallest intimation of what has -passed; but return to-morrow night, and you shall receive from me a -sacred deposit, which will, if affluence can do it, render you -completely happy. In the mean time, do you throw upon paper a brief -account of your life, that I may know the incidents which so -providentially brought you to the Abbey." Amanda promised to obey her in -every respect, and the unfortunate woman, unable longer to speak, kissed -her hand, and retired through the little arched door. Amanda left the -chapel, and, full of wonder, pity, and expectation, moved mechanically -to the parlor. Mrs. Bruce and Mrs. Duncan had just risen from cards, and -both were instantly struck with her pallid and disordered looks. They -inquired if she was ill. Their inquiries roused her from a deep reverie. -She recollected the danger of exciting suspicions, and replied, "she was -only fatigued with walking, and begged leave to retire to her chamber." -Mrs. Duncan attended her to it, and would have sat with her till she saw -her in bed, had Amanda allowed; but it was not her intention, indeed, to -go to bed for some time. When left to herself, the surprising and -interesting discovery she had made had so agitated her that she could -scarcely compose herself enough to take up a pen to narrate the -particulars of her life, as Lady Dunreath had requested. She sketched -them in a brief yet hasty manner, sufficiently strong, however, to -interest the feelings of a sympathetic heart; the tender and peculiar -sorrows of her own she omitted; her life was represented sufficiently -calamitous, without mentioning the incurable sorrow which disappointed -love had entailed upon it. She was glad she had executed her task with -haste, as Mrs. Duncan called upon her in the course of the next day to -assist in packing for their removal to the neighboring town. The -evening was far advanced ere she had an opportunity of repairing to the -chapel, where she found the unfortunate Lady Dunreath resting in an -attitude of deep despondence, against the rails of the altar. - -Her pale and woe-worn countenance--her emaciated form--her solitary -situation--all inspired Amanda with the tenderest compassion, and she -dropped a tear upon the cold and withered hand which was extended to -hers, as she approached. "I merit not the tear of pity," said the -unhappy woman, "yet it casts a gleam of comfort on my heart to meet with -a being who feels for its sorrows. But the moments are precious." She -then led Amanda to the altar, and, stooping down, desired her assistance -in removing a small marble flag beneath it. This being effected, with -difficulty, Amanda perceived an iron box, which she also assisted in -raising. Lady Dunreath then took a key from her bosom, with which she -opened it, and took from thence a sealed paper. "Receive," said she, -presenting it to Amanda, "receive the will of your grandfather, a sacred -deposit, intrusted to your care for your brother, the rightful heir of -the Earl of Dunreath. Oh! may its restoration, and my sincere -repentance, atone for its long detention and concealment. Oh! may the -fortune it will bestow upon you, as well as your brother, be productive -to both of the purest happiness." Trembling with joyful surprise, Amanda -received the paper. "Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed she, "is it possible? -Do I really hold the will of my grandfather--a will which will entitle -my brother to affluence? Oh! Providence, how mysterious are thy ways! -Oh! Oscar, beloved of my heart," she continued, forgetting at that -moment every consideration of self, "could thy sister have possibly -foreseen her sorrows would have led to such a discovery, half their -bitterness would have been allayed. Yes, my father, one of thy children -may at least be happy, and in witnessing that happiness the other will -find a mitigation of misery." Tears burst from her as she spoke, and -relieved the strong emotions that swelled her heart, almost to bursting. - -"Oh! talk not of your misery," said Lady Dunreath, with a convulsive -sigh, "lest you drive me to despair. Forever must I accuse myself of -being the real source of calamity to Lady Malvina and her children." -"Excuse me," cried Amanda, wiping her eyes, "I should be ungrateful to -Heaven and to you if I dwelt upon my sorrows; but let me not neglect -this opportunity," she continued, "of inquiring if there is any way in -which I can possibly serve you. Is there no friend to whom I could -apply in your name, to have you released from this cruel and -unjustifiable confinement?" "No," said Lady Dunreath, "no such friend -exists. When I had the power to do so, I never conciliated friendship; -and if I am still remembered in the world, it is only with contempt and -abhorrence. The laws of my country would certainly liberate me at once; -but if things turn out as I expect, there will be no occasion for an -application to them, and any step of that kind at present might be -attended with the most unpleasant consequences. Your future prosperity, -my present safety, all depend on secrecy for a short period. In this -paper (drawing one from her pocket and presenting it to Amanda) I have -explained my reason for desiring such secrecy." Amanda put it with the -will into her bosom, and gave in return the little narrative she had -sketched. They both assisted in replacing the box and flag, and then -seated themselves on the steps of the altar. Amanda informed Lady -Dunreath of her intended departure the next day from the Abbey, and the -occasion of it. Lady Dunreath expressed the utmost impatience to have -everything put in a proper train for the avowal of the will, declaring -that the sight of the rightful heir in possession of the Abbey would -calm the agitations of a spirit which, she believed, would soon forsake -its earthly habitation. Tears of compassion fell from Amanda at these -words, and she shuddered to think that the unfortunate woman might die -abandoned, and bereft of comfort. Again she urged her to think of some -expedient for procuring immediate liberty, and again Lady Dunreath -assured her it was impossible. Absorbed in a kind of sympathetic -melancholy, they forgot the danger of delay till the Abbey clock chimed -half an hour past ten--which was later than Mrs. Bruce's usual hour of -supper--startled and alarmed them both. "Go! go!" cried Lady Dunreath, -with a wild expression of fear; "go! or we are undone!" Amanda pressed -her hand in silence, and, trembling, departed from the chapel. She -stopped at the outside to listen; for by her ear alone could she now -receive any intimation of danger, as the night was too dark to permit -any object to be discerned; but the breeze sighing amongst the trees of -the valley, and the melancholy murmur of waterfalls, were the only -sounds she heard. She groped along the walls of the chapel to keep in -the path, which wound from it to the entrance of the Abbey, and in doing -so passed her hand over the cold face of a human being. Terrified, an -involuntary scream burst from her, and she faintly articulated: "Defend -me, Heaven!" In the next moment she was seized round the waist, and her -senses were receding, when Mrs. Duncan's voice recalled them. She -apologized to Amanda for giving her such a fright; but said, "that her -uneasiness was so great at her long absence that, attended by a servant, -she had come in quest of her." - -Mrs. Duncan's voice relieved Amanda from the horror of thinking she had -met with a person who would insult her; but it had given rise to a new -alarm. She feared she had been traced to the chapel, that her discourse -with Lady Dunreath had been overheard, and of course the secret of the -will discovered, and that Mrs. Duncan, amiable as she was, might -sacrifice friendship to interest and consanguinity. This idea -overwhelmed her with anguish; her deep and heavy sighs, her violent -trembling, alarmed Mrs. Duncan, who hastily called the servant to assist -her in supporting Amanda home; drops were then administered, but they -would have wanted their usual efficacy with the poor night wanderer had -she not soon been convinced by Mrs. Duncan's manner she had not made the -dreaded discovery. - -Amanda would have retired to her chamber before supper, but that she -feared distressing Mrs. Duncan by doing so, who would have imputed her -indisposition to her fright. She accordingly remained in the parlor, but -with a mind so occupied by the interesting events of the evening, that -she soon forgot the purpose for which she sat down to table, and neither -heeded what was doing or saying. From this reverie she was suddenly -roused by the sound of a name forever dear and precious, which in a -moment had power to recall her wandering ideas. She raised her eyes, and -with a sad intenseness fixed them on Mrs. Bruce, who continued to talk -of the approaching nuptials of Lord Mortimer. Tears now fell from Amanda -in spite of her efforts to restrain them, and while drooping her head to -wipe them away, she caught the eyes of Mrs. Duncan fastened on her with -an expression of mingled pity and curiosity. A deep crimson suffused the -face of Amanda, at the consciousness of having betrayed the secret of -her heart; but her confusion was inferior to her grief, and the rich -suffusion of the one soon gave place to the deadly hue of the other. -"Ah!" thought she, "what is now the acquisition of wealth, when -happiness is beyond my reach!" Yet scarcely had she conceived the -thought ere she wished it buried in oblivion. "Is the comfort of -independence, the power of dispensing happiness to others, nothing?" she -asked herself. "Do they not merit gratitude of the most pure -thankfulness, of the most fervent nature to Providence? They do," she -cried, and paid them at the moment in the silence of her heart. It was -late ere the ladies separated for the night, and as soon as Amanda had -secured the door of her chamber, she drew from her bosom the papers so -carefully deposited there, and sat down to peruse the narrative of Lady -Dunreath. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - - "For true repentance never comes too late; - As soon as born she makes herself a shroud, - The weeping mantle of a fleecy cloud, - And swift as thought her airy journey takes, - Her hand Heaven's azure gate with trembling strikes. - The stars do with amazement on her look: - She tells her story in so sad a tone, - That angels start from bliss, and give a groan."--LEE. - - -NARRATIVE OF LADY DUNREATH. - -Adoring the Power who has given me means of making restitution for my -injustice, I take up my pen to disclose to your view, oh! lovely orphan -of the injured Malvina, the frailties of a heart which has long been -tortured with the retrospect of past and the pressure of present evil. -Convinced, as I have already said, that if your mind, as well as form, -resembles your mother's, you will, while you condemn the sinner, -commiserate the penitent, and, touched by that penitence, offer up a -prayer to Heaven (and the prayers of innocence are ever availing) for -its forgiveness unto me. Many years are now elapsed since the -commencement of my confinement, years which diminished my hope of being -able to make reparation for the injustice and cruelty I had done Lady -Malvina Fitzalan, but left unabated my desire of doing so. - -Ah! sweet Malvina! from thy soft voice I was doomed never to hear my -pardon pronounced; but from thy child I may, perhaps, have it accorded; -if so, from that blissful abode where thou now enjoyest felicity, if the -departed souls of the happy are allowed to view the transactions of this -world, thine, I am convinced, will behold, with benignancy and -compassion, the wretch who covers herself with shame to atone for her -injuries to thee. But I must restrain these effusions of my heart, lest -I encroach too much upon the limited time allotted to make what I may -call my confession, and inform you of particulars necessary to be known. - -My cruelty and insolence to Lady Malvina you no doubt already know. In -my conduct to her I forgot the obligations her mother had conferred upon -me, whose patronage and kind protection laid the foundation of my -prosperity. I rejoiced at her marriage with Captain Fitzalan, as a step -that would deprive her of her father's favor, and place her in that -state of poverty which would conceal charms I detested for being -superior to my daughter's. The earl's resentment was violent at first; -but with equal surprise and concern I soon perceived it gradually -subsiding. The irrevocableness of the deed, the knowledge that he wanted -no acquisition of fortune, above all, Fitzalan's noble descent, and the -graces and virtues he possessed, worthy of the highest station, dwelt -upon the earl's imagination, and pleaded strongly in extenuation of his -daughter. Alarmed lest my schemes against her should be rendered -abortive, like an evil spirit, I contrived to rekindle, by means of my -agents, the earl's resentment. They represented the flagrant, the daring -contempt Lady Malvina had shown to paternal authority, and that too easy -a forgiveness of it might influence her sister to similar conduct with a -person perhaps less worthy, and more needy, if possible, than Fitzalan. -This last suggestion had the desired effect, and Lady Malvina he -declared in future should be considered as an alien to his family. - -I now hoped my ambitious views, relative to my daughter, would be -accomplished. I had long wished her united to the Marquis of Roslin; but -he had for years been Lady Malvina's admirer, and was so much attached -to her, that on her marriage he went abroad. My arts were then tried to -prevail on the earl to make a will in Lady Augusta's favor; but this was -a point I could not accomplish, and I lived in continual apprehension -lest his dying intestate should give Lady Malvina the fortune I wanted -to deprive her of. Anxious, however, to procure a splendid establishment -for my daughter, I everywhere said there was no doubt but she would be -sole heiress to the earl. At the expiration of three years the marquis -returned to his native country. His unfortunate passion was subdued; he -heard and believed the reports I circulated, and stimulated by avarice, -his leading propensity, offered his hand to my daughter and was -accepted. The earl gave her a large portion in ready money; but -notwithstanding all my endeavors, would not make a settlement of any of -his estates upon her. I, however, still hoped, and the marquis, from -what I said, believed that she would possess all his fortune. My -daughter's nuptials added to my natural haughtiness. They also increased -my love of pleasure, by affording me more amply the means of gratifying -it at the sumptuous entertainments at the marquis's castle. Engaged -continually in them, the earl, whose infirmities confined him to the -Abbey, was left to solitude and the care of his domestics. My neglect, -you will say, was impolitic whilst I had any point to carry with him; -but Providence has so wisely ordained it that vice should still defeat -itself. Had I always acted in uniformity with the tenderness I once -showed the earl, I have little doubt but what at last I should have -prevailed on him to act as I pleased; but, infatuated by pleasure, my -prudence, no--it deserves not such an appellation--forsook me. Though -the earl's body was a prey to the infirmities of age, his mind knew none -of its imbecilities, and he sensibly felt and secretly resented my -neglect. The more he reflected on it, the more he contrasted it with the -attention he was accustomed to receive from his banished Malvina, and -the resentment I had hitherto kept alive in his mind against her -gradually subsided, so that he was well prepared to give a favorable -reception to the little innocent advocate she sent to plead her cause. -My terror, my dismay, when I surprised the little Oscar at the knee of -his grandfather, are not to be described. The tears which the agitated -parent shed upon the infant's lovely cheek seemed to express affection -for its mother, and regret for his rigor to her. Yet amidst those tears -I thought I perceived an exulting joy as he gazed upon the child, which -seemed to say, "Thou wilt yet be the pride, the prop, the ornament, of -my ancient house." After circumstances proved I was right in my -interpretation of his looks. I drove the little Oscar from the room with -frantic rage. The earl was extremely affected. He knew the violence of -my temper, and felt too weak to enter into any altercation with me. He -therefore reserved his little remaining strength and spirits to arrange -his affairs, and by passiveness seemed yielding to my sway; but I soon -found, though silent, he was resolute. - -My preventing your brother from again gaining access to his grandfather, -and my repulsing your mother when she requested an interview with the -earl, I suppose you already know. Gracious Heaven! my heart sickens, -even at this remote period, when I reflect on the night I turned her -from her paternal home--from that mansion under whose roof her -benevolent mother had sheltered my tender years from the rude storms of -adverse life. Oh, black and base ingratitude! dire return for the -benefits I had received; yet, almost at the very instant I committed so -cruel an action she was avenged. No language can describe my horrors, as -conscience represented to me the barbarity of my conduct. I trembled -with involuntary fears. Sounds had power to terrify. Every blast which -shook the Abbey (and dreadful was the tempest of that night), made me -shrink as if about to meet with an instantaneous punishment. - - "I trembled at my undivulged crimes - Unwhipped of justice----" - -I knew the earl expected either to see or hear from your mother. He was -ignorant of the reception she had met from me, and I was determined, if -possible, he should continue so. As soon as certified of Lady Malvina's -departure from the neighborhood of the Abbey, I contrived a letter in -Captain Fitzalan's name to the earl, filled with the most cutting and -insolent reproaches to him for his conduct to his daughter, and imputing -her precipitate departure from Scotland to it. These unjust reproaches, -I trusted, would irritate the earl, and work another revolution in his -mind; but I was disappointed. He either believed the letter a forgery, -or else resolved the children should not suffer for the fault of the -parent. He accordingly sent for his agent, an eminent lawyer in one of -the neighboring towns. This man was lately deceased, but his son, bred -to his profession, obeyed the summons to the Abbey. I dreaded his -coming; but scarcely had I seen him, ere this dread was lost in -emotions, till then unknown. A soft, a tender, an ardent passion took -possession of my heart, on beholding a man, in the very prime of life, -adorned with every natural and acquired grace that could please the eye -and ear. Married at an early period, possessed of all the advantages of -art, said and believing myself to be handsome, I flattered myself I -might on his heart make an impression equal to that he had done on mine. -If so, I thought how easily could the earl's intentions in favor of his -daughter be defeated, for that love will readily make sacrifices I had -often heard. A will was made, but my new ideas and schemes divested me -of uneasiness about it. Melross continued at the Abbey much longer than -he need have done, and when he left it, his absence was of short -continuance. The earl's business was his pretext his long and frequent -visits. But the real motive of them he soon discovered to me, -encouraged, no doubt, by the partiality I betrayed. - -I shall not dwell upon this part of my story; but I completed my crime -by violating my conjugal fidelity, and we entered into an engagement to -be united whenever I was at liberty, which, from the infirm state of the -earl, I now believed would shortly be the case. In consequence of this, -Melross agreed to put into my hands the earl's will, which had been -intrusted to his care, and, he acknowledged, drawn up entirely in favor -of Lady Malvina Fitzalan and her offspring. It was witnessed by friends -of his, whom he had no doubt of bribing to silence. You may wonder that -the will was not destroyed as soon as I had it in my possession. But to -do so never was my intention. By keeping it in my hands, I trusted I -should have a power over my daughter, which duty and affection had never -yet given me. Violent and imperious in her disposition, I doubted not -but she and the marquis, who nearly resembled her in these particulars, -would endeavor to prevent, from pride and selfishness, my union with -Melross. But to know they were in my power would crush all opposition, I -supposed, and obtain their most flattering notice for him--a notice, -from my pride, I found essential to my tranquillity. The earl requested -Melross to inquire about Lady Malvina, which he promised to do, but, it -is almost unnecessary to say, never fulfilled such a promise. - -In about a year after the commencement of my attachment for Melross the -earl expired, and the marchioness inherited his possessions by means of -a forged will executed by Melross. Ignorant, indeed, at the time, that -it was by iniquity she obtained them, though her conduct since that -period has proved she would not have suffered any compunction from such -a knowledge, I removed from the Abbey to an estate about fifteen miles -from it, which the earl had left me, and here, much sooner than decency -would have warranted, avowed my intention of marrying Melross, to the -marquis and marchioness of Roslin. The consequences of this avowal were -pretty much what I expected. The marquis, more by looks than words -expressed his contempt; but the marchioness openly declared her -indignation. To think of uniting myself to a being so low in life and -fortune, she said, as Melross, was an insult to the memory of her -father, and a degradation to his illustrious house; it would also be a -confirmation of the scandalous reports which had already been circulated -to the prejudice of my character about him. Her words roused all the -violence of my soul. I upbraided her with ingratitude to a parent, who -had stepped beyond the bounds of rigid propriety to give her an increase -of fortune. My words alarmed her and the marquis. They hastily demanded -an explanation of them. I did not hesitate in giving one, protesting at -the same time that I would no longer hurt my feelings on their account, -as I found no complaisance to my wishes, but immediately avow Lady -Malvina Fitzalan the lawful heiress of the Earl of Dunreath. The marquis -and marchioness changed color; I saw they trembled lest I should put my -threats into execution, though with consummate art they pretended to -disbelieve that such a will as I mentioned existed. - -"Beware," cried I, rising from my chair to quit the room, "lest I give -you too convincing a proof of its reality; except I meet with the -attention and complaisance I have a right to expect, I shall no longer -act contrary to the dictates of my conscience by concealing it. -Unlimited mistress of my own actions, what but affection for my daughter -could make me consult her upon any of them? Her disapprobation proceeds -alone from selfishness, since an alliance with Melross, from his -profession, accomplishments, and birth, would not disgrace a house even -more illustrious than the one she is descended from or connected to." - -I retired to my chamber, secretly exulting at the idea of having -conquered all opposition, for I plainly perceived by the marquis and -marchioness's manner, they were convinced it was in my power to deprive -them of their newly-acquired possessions, which, to secure, I doubled -not their sacrificing their pride to my wishes. I exulted in the idea of -having my nuptials with Melross celebrated with that splendor I always -delighted in, and the prospect of having love and vanity gratified, -filled me with a kind of intoxicating happiness. - -In a few hours after I had retired to my room, the marchioness sent to -request an interview with me, which I readily granted. She entered the -apartment with a respectful air, very unusual to her, and immediately -made an apology for her late conduct. She acknowledged I had reason to -be offended, but a little reflection had convinced her of her error, and -both she and the marquis thanked me for consulting them about the change -I was about making in my situation, and would pay every attention in -their power to the man I had honored with my choice. That I did not -think the marchioness sincere in her professions you may believe, but -complaisance was all I required. I accompanied her to the marquis; a -general reconciliation ensued, and Melross was presented to them. In -about two days after this the marchioness came into my dressing-room -one morning, and told me she had a proposal to make, which she hoped -would be agreeable to me to comply with. It was the marquis's intention -and hers to go immediately to the continent, and they had been thinking, -if Melross and I would favor them with our company, that we had better -defer our nuptials till we reached Paris, which was the first place they -intended visiting, as their solemnization in Scotland so soon after the -earl's decease might displease his friends, by whom we were surrounded, -and, on their return, which would be soon, they would introduce Melross -to their connections as a man every way worthy of their notice. After a -little hesitation I agreed to this plan, for where it interfered not -with my own inclinations I wished to preserve an appearance of propriety -to the world, and I could not avoid thinking my marrying so soon after -the earl's death would draw censure upon me, which I should avoid by the -projected tour, as the certain time of my nuptials could not then be -ascertained. Melross submitted cheerfully to our new arrangements, and -it was settled farther, to preserve appearances, that he should go -before us to Paris. I supplied him with everything requisite for making -an elegant appearance and he departed in high spirits at the prospect of -his splendid establishment for life. - -I counted the moments with impatience for rejoining him, and as had been -settled, we commenced our journey a month after his departure. It was -now the middle of winter, and ere we stopped for the night, darkness, -almost impenetrable, had veiled the earth. Fatigued, and almost -exhausted by the cold, I followed the marquis through a long passage, -lighted by a glimmering lamp, to a parlor which was well lighted and had -a comfortable fire. I started with amazement on entering it at finding -myself in a place I thought familiar to me; my surprise however, was but -for an instant, yet I could not help expressing it to the marquis. "Your -eyes, madam," cried he, with a cruel solemnity, "have not deceived you, -for you are now in Dunreath Abbey!" "Dunreath Abbey!" I repeated: -"Gracious Heaven! what can be the meaning of this?" "To hide your folly, -your imprudence, your deceit from the world," he exclaimed; "to prevent -your executing the wild projects of a depraved and distempered mind, by -entering into a union at once contemptible and preposterous, and to save -those, from whom alone you derive your consequence by your connection -with them, farther mortification on your account." - -To describe fully the effect of this speech upon a heart like mine is -impossible; the fury which pervaded my soul would, I believe, have -hurried me into a deed of dire revenge, had I had the power of executing -it; my quivering lips could not express my strong indignation. - -"And do you then, in a country like this," I cried, "dare to think you -can deprive me of my liberty?" "Yes," replied he, with insulting -coolness, "when it is known you are incapable of making a proper use of -that liberty. You should thank me," he continued, "for palliating your -late conduct, by imputing it rather to an intellectual derangement than -to total depravity. From what other source than the former could you -have asserted that there was a will in Lady Malvina Fitzalan's favor?" - -These words at once developed the cause of his unjustifiable conduct, -and proved that there is no real faith between the guilty. From my -disposition the marquis was convinced that I would assume a haughty sway -over him, in consequence of the secret of the will. He also dreaded that -passion or caprice might one day induce me to betray that secret, and -wrest from him his unlawful possessions. Thus pride and avarice tempted -and determined him, by confining me, to rid himself of these fears. "Oh! -would to Heaven," cried I, replying to the last part of his speech, "I -had proved my assertion; had I done justice to others, I should not have -been entangled in the snare of treachery." "Prove the assertion now," -said he, "by showing me the will, and you may, perhaps," he continued, -in a hesitating accent, "find your doing so attended with pleasing -consequences." - -Rage and scorn flashed from my eyes at these words. "No," cried I, "had -you the power of torturing, you should not tear it from me. I will keep -it to atone for my sins, and expose yours to view by restoring it to the -right owner." I demanded my liberty, I threatened, supplicated, but all -in vain. The marquis told me I might as well compose myself, for my fate -was decided. "You know," cried he, with a malicious look, "you have no -friends to inquire or interfere about you, and, even if you had, when I -told them what I believe to be the case, that your senses were -disordered, they would never desire to have you released from this -confinement." I called for my daughter. "You will see her no more;" he -replied, "the passions she has so long blushed to behold she will no -more witness." "Rather say," I exclaimed, "that she dare not behold her -injured parent; but let not the wretch who has severed the ties of -nature hope to escape unpunished. No, my sufferings will draw a dreadful -weight upon her head, and may, when least expected, torture her heart -with anguish." - -Convinced that I was entirely in the marquis's power; convinced that I -had nothing to hope from him or my daughter, rage, horror, and agony, at -their unjust and audacious treatment, kindled in my breast a sudden -frenzy, which strong convulsions only terminated. When I recovered from -them I found myself on a bed in a room which, at the first glance, I -knew to be the one the late Lady Dunreath had occupied, to whose honors -I so unworthily succeeded. Mrs. Bruce, who had been housekeeper at the -Abbey before my marriage, sat beside me; I hesitated a few minutes -whether I should address her as a suppliant or a superior; the latter, -however, being most agreeable to my inclinations, I bid her, with a -haughty air, which I hoped would awe her into obedience, assist me in -rising, and procure some conveyance from the Abbey without delay. The -marquis entered the chamber as I spoke. "Compose yourself, madam," said -he, "your destiny, I repeat, is irrevocable; this Abbey is your future -residence, and bless those who have afforded your follies such an -asylum. It behooves both the marchioness and me indeed to seclude a -woman who might cast imputations on our characters, which those -unacquainted with them might believe." I started from the bed, in the -loose dress in which they had placed me on it, and stamping round the -room, demanded my liberty. The marquis heard my demand with contemptuous -silence, and quitted the room. I attempted to rush after him, but he -pushed me back with violence, and closed the door. My feelings again -brought on convulsions, which terminated in a delirium and fever. In -this situation the marquis and marchioness abandoned me, hoping, no -doubt, that my disorder would soon lay me in a prison even more secure -than the one they had devoted me to. Many weeks elapsed ere I showed any -symptom of recovery. On regaining my senses, I seemed as if awaking from -a tedious sleep, in which I had been tortured with frightful visions. -The first object my eyes beheld, now blessed with the powers of clear -perception, was Mrs. Bruce bending over my pillow, with a look of -anxiety and grief, which implied a wish, yet a doubt, of my recovery. - -"Tell me," said I faintly, "am I really in Dunreath Abbey--am I really -confined within its walls by order of my child?" - -Mrs. Bruce sighed. "Do not disturb yourself with questions now," said -she; "the reason Heaven has so mercifully restored would be ill employed -in vain murmurs." "Vain murmurs!" I repeated, and a deep, desponding -sigh burst from my heart. I lay silent a long time after this. The gloom -which encompassed me at length grew too dreary to be borne, and I -desired Mrs. Bruce to draw back the curtains of the bed and windows. She -obeyed, and the bright beams of the sun, darting into the room, -displayed to my view an object I could not behold without -shuddering--this was the portrait of Lady Dunreath, exactly opposite the -bed. My mind was softened by illness, and I felt in that moment as if -her sainted spirit stood before me to awaken my conscience to remorse -and my heart to repentance. The benevolence which had irradiated the -countenance of the original with a celestial expression was powerfully -expressed upon the canvas, and recalled, oh! how affectingly to my -memory, the period in which this most amiable of women gave me a refuge -in her house, in her arms, from the storms of life; and yet her child, I -groaned, her child, I was accessory in destroying. Oh! how excruciating -were my feelings at this period of awakened conscience! I no longer -inveighed against my sufferings; I considered them in the light of -retribution, and felt an awful resignation take possession of my soul. -Yes, groaned I to myself, it is fit that in the very spot in which I -triumphed in deceit and cruelty I should meet the punishment due to my -misdeeds. - -The change in my disposition produced a similar one in my temper, so -that Mrs. Bruce found the task of attending me easier than she had -imagined it would be; yet I did not submit to confinement without many -efforts to liberate myself through her means; but her fidelity to her -unnatural employers was not to be shaken. Blushing, however, at my past -enormities, I should rather have shrunk from than solicited admission -again into the world, had not my ardent desire of making reparation to -the descendants of Lady Dunreath, influenced me to desire my freedom. -Oh! never did that desire cease--never did a morning dawn, an evening -close, without entreating Heaven to allow me means of restoring to the -injured their inheritance. Mrs. Bruce, though steady, was not cruel, and -nursed me with the tenderest attention till my health was -re-established. She then ceased to see me, except at night, but took -care I should always be amply stocked with necessaries. She supplied me -with religious and moral books; also, materials for writing, if I chose -to amuse myself with making comments on them. To those books am I -indebted for being able to endure, with some degree of calmness, my long -and dreadful captivity. They enlarged my heart, they enlightened its -ideas concerning the Supreme Being, they impressed it with awful -submission to His will, they convinced me more forcibly of my -transgressions, yet without exciting despair; for, while they showed -the horrors of vice, they proved the efficacy of repentance. Debarred of -the common enjoyments of life, air, exercise, and society, in vain my -heart assured me my punishment was inadequate to my crimes; nature -repined, and a total languor seized me. Mrs. Bruce at last told me I -should be allowed the range of that part of the building in which I was -confined (for I had hitherto been limited to one room), and consequently -air from the windows, if I promised to make no attempt for recovering my -freedom,--an attempt, she assured me, which would prove abortive, as -none but people attached to the marquis lived in or about the Abbey, who -would immediately betray me to him; and if he ever detected such a step, -it was his determination to hurry me to France. - -Certain that he would be capable of such baseness, touched by the -smallest indulgence, and eager to procure any recreation, I gave her the -most solemn assurances of never attempting to make known my situation. -She accordingly unlocked the several doors that had hitherto impeded my -progress from one apartment to another, and removed the iron bolts which -secured the shutters of the windows. Oh! with what mingled pain and -pleasure did I contemplate the rich prospect stretched before them, now -that I was debarred from enjoying it. At liberty, I wondered how I could -ever have contemplated it with a careless eye; and my spirits, which the -air had revived, suddenly sunk into despondence, when I reflected I -enjoyed this common blessing but by stealth; yet who (cried I, with -agony) can I blame but myself? The choicest gifts of Heaven were mine, -and I lost them by my own means. Wretch as I was, the first temptation -that assailed warped me from integrity, and my error is marked by the -deprivation of every good. With eager, with enthusiastic delight, I -gazed on scenes which I had so often before regarded with a careless -eye; it seemed as if I had only now perception to distinguish their -beauties: the season's difference made a material change to me, as all -the windows were shut up in winter, except those of the apartment I -occupied, which only looked into a gloomy court. Ah! how welcome to me, -then, was the return of spring, which again restored to me the -indulgence of visiting the windows. How delightful to my eyes the green -of the valley, and the glowing bloom of the mountain shrubs just -bursting into verdure! Ah! how soothing to my ear the lulling sound of -waterfalls, and the lively carol of the birds; how refreshing the -sweetness of the air, the fragrance of the plants, which friendly -zephyrs, as if pitying my confinement, wafted through the windows. The -twilight hour was also hailed by me with delight; it was then I turned -my eyes from earth to heaven, and, regarding its blue and spangled vault -but as a thin covering between me and myriads of angels, felt a sweet -sensation of mingled piety and pleasure, which for the time had power to -steep my sorrows in forgetfulness! But, in relating my feelings, I -wander from the real purpose of my narrative, and forget that I am -describing those feelings to a person who, from my injurious actions, -can take but little interest in them. - -The will I shall deliver to you to-night. I advise you, if your brother -cannot immediately be found, to put it into the hands of some man on -whose abilities and integrity you can rely; but till you meet with such -a person, beware of discovering you have it in your possession, lest the -marquis, who, I am sorry to say, I believe capable of almost any -baseness, should remove from your knowledge the penitent, whose -testimony to the validity of the deed will be so cheerfully given, and -is so materially essential. Be secret, then, I again conjure you, till -everything is properly arranged for the avowal of your rights; and, oh! -may the restoration of all those rights you shall claim, be to you and -to your brother productive of every felicity. From your hands may the -wealth it puts into them bestow relief and comfort on the children of -adversity; thus yielding to your hearts a pure and permanent -satisfaction, which the mere possession of riches, or the expenditure on -idle vanities, never can bestow. As much as possible I wish to have my -daughter saved from public disgrace. From me you will say she merits not -this lenient wish; but, alas! I hold myself accountable for her -misconduct. Intrusted to my care by Providence, I neglected the sacred -charge, nor ever curbed a passion or laid the foundation of a virtue. -Ah! may her wretched parent's prayers be yet availing; may penitence, -ere too late, visit her heart, and teach her to regret and expiate her -errors! Had she been united to a better man, I think she never would -have swerved so widely from nature and from duty; but the selfish soul -of the marquis taught her to regard self as the first consideration in -life. - -Mrs. Bruce informed me that the marquis had written to Melross, -informing him that I had changed my mind, and would think no more about -him, and she supposed he had procured some pleasant establishment in -France, as no one had ever heard of his returning from it. She made -several attempts to prevail on me to give up the will to her, but I -resisted all her arts, and was rejoiced to think I had concealed it in a -place which would never be suspected. My narrative now concluded, I -wait with even trembling impatience for your expected visit--for that -moment in which I shall make some reparation for my injuries to your -mother. I am also anxious for the moment in which I shall receive the -promised narrative of your life. From your tears, your words, your -manner, I may expect a tale of sorrow; ah! may it be only that gentle -sorrow which yields to the influence of time, and the sweets of -friendship and conscious innocence. - -I cannot forbear describing what I felt on first hearing your voice--a -voice so like in its harmonious tones to one I knew had long been -silent. Impressed with an awful dread, I stood upon the stairs, which I -was descending to visit the chapel, as was my constant custom at the -close of day. Shivering and appalled, I had not for a few minutes power -to move--but when I at last ventured nearer to the door, and saw you -kneeling before the dust-covered shade of her I had injured, when I -heard you call yourself her wretched orphan, ah! what were my emotions? -An awful voice seemed sounding in my ear--"Behold the hour of -retribution is arrived! Behold a being, whom the hand of Providence has -conducted hither to receive reparation for the injustice you did her -parents! Adore that mighty hand which thus affords you means of making -atonement for your offences!" I did adore it. I raised my streaming -eyes, my trembling hands to Heaven, and blessed the gracious Power which -had granted my prayer. The way by which I saw you quit my retirement, -proved to me your entrance into it was unknown. With an impatience -bordering on agony, I waited for the next evening--it came without -bringing you, and no language can express my disappointment. Dejected, I -returned to my chamber, which you entered soon after, and where you -received so great a fright, yet, be assured, not a greater one than I -experienced, for the gleam of moonlight which displayed me to you gave -you full to my view, and I beheld the very form and face of Lady -Malvina. In form and face may you alone resemble her; different, far -different, be your destiny from hers. Soon may your brother be restored -to your arms. Should he then shudder at my name, oh! teach him, with a -mercy like your own, to accord me forgiveness. - -Ye sweet and precious descendants of this illustrious house!--ye -rightful heirs of Dunreath Abbey!--may your future joys amply recompense -your past sorrows! May those sorrows be forgotten, or only remembered to -temper prosperity, and teach it pity for the woes of others! May your -virtues add to the renown of your ancestors, and entail eternal peace -upon your souls! May their line by you be continued, and continued as a -blessing to all around! May your names be consecrated to posterity by -the voice of gratitude, and excite in others an emulation to pursue your -courses! - -Alas! my unhappy child! why do I not express such a wish for you? I have -expressed it--I have prayed for its accomplishment--I have wept in -bitterness at the idea of its being unavailing; lost to the noble -propensities of nature, it is not from virtue, but from pomp and vanity -you seek to derive pleasure. - -Oh! lovely orphans of Malvina, did you but know, or could you but -conceive, the bitter anguish I endure on my daughter's account, you -would think yourselves amply avenged for all your injuries. - -Oh, God! ere my trembling soul leaves its frail tenement of clay, let it -be cheered by the knowledge of my child's repentance. - -Oh! you young and tender pair, who are about entering into the dangerous -possession of riches, learn from me that their misapplication, the -perversion of our talents, and the neglect of our duties, will, even in -this world, meet their punishment. - -Resolute in doing justice to the utmost of my power, I am ready, -whenever I am called upon, to bear evidence to the validity of the will -I shall deliver into your possession. Soon may all it entitles you to be -restored, is the sincere prayer of her who subscribes herself, the truly -penitent - -ANNABELLA DUNREATH. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - - - "Cease, then, ah! cease, fond mortal to repine - At laws, which Nature wisely did ordain; - Pleasure, what is it? rightly to define, - 'Tis but a short-lived interval from pain: - Or rather alternately renewed - Gives to our lives a sweet vicissitude."--BROWN. - - -The emotions Amanda experienced from reading this narrative deeply -affected but gradually subsided from her mind, leaving it only occupied -by pity for the penitent Lady Dunreath, and pleasure at the prospect of -Oscar's independence--a pleasure so pure, so fervent, that it had power -to steal her from her sorrows; and when the recollection of them again -returned, she endeavored to banish it by thinking of the necessity there -was for immediately adopting some plan for the disclosure of the will -Lady Dunreath had advised her to put into the hands of a friend of -integrity and abilities. - -"But where," cried the desolate Amanda, "can I find such a friend?" The -few, the very few whom she had reason to think regarded her, had neither -power nor ability to assist her in what would probably be an arduous -demand for restitution. After sitting a considerable time in deep -meditation, the idea of Rushbrook suddenly occurred, and she started, as -if in joyful surprise at the remembrance. She considered that, though -almost a stranger to him, an application of such a nature must rather be -regarded as a compliment than a liberty, from the great opinion it would -prove she had of his honor by intrusting him with such a secret. From -his looks and manner, she was well convinced he would not only deeply -feel for the injured, but ably advise how those injuries should be -redressed. From his years and situation there could be no impropriety in -addressing him, and she already in imagination beheld him her friend, -advocate and adviser. He also, she trusted, would be able to put her in -a way of making inquiries after Oscar. Oh! how delightful the prospect -of discovering that brother--of discovering, but to put him in -possession of even a splendid independence! Ah! how sweet the idea of -being again folded to a heart interested in her welfare, after being so -long a solitary mourner treading the rugged path of life, and bending as -she went beneath its adverse storm! Ah! how sweet again to meet an eye -which should beam with tenderness on hers, an ear which should listen -with attentive rapture to her accents, and a voice that would soothe -with softest sympathy her sorrows! It is only those who, like her, have -known the social ties of life in all their sweetness; who, like her, -have mourned their loss with all the bitterness of anguish, that can -possibly conceive her feelings as these ideas occurred to her mind. "Oh, -Oscar! oh, my brother!" she exclaimed, while tears wet her pale cheeks, -"how rapturous the moment which restores you to me! How delightful to -think your youth will no more experience the chill of poverty--your -benevolence no longer suffer restraints! Now will your virtues shine -forth with full lustre, dignifying the house from which you have -descended, doing service to your country, and spreading diffusive -happiness around." - -The morning surprised Amanda in the midst of her meditations. She opened -the shutters, and hailed its first glories in the eastern hemisphere; -the sunbeams, exhaling the mists of the valley, displayed its smiling -verdure, forming a fine contrast to the deep shadows that yet partially -enveloped the surrounding mountains. The morning breeze gently agitated -the old trees, from whose bending heads unnumbered birds arose, and in -their matin notes seemed to consecrate the first return of day to the -Great Author of life and light! - -Spontaneous praise burst from the lips of Amanda, and she felt all that -calm and sweet delight which ever pervades a mind of religion and -sensibility on viewing the rural beauties of nature. She left the -charming scene to try and get a little rest, but she thought not of -undressing; she soon sunk into a gentle sleep, and awoke with renovated -spirits near the breakfast hour. - -Mrs. Bruce expressed the utmost regret at the necessity there was for -parting with her guests; but added, that "she believed, as well as -hoped, their absence from her would be but short, as she was sure the -marquis's family would leave Scotland almost immediately after Lady -Euphrasia's nuptials." In vain did Amanda struggle for fortitude to -support the mention of those nuptials; her frame trembled, her heart -sickened, whenever they were talked of; the spirits she had endeavored -to collect from the idea, that they would all be requisite in the -important affair she must undertake, fleeted away at Mrs. Bruce's words, -and a heavy languor took possession of her. - -They did not leave the Abbey till after tea in the evening, and the idea -that she might soon behold her brother the acknowledged heir of that -Abbey, cast again a gleam of pleasure on the sad heart of Amanda; a -gleam, I say, for it faded before the almost instantaneous recollection, -that ere that period Lord Mortimer and Lady Euphrasia would be united. -Sunk in a profound melancholy, she forgot her situation, heeded not the -progress of the carriage, or remarked any object. A sudden jolt roused -her from her reverie, and she blushed as she thought of the suspicions -it might give rise to in the mind of Mrs. Duncan, whose intelligent eye -on the preceding night had more than half confessed her knowledge of -Amanda's feelings. She now, though with some embarrassment, attempted to -enter into conversation, and Mrs. Duncan, who with deep attention had -marked her pensive companion, with much cheerfulness rendered the -attempt a successful one. The chaise was now turning from the valley, -and Amanda leaned from her window to take another view of Dunreath -Abbey. The sun was already sunk below the horizon, but a track of glory -still remained that marked the spot in which its daily course was -finished; a dubious lustre yet played around the spires of the Abbey, -and while it displayed its vast magnificence by contrast added to its -gloom--a gloom heightened by the dreary solitude of its situation, for -the valley was entirely overshaded by the dark projection of the -mountains, on whose summits a few bright and lingering beams yet -remained, that showed the wild shrubs waving in the evening breeze. A -pensive spirit seemed now to have taken possession of Mrs. Duncan, a -spirit congenial to the scene; and the rest of the little journey was -passed almost in silence. Their lodgings were at the entrance of the -town, and Mrs. Bruce had taken care they should find every requisite -refreshment within them. The woman of the house had already prepared a -comfortable supper for them, which was served up soon after their -arrival. When over, Mrs. Duncan, assisted by Amanda, put the children to -bed, as she knew, till accustomed to her, they would not like the -attendance of the maid of the house. Neither she nor Amanda felt sleepy; -it was a fine moonlight night, and they were tempted to walk out upon a -terrace, to which a glass door from the room opened. The terrace -overhung a deep valley which stretched to the sea, and the rocky -promontory that terminated it was crowned with the ruins of an ancient -castle; the moonbeams seemed to sleep upon its broken battlements, and -the waves that stole murmuring to the shore cast a silvery spray around -it. A pensive pleasure pervaded the hearts of Mrs. Duncan and Amanda, -and conversing on the charms of the scene they walked up and down, when -suddenly upon the floating air they distinguished the sound of a distant -drum beating the tattoo. Both stopped, and leaned upon a fragment of a -parapet wall, which had once stretched along the terrace; and Mrs. -Duncan, who knew the situation of the country, said that the sounds they -heard proceeded from a fort near the town. They ceased in a short time, -but were almost immediately succeeded by martial music; and Amanda soon -distinguished an admired march of her father's. Ah! how affectingly did -it remind her of him! She recalled the moments in which she had played -it for him, whilst he hung over her chair with delight and tenderness; -she wept at the tender remembrance it excited--wept at listening to the -sounds which had so often given to his pale cheek the flush of ardor. -They did not return to the house till convinced by a long interval of -silence that the music had ceased for the night. - -Amanda having formed a plan relative to the will, determined not to -delay executing it. She had often mentioned to Mrs. Duncan her -uneasiness concerning her brother, as an excuse for the melancholy that -lady, in a half-serious, half-jesting manner, so often rallied her -about; and she now intended to assign her journey to London (which she -was resolved should immediately take place) to her anxious wish of -discovering, or at least inquiring about him. The next morning she -accordingly mentioned her intention. Mrs. Duncan was not only surprised, -but concerned, and endeavored to dissuade her from it by representing, -in the most forcible manner, the dangers she might experience in so long -a journey without a protector. - -Amanda assured her she was already aware of these, but the apprehensions -they excited were less painful than the anxiety she suffered on her -brother's account, and ended by declaring her resolution unalterable. - -Mrs. Duncan, who, in her heart, could not blame Amanda for such a -resolution, now expressed her hopes that she would not make a longer -stay in London than was absolutely necessary, declaring that her society -would be a loss she could scarcely support. - -Amanda thanked her for her tenderness, and said, "she hoped they should -yet enjoy many happy days together." She proposed travelling in a chaise -to the borders of England, and then pursuing the remainder of the -journey in a stage-coach. The woman of the house was sent for, and -requested to engage a carriage for her against the morning, which she -promised to do; and the intervening time was almost entirely passed by -Mrs. Duncan in lamenting the approaching loss of Amanda's society, and -in entreaties for her to return as soon as possible. Till this period -she did not know, nor did Amanda conceive, the strength of her -friendship. She presented her purse to our heroine, and in the -impassioned language of sincerity, entreated her to consider it as the -purse of a sister, and take from it whatever was necessary for her long -journey and uncertain stay. - -Amanda, who never wished to lie under obligations, when she could -possibly avoid them, declined the offer; but with the warmest -expressions of gratitude and sensibility, declaring (what she thought -indeed would be the case), that she had more than sufficient for all her -purposes; all, therefore, she would accept was what Mrs. Duncan owed -her. - -Mrs. Duncan begged her to take a letter from her to a family, near whose -house her first day's journey would terminate. They were relations of -Mr. Duncan's, she said, and had been extremely kind to him and her. She -had kept up a correspondence with them till her removal to Dunreath -Abbey, when she dropped it, lest her residence there should be -discovered; but such an opportunity of writing to them, by a person who -would answer all their inquiries concerning her, she could not neglect; -besides, she continued, they were the most agreeable and hospitable -people she had ever known, and she was convinced would not suffer Amanda -to sleep at an inn, but would probably keep her a few days at their -house, and then escort her part of the way. - -Averse to the society of strangers, in her present frame of mind, Amanda -said she would certainly take the letter, but could not possibly present -it herself. She thanked Mrs. Duncan for her solicitous care about her; -but added, whether she lodged at an inn or private house for one night -was of little consequence; and as to her journey being retarded, it was -what she never could allow. - -Mrs. Duncan declared she was too fond of solitude, but did not argue the -point with her. She wrote the letter, however. - -They took leave of each other at night, as the chaise was ordered at an -early hour. As Mrs. Duncan folded Amanda to her heart, she again -besought her to hasten back, declaring that neither she nor her little -girls would be themselves till she returned. - -At an early hour Amanda entered the chaise; and, as she stepped into it, -could not forbear casting a sad and lingering look upon a distant -prospect, where, the foregoing evening, a dusky grove of firs had been -pointed out to her, as encompassing the Marquis of Roslin's Castle. Ah! -how did her heart sicken at the idea of the event which either had or -was soon to take place in that Castle! Ah! how did she tremble at the -idea of her long and lonesome journey, and the difficulties she might -encounter on its termination! How sad, how solitary, did she feel -herself! Her mournful eyes filled with tears as she saw the rustic -families hastening to their daily labors; for her mind involuntarily -drew a comparison between their situation and her own. And, ah! how -sweet would their labor be to her, she thought, if she, like them, was -encompassed with the social ties of life. Fears, before unthought of, -rose in her mind, from which her timid nature shrunk appalled. Should -Rushbrook be absent from London, or should he not answer her -expectations; but, "I deserve disappointment," cried she, "if I thus -anticipate it. Oh! let me not be over-exquisite - - 'To cast the fashion of uncertain evils,' - -oppressed as I already am with real ones." She endeavored to exert her -spirits. She tried to amuse them by attending to the objects she passed, -and gradually they lost somewhat of their heaviness. On arriving in -London, she designed going to the haberdasher's, where, it may be -remembered, she had once met Miss Rushbrook; here she hoped to procure -lodgings, also a direction to Rushbrook. It was about five when she -stopped for the night, as the shortened days of autumn would not permit -a longer journey, had the tired horses, which was not the case, been -able to proceed. They stopped at the inn, which Mrs. Duncan had taken -care to know would be the last stage of the first day's journey; a -small, but neat and comfortable house, romantically situated at the foot -of a steep hill, planted with ancient firs, and crowned with the -straggling remains of what appeared to have been a religious house, from -a small cross which yet stood over a broken gateway. A stream trickled -from the hill, though its murmurs through the thick underwood alone -denoted its rising there, and winding round the inn, flowed in meanders -through a spacious vale, of which the inn was not the lone inhabitant, -for cottages appeared on either side, and one large mansion stood in the -centre, whose superior size and neat plantations proclaimed it master of -the whole. This was really the case, for immediately on entering the inn -Amanda had inquired about the Macqueen family, to whom Mrs. Duncan's -letter was directed, and learned that they inhabited this house, and -owned the grounds to a large extent surrounding it. Amanda gave Mrs. -Duncan's letter to the landlady, and begged she would send it directly -to Mrs. Macqueen. The inn was without company; and its quiet retirement, -together with the appearance of the owners, an elderly pair, soothed the -agitated spirits of Amanda. Her little dinner was soon served up; but -when over, and she was left to herself, all the painful ideas she had -sedulously, and with some degree of success, attempted to banish from -her mind in the morning, by attending to the objects she passed, now -returned with full, or rather aggravated, force. Books, those pleasing, -and, in affliction, alleviating resources, she had forgotten to bring -along with her, and all that the inn contained she had been shown on a -shelf in the apartment she occupied, but without finding one that could -possibly fix her attention or change her melancholy ideas; a ramble, -though the evening was uninviting, she preferred to the passive -indulgence of her sorrow; and having ordered tea against her return, and -invited the landlady to it, she was conducted to the garden of the inn, -from whence she ascended the hill by a winding path. She made her way -with difficulty through a path, which, seldom trodden, was half-choked -with weeds and brambles; the wind blew cold and sharp around her, and -the gloom of closing day was heightened by thick and lowering clouds -that involved the distant mountains in one dark shade. Near those -mountains she knew the domain of Roslin lay; and from the bleak summit -of the hill she surveyed them as a lone mourner would survey the sad -spot in which the pleasure of his heart was buried. Forgetting the -purpose for which she had walked out, she leaned in melancholy reverie -against a fragment of the ruined building, nor heard approaching -footsteps till the voice of her host suddenly broke upon her ear. She -started, and perceived him accompanied by two ladies, who he directly -informed her were Mrs. and Miss Macqueen. They both went up to Amanda, -and after the usual compliments of introduction were over, Mrs. Macqueen -took her hand, and with a smile of cordial good-nature, invited her to -her house for the night, declaring that the pleasure she received from -Mrs. Duncan's letter was heightened by being introduced through its -means to a person that lady mentioned as her particular friend. Miss -Macqueen seconded her mother's invitation, and said, "the moment they -had read the letter they had come out for the purpose of bringing her -back with them." "Ay, ay," said the host, good-humoredly (who was -himself descended from one of the inferior branches of the Macqueens), -"this is the way, ladies, you always rob me of my guests. In good faith, -I think I must soon change my dwelling, and go higher up the valley." - -Conscious from her utter dejection that she would be unable, as she -wished, to participate in the pleasures of conversation, Amanda declined -the invitation, alleging, as an excuse for doing so, her intention of -proceeding on her journey the next morning by dawn of day. - -Mrs. Macqueen declared that she should act as she pleased in that -respect, and both she and her daughter renewed their entreaties for her -company with such earnestness, that Amanda could no longer refuse them; -and they returned to the inn, where Amanda begged they would excuse her -absence a few minutes; and retired to pay her entertainers, and repeat -her charges to the postilion to be at the house as soon as he should -think any of the family stirring. She then returned to the ladies, and -attended them to their mansion, which might well be termed the seat of -hospitality. The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Macqueen, four sons, -and six daughters, now all past childhood, and united to one another by -the strictest ties of duty and affection. After residing a few years at -Edinburgh, for the improvement of the young people, Mr. and Mrs. -Macqueen returned to their mansion in the valley, where a large fortune -was spent in the enjoyment of agreeable society, and acts of -benevolence. Mrs. Macqueen informed Amanda, during the walk, that all -her family were now assembled together, as her sons, who were already -engaged in different professions and businesses in various parts of the -kingdom, made it a constant rule to pay a visit every autumn to their -friends. It was quite dark before the ladies reached the house, and the -wind was sharp and cold, so that Amanda found the light and warmth of -the drawing-room, to which she was conducted, extremely agreeable. The -thick window curtains and carpeting, and the enlivening fire, bid -defiance to the sharpness of the mountain blast which howled without, -and rendered the comforts within more delectable by the effect of -contrast. In the drawing-room were assembled Mr. Macqueen, two of his -daughters, and half a dozen ladies and gentlemen, to whom Amanda was -presented, and they in return to her. In the countenance of Mr. -Macqueen, Amanda perceived a benevolence equal to that which irradiated -his wife's. Both were past the prime of life; but in him only was its -decline visible. He was lately grown so infirm as to be unable to remove -without assistance. Yet was his relish for society undiminished; and in -his arm-chair, his legs muffled in flannel, and supported by pillows, he -promoted as much as ever the mirth of his family, and saw with delight -the dance go on in which he had once mixed with his children. Mrs. -Macqueen appeared but as the eldest sister of her daughters; and between -them all Amanda perceived a strong family likeness. They were tall, -well, but not delicately made; handsome, yet more indebted to the -animation of their countenances than to regularity of features for -beauty, which was rendered luxuriant by a quantity of rich auburn hair, -that, unrestrained by superfluous ornaments, fell in long ringlets on -their shoulders, and curled with a sweet simplicity on their white -polished foreheads. - -"So the boys and girls are not yet returned," said Mrs. Macqueen, -addressing one of her daughters. "I am afraid they have taken their -friends too far." She had scarcely spoken, when a party was heard under -the windows laughing and talking, who ascended the stairs immediately in -a kind of gay tumult. The drawing-room door opened, and a lady entered -(of a most prepossessing appearance, though advanced in life), and was -followed by a number of young people. - -But, oh! what were the powerful emotions of Amanda's soul, when amongst -them she beheld Lady Araminta Dormer and Lord Mortimer! Shocked, -confused, confounded, she strained an eye of agony upon them, as if with -the hope of detecting an illusion, then dropped her head, anxious to -conceal herself, though she was fatally convinced she could be but a few -minutes unobserved by them. Never, amidst the many trying moments of her -life, had she experienced one more dreadful. To behold Lord Mortimer, -when she knew his esteem for her was lost, at a period, too, when he was -hastening to be united to another woman, oh! it was agony, torture in -the extreme! Vainly did she reflect she deserved not to lose his esteem. -This consciousness could not at present inspire her with fortitude. Her -heart throbbed as if it would burst; her bosom, her frame trembled, and -she alternately experienced the glow of confusion and the chill of -dismay--dismay at the idea of meeting the silent but expressive reproach -of Lord Mortimer's eye for her imaginary errors--dismay at the idea of -meeting the contempt of his aunt (who was the lady that first entered -the room) and sister. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX. - - "It would raise your pity but to see the tears - Force through her snowy lids their melting course, - To lodge themselves on her red murm'ring lips, - That talk such mournful things; when straight a gale - Of starting sighs carry those pearls away, - As dews by winds are wafted from the flowers."--LEE. - - -Bitterly did Amanda regret having been tempted from the inn, and -gratefully would she have acquitted fortune of half its malignancy to -her, had she been able to steal back unnoticed. The party that entered -engaged in talking to those they found in the drawing-room--laughing and -describing their ramble, which Lady Araminta said was in the style of -Will-o'-the-Wisp (over brakes and through briers)--were some time before -they observed Amanda; but soon, ah! how much too soon, did she perceive -Mrs. Macqueen approaching to introduce those of her family who were just -returned. - -"The trying moment is come!" cried Amanda. "Oh! let me not by my -confusion look as if I really was the guilty thing I'm supposed to be." -She endeavored to collect herself, and rose to meet the young -Macqueens, by a timid glance perceiving that they yet hid her from the -eyes she most dreaded to encounter. She was unable, however, to return -their compliments, except by a faint smile, and was again sinking upon -her seat--for her frame trembled universally--when Mrs. Macqueen, taking -her hand, led her forward, and presented her to Lady Martha and Lady -Araminta Dormer. It may be remembered that Lady Martha had never before -seen Amanda. She therefore gave her, as Miss Donald, a benignant smile, -which, had she supposed her Miss Fitzalan, would have been lost in a -contemptuous frown. Seldom, indeed, had she seen a form more interesting -than our heroine's. Her mourning habit set off the elegance of her form -and the languid delicacy of her complexion, whilst the sad expression of -her countenance denoted that habit but the shadow of the unseen grief -which dwelt within her soul. Her large blue eyes were half concealed by -their long lashes, but the beams which stole from beneath those fringed -curtains were full of sweetness and sensibility. Her fine hair, -discomposed by the jolting of the carriage and the blowing of the wind, -had partly escaped the braid on which it was turned under her hat, and -hung in long ringlets of glossy brown upon her shoulders and careless -curls about her face, giving a sweet simplicity to it, which heightened -its beauty. How different was the look she received from Lady Araminta -to that she had received from Lady Martha! In the expressive countenance -of the former she read surprise, contempt, and anger; her cheeks were -flushed with unusual color, her eyes sparkled with uncommon lustre, and -their quick glances pierced the palpitating heart of Amanda, who heard -her repeat, as if involuntarily, the name of Donald. Ah! how dreadful -was the sound to her ear! Ah! how sad a confirmation did it convey--that -every suspicion to her prejudice would now be strengthened. "Ah! why, -why," said she to herself, "was I tempted to take this hated name? Why -did I not prefer incurring any danger to which my own might have exposed -me, rather than assume anything like deceit?" Happily the party were too -much engrossed by one another to heed the words or manner of Lady -Araminta. - -Amanda withdrew her hand from Mrs. Macqueen, and moved tremblingly to -her seat; but that lady, with a politeness poor Amanda had reason to -think officious, stopped her. "Miss Donald--Lord Mortimer!" said she. -Amanda raised her head, but not her eyes, and neither saw nor heard his -lordship. The scene she had dreaded was over, and she felt a little -relieved at the idea. The haughty glance of Lady Araminta dwelt upon her -mind, and, when agitation had a little subsided, she stole a look at -her, and saw Mrs. Macqueen sitting between her and Lady Martha; and from -the altered countenance of the latter, she instantly conjectured she had -been informed by her niece of her real name. She also conjectured, from -the glances directed towards her, that she was the subject of -conversation, and concluded it was begun for the purpose of discovering -whether Mrs. Macqueen knew anything of her real history. - -From these glances she quickly withdrew her own, and one of the young -Macqueens, drawing a chair near hers, began a conversation with all that -spirit and vivacity which distinguished his family. The mind of Amanda -was too much occupied by its concerns to be able to attend to anything -foreign to them. She scarcely knew what he said, and when she did reply -it was only by monosyllables. At last a question, enforced with peculiar -earnestness, roused her from this inattention, and blushing for it, she -looked at the young man, and perceived him regarding her with something -like wonder. She now, for the first time, considered the strange -appearance she must make amongst the company, if she did not collect and -compose her spirits. The family, too, to whom she was (she could not -help thinking) so unfortunately introduced, from their hospitality, -merited attention and respect from her. She resolved, therefore, to -struggle with her feelings, and, as an apology for her absent manner, -complained, and not without truth, of a headache. - -Young Macqueen, with friendly warmth, said he would acquaint his mother, -or one of his sisters, with her indisposition, and procure some remedy -for it; but she insisted he should on no account disturb the company, -assuring him she would soon be well; she then endeavored to support a -conversation with him; but, ah! how often did she pause in the midst of -what she was saying, as the sweet, insinuating voice of Mortimer reached -her ear, who, with his native elegance and spirit, was participating in -the lively conversation then going forward. In hers, with young -Macqueen, she was soon interrupted by his father, who, in a good-humored -manner told his son he would no longer suffer him to engross Miss Donald -to himself, and desired him to lead her to a chair near his. - -Young Macqueen immediately arose, and taking Amanda's hand, led her to -his father, by whom he seated her; and by whom on the other side sat -Lady Martha Dormer; then with a modest gallantry declared it was the -first time he ever felt reluctance to obey his father's commands, and -hoped his ready acquiescence to them would be rewarded with speedy -permission to resume his conversation with Miss Donald. Amanda had -hitherto prevented her eyes from wandering, though they could not -exclude the form of Lord Mortimer; she had not yet seen his face, and -still strove to avoid seeing it. Mr. Macqueen began with various -inquiries relative to Mrs. Duncan, to which Amanda, as she was prepared -for them, answered with tolerable composure. Suddenly he dropped the -subject of his relation, and asked Amanda from what branch of the -Donalds she was descended. A question so unexpected shocked, dismayed, -and overwhelmed her with confusion. She made no reply till the question -was repeated, when, in a low and faltering voice, her face covered with -blushes, and almost buried in her bosom, she said she did not know. - -"Well," cried he, again changing his discourse, after looking at her a -few minutes, "I do not know any girl but yourself would take such pains -to hide such a pair of eyes as you have. I suppose you are conscious of -the mischief they have the power of doing, and therefore it is from -compassion to mankind you try to conceal them." - -Amanda blushed yet more deeply than before at finding her downcast looks -were noticed. She turned hers with quickness to Mr. Macqueen, who having -answered a question of Lady Martha's thus proceeded: "And so you do not -know from which branch of the Donalds you are descended? Perhaps now you -only forget, and if I was to mention them one by one, your memory might -be refreshed; but first let me ask your father's surname, and what -countrywoman he married, for the Donalds generally married amongst each -other?" - -Oh! how forcibly was Amanda at this moment convinced (if indeed her pure -soul wanted such conviction) of the pain, the shame of deception, let -the motive be what it may which prompts it. Involuntarily were her eyes -turned from Mr. Macqueen as he paused for a reply to his last question, -and at the moment encountered those of Lord Mortimer, who sat directly -opposite to her, and with deep attention regarded her, as if anxious to -hear how she would extricate herself from the embarrassments her assumed -name had plunged her into. - -Her confusion, her blushes, her too evident distress, were all imputed -by Mrs. Macqueen to fatigue at listening to such tedious inquiries. She -knew her husband's only foible was an eager desire to trace every one's -pedigree. In order, therefore, to relieve Amanda from her present -situation, she proposed a party of whist, at which Mr. Macqueen often -amused himself, and for which the table and cards were already laid -before him. As she took up the cards to hand them to those who were to -draw, she whispered Amanda to go over to the tea-table. - -Amanda required no repetition now, and thanking Mrs. Macqueen in her -heart for the relief she afforded her, went to the table around which -almost all the young people were crowded; so great was the mirth going -on amongst them, that Miss Macqueen, the gravest of the set, in vain -called upon her sisters to assist her in serving the trays, which the -servants handed about, and Mrs. Macqueen had more than once called for. -Miss Macqueen made room for Amanda by herself, and Amanda, anxious to do -anything which could keep her from encountering the eyes she dreaded, -requested to be employed in assisting her, and was deputed to fill out -the coffee. After the first performance of her task, Miss Macqueen, in a -whispering voice, said to Amanda, "Do you know we are all here more than -half in love with Lord Mortimer. He is certainly very handsome, and his -manner is quite as pleasing as his looks, for he has none of that -foppery and conceit which handsome men so generally have, and nothing -but the knowledge of his engagement could keep us from pulling caps -about him. You have heard, to be sure, of Lady Euphrasia Sutherland, the -Marquis of Roslin's daughter; well, he is going to be married to her -immediately; she and the marquis and the marchioness were here the other -day. She is not to be compared to Lord Mortimer, but she has what will -make her be considered very handsome in the eyes of many--namely, a -large fortune. They only stopped to breakfast here, and ever since we -have been on the watch for the rest of the party, who arrived this -morning, and were, on Lady Martha's account, whom the journey had -fatigued, prevailed on to stay till to-morrow. I am very glad you came -while they were here. I think both ladies charming women, and Lady -Araminta quite as handsome as her brother; but see," she continued, -touching Amanda's hand, "the conquering hero comes!" Lord Mortimer with -difficulty made his way round the table, and accepted a seat by Miss -Macqueen, which she eagerly offered him, and which she contrived to -procure by sitting closer to Amanda. To her next neighbor, a fine, -lively girl, Amanda now turned, and entered into conversation with her; -but from this she was soon called by Miss Macqueen, requesting her to -pour out a cup of coffee for Lord Mortimer. - -Amanda obeyed, and he rose to receive it; her hand trembled as she -presented it. She looked not in his face, but she thought his hand was -not quite steady. She saw him lay the cup on the table, and bend his -eyes to the ground. She heard Miss Macqueen address him twice ere she -received an answer, and then it was so abrupt that it seemed the effect -of sudden recollection. Miss Macqueen now grew almost as inattentive to -the table as her sisters, and Mrs. Macqueen was obliged to come over to -know what they were all about. At length the business of the tea-table -was declared over; and almost at the same moment the sound of a violin -was heard from an adjoining room, playing an English country dance, in -which style of dancing the Macqueens had been instructed in Edinburgh, -and chose this evening in compliment to their guests. The music was a -signal for universal motion--all in a moment was bustle and confusion. -The young men instantly selected their partners, who seemed ready to -dance from one room to another. The young Macqueen, who had been so -assiduous about Amanda, now came, and taking her hand, as if her dancing -was a thing of course, was leading her after the rest of the party, when -she drew back, declaring she could not dance. Surprised and -disappointed, he stood looking on her in silence, as if irresolute -whether he should not attempt to change her resolution. At last he -spoke, and requested she would not mortify him by a refusal. - -Mrs. Macqueen hearing her son's request came forward and joined it. -Amanda pleaded her headache. - -"Do, my dear," said Mrs. Macqueen, "try one dance; my girls will tell -you dancing is a sovereign remedy for everything." It was painful to -Amanda to refuse; but, scarcely able to stand, she was utterly unable to -dance; had even her strength permitted her so to do, she could not have -supported the idea of mingling in the set with Lord Mortimer, the glance -of whose eye she never caught without a throb in her heart, which shook -her whole frame. One of the Miss Macqueens ran into the room, -exclaiming: "Lord, Colin, what are you about? Lord Mortimer and my -sister have already led off; do, pray, make haste and join us," and away -she ran again. - -"Let me no longer detain you," said Amanda, withdrawing her hand. Young -Macqueen finding her inflexible, at length went off to seek a partner. -He was as fond of dancing as his sisters, and feared he should not -procure one; but luckily there were fewer gentlemen than ladies present, -and a lady having stood up with his youngest sister, he easily prevailed -on her to change her partner. - -"We will go into the dancing room, if you please," said Mrs. Macqueen to -Amanda; "that will amuse without fatiguing you." Amanda would rather not -have gone, but she could not say no; and they proceeded to it. Lord -Mortimer had just concluded the dance, and was standing near the door in -a pensive attitude, Miss Macqueen being too much engrossed by something -she was saying to the young lady next to her, to mind him. The moment he -perceived Amanda enter, he again approached his partner, and began -chatting in a lively manner to her. Amanda and Mrs. Macqueen sat down -together, and in listening to the conversation of that lady, Amanda -found herself insensibly drawn from a too painful attention to -surrounding objects. On expressing the pleasure which a mind of -sensibility must feel on witnessing such family happiness as Mrs. -Macqueen possessed, that lady said she had reason indeed to be grateful -to Heaven, and was truly so for her domestic comforts. "You see us now," -she continued, "in our gayest season, because of my sons' company; but -we are seldom dull. Though summer is delightful, we never think the -winter tedious. Yet though we love amusement, I assure you we dislike -dissipation. The mornings are appropriated to business, and the evenings -to recreation. All the work of the family goes through the hands of my -daughters, and they wear nothing ornamental which they do not make -themselves. Assisted by their good neighbors, they are enabled to -diversify their amusements: the dance succeeds the concert; sometimes -small plays, and now and then little dramatic entertainments. About two -years ago they performed the Winter's Tale; their poor father was not -then in his present situation." Mrs. Macqueen sighed, paused a minute, -and then proceeded--"Time must take something from us: but I should and -do bless, with heartfelt gratitude, the power which only, by its -stealing hand, has made me feel the lot of human nature. Mr. Macqueen," -continued she, "at the time I mentioned, was full of spirits, and -performed the part of Autolycus. They made me take the character of the -good Paulina. By thus mixing in the amusements of our children, we have -added to their love and reverence perfect confidence and esteem, and -find, when our presence is wanting, the diversion, let it be what it -may, wants something to render it complete. They are now about acting -the Gentle Shepherd. Several rehearsals have already taken place in our -great barn, which is the theatre. On these occasions one of my sons -leads the band, another paints the scenes, and Colin, your rejected -partner, acts the part of prompter." Here this conversation, so -pleasing to Amanda, and interesting to Mrs. Macqueen, was interrupted by -a message from the drawing-room, to inform the latter the rubber was -over, and a new set wanted to cut in. - -"I will return as soon as possible," said Mrs. Macqueen, as she was -quitting her seat. If Amanda had not dreaded the looks of Lady Martha -almost as much as those of Lord Mortimer or Lady Araminta, she would -have followed her to the drawing-room. As this was the case, she -resolved on remaining in her present situation. It was some time ere she -was observed by the young Macqueens. At last Miss Macqueen came over to -her--"I declare," said she, "you look so sad and solitary, I wish you -could be prevailed on to dance. Do try this; it is a very fine lively -one, and take Flora for your partner, who, you see, has sat in a corner -quite discomposed since she lost her partner, and by the next set Colin -will be disengaged." - -Amanda declared she could not dance, and Miss Macqueen being called to -her place at the instant, she was again left to herself. Miss Macqueen, -however, continued to come and chat with her whenever she could do so -without losing any part of the dance. At last Lord Mortimer followed -her. The eyes of Amanda were involuntarily bent to the ground when she -saw him approach:--"You are an absolute runaway," cried he to Miss -Macqueen; "how do you suppose I will excuse your frequent desertions?" - -"Why, Miss Donald is so lonely," said she. - -"See," cried he, with quickness, "your sister beckons you to her. Suffer -me (taking her hand) to lead you to her." - -Amanda looked up as they moved from her, and saw Lord Mortimer's head -half turned back; but the instant she perceived him he averted it, and -took no further notice of her. When the set was finished, Miss Macqueen -returned to Amanda, and was followed by some of her brothers and -sisters. Some of the gentlemen also approached Amanda, and requested the -honor of her hand, but she was steady in refusing all. Rich wines, -sweetmeats, and warm lemonade, were now handed about in profusion, and -the strains of the violin were succeeded by those of the bagpipe, played -by the family musician, venerable in his appearance, and habited in the -ancient Highland dress. With as much satisfaction to himself as to his -Scotch auditors, he played a lively Scotch reel, which in a moment -brought two of the Miss Macqueens and two gentlemen forward, and they -continued the dance till politeness induced them to stop, that one -might be begun in which the rest of the party could join. Dancing -continued in this manner with little intermission, but whenever there -was an interval, the young Macqueens paid every attention to Amanda; and -on her expressing her admiration of the Scotch music, made it a point -that she should mention some favorite airs that they might be played for -her; but these airs, the lively dances, the animated conversation, and -the friendly attentions paid her, could not remove her dejection, and -with truth they might have said-- - - "That nothing could a charm impart - To soothe the stranger's woe." - -The entrance of Mrs. Macqueen was the signal for the dance being ended. -She made the young people sit down to refresh themselves before supper, -and apologized to Amanda for not returning to her; but said Lady Martha -Dormer had engaged her in a conversation which she could not interrupt. -At last they were summoned to supper, which, on Mr. Macqueen's account, -was laid out in a room on the same floor. Thither without ceremony -whoever was next the door first proceeded. Mr. Macqueen was already -seated at the table in his arm-chair, and Lady Martha Dormer on his -right hand. The eldest son was deputed to do the honors of the foot of -the table. The company was checkered, and Amanda found herself between -Lord Mortimer and Mr. Colin Macqueen; and in conversing with the latter, -Amanda sought to avoid noticing, or being noticed by Lord Mortimer; and -his lordship, by the particular attention which he paid Miss Macqueen, -who sat on the other side, appeared actuated by the same wish. The -sports of the morning had furnished the table with a variety of the -choicest wild fowl, and the plenty and beauty of the confectionery -denoted at once the hospitable spirit and elegant taste of the mistress -of the feast. Gayety presided at the board, and there was scarcely a -tongue, except Amanda's, which did not utter some lively sally. The -piper sat in the lobby, and if his strains were not melodious, they were -at least cheerful. In the course of supper, Lord Mortimer was compelled -to follow the universal example in drinking Amanda's health. Obliged to -turn her looks to him, oh! how did her heart shrink at the glance, the -expressive glance of his eye, as he pronounced Miss Donald. Unconscious -whether she had noticed in the usual manner his distressing compliment, -she abruptly turned to young Macqueen, and addressed some scarcely -articulate question to him. The supper things removed, the strains of -the piper were silenced, and songs, toasts, and sentiments succeeded. -Old Mr. Macqueen set the example by a favorite Scotch air, and then -called upon his next neighbor. Between the songs, toasts were called -for. At last it came to Lord Mortimer's turn. Amanda suddenly ceased -speaking to young Macqueen. She saw the glass of Lord Mortimer filled, -and in the next moment heard the name of Lady Euphrasia Sutherland. A -feeling like wounded pride stole into the soul of Amanda. She did not -decline her head as before, and she felt a faint glow upon her cheek. -The eyes of Lady Martha and Lady Araminta she thought directed to her -with an expressive meaning. "They think," cried she, "to witness -mortification and disappointment in my looks, but they shall not (if, -indeed, they are capable of enjoying such a triumph) have it." - -At length she was called upon for a song. She declined the call; but Mr. -Macqueen declared, except assured she could not sing, she should not be -excused. This assurance, without a breach of truth, she could not give. -She did not wish to appear ungrateful to her kind entertainers, or -unsocial in the midst of mirth, by refusing what she was told would be -pleasing to them and their company. She also wished, from a sudden -impulse of pride, to appear cheerful in those eyes she knew were -attentively observing her, and therefore, after a little hesitation, -consented to sing. The first song which occurred to her was a little -simple, but pathetic air, which her father used to delight in, and which -Lord Mortimer more than once had heard from her; but indeed she could -recollect no song which at some time or other she had not sung for him. -The simple air she had chosen seemed perfectly adapted to her soft -voice, whose modulations were inexpressibly affecting. She had proceeded -through half the second verse, when her voice began to falter. The -attention of the company became, if possible, more fixed; but it was a -vain attention; no rich strain of melody repaid it, for the voice of the -songstress had suddenly ceased. Mrs. Macqueen, with the delicacy of a -susceptible mind, feared increasing her emotion by noticing it, and, -with a glance of her expressive eye, directed her company to silence. -Amanda's eyes were bent to the ground. Suddenly a glass of water was -presented to her by a trembling hand--by the hand of Mortimer himself. -She declined it with a motion of hers, and, reviving a little, raised -her head. Young Macqueen then gave her an entreating whisper to finish -the song. She thought it would look like affectation to require farther -solicitation, and, faintly smiling, again began in strains of liquid -melody, strains that seemed to breathe the very spirit of sensibility, -and came over each attentive ear, - - "Like a sweet sound - That breathes upon a bank of violets - Stealing and giving odor." - -The plaudits she received from her singing gave to her cheeks such a -faint tinge of red as is seen in the bosom of the wild rose. She was now -authorized to call for a song, and, as if doomed to experience cause for -agitation, Lord Mortimer was the person from whom, in the rotation of -the table, she was to claim it. Thrice she was requested to do this ere -she could obey. At last she raised her eyes to his face, which was now -turned towards her, and she saw in it a confusion equal to that she -herself trembled under. Pale and red by turns, he appeared to her to -wait in painful agitation for the sound of her voice. Her lips moved, -but she could not articulate a word. Lord Mortimer bowed, as if he had -heard what they would have said, and then turning abruptly to Miss -Macqueen, began speaking to her. - -"Come, come, my lord," said Mr. Macqueen, "we must not be put off in -this manner." - -Lord Mortimer laughed, and attempted to rally the old gentleman; but he -seemed unequal to the attempt, for, with a sudden seriousness, he -declared his inability of complying with the present demand. All farther -solicitation on the subject was immediately dropped. In the round of -toasts, they forgot not to call upon Amanda for one. If she had listened -attentively when Lord Mortimer was about giving one, no less attentively -did he now listen to her. She hesitated a moment, and then gave Sir -Charles Bingley. After the toast had passed, "Sir Charles Bingley," -repeated Miss Macqueen, leaning forward, and speaking across Lord -Mortimer. "Oh! I recollect him very well. His regiment was quartered -about two years ago at a little fort some distance from this--and I -remember his coming with a shooting party to the mountains, and sleeping -one night here. We had a delightful dance that evening, and all thought -him a charming young man. Pray, are you well acquainted with him?" -"Yes--No," replied Amanda. - -"Ah! I believe you are, sly girl," cried Miss Macqueen, laughing. "Pray, -my lord, does not that blush declare Miss Donald guilty?" "We are not -always to judge from the countenance," said he, darting a penetrating -yet quickly-withdrawn glance at Amanda. "Experience," continued he, -"daily proves how little dependence is to be placed on it." Amanda -turned hastily away, and pretended, by speaking to young Macqueen, not -to notice a speech she knew directly pointed at her; for often had Lord -Mortimer declared that, "in the lineaments of the human face divine, -each passion of the soul might be well traced." - -Miss Macqueen laughed, and said she always judged of the countenance, -and that her likings and dislikings were always the effects of first -sight. - -The company broke up soon after this, and much earlier than their usual -hour, on account of the travellers. All but those then immediately -belonging to the family having departed, some maids of the house -appeared, to show the ladies to their respective chambers. Lady Martha -and Lady Araminta retired first. Amanda was following them, when Mrs. -Macqueen detained her, to try and prevail on her to stay two or three -days along with them. The Miss Macqueens joined their mother; but Amanda -assured them she could not comply with their request, though she felt -with gratitude its friendly warmth. Old Mr. Macqueen had had his chair -turned to the fire, and his sons and Lord Mortimer were surrounding it. -"Well, well," said he, calling Amanda to him, and taking her hand, "if -you will not stay with us now, remember, on your return, we shall lay an -embargo on you. In the mean time, I shall not lose the privilege which -my being an old married man gives me." So saying, he gently pulled -Amanda to him, and kissed her cheek. She could only smile at this -innocent freedom but she attempted to withdraw her hand to retire. -"Now," said Mr. Macqueen, still detaining it, "are all these young men -half mad with envy?" The young Macqueens joined in their father's -gallantry, and not a tongue was silent except Lord Mortimer's. His head -rested on his hand, and the cornice of the chimney supported his arm. -His hair, from which the dancing had almost shaken all the powder, hung -negligently about his face, and added to its paleness and sudden -dejection. One of the young Macqueens, turning from his brothers, who -were yet continuing their mirth with their father, addressed some -question to his lordship, but received no answer. Again he repeated it. -Lord Mortimer then suddenly started, as if from a profound reverie, and -apologized for his absence. - -"Ay, ah, my lord," exclaimed old Mr. Macqueen, jocosely, "we may all -guess where your lordship was then travelling in idea--a little beyond -the mountains, I fancy. Ay, we all know where your heart and your -treasure now lie." "Do you?" said Lord Mortimer, with a tone of deep -dejection, and a heavy sigh, with an air, also, which seemed to declare -him scarcely conscious of what he said. He recollected himself, however, -at the instant, and began rallying himself, as the surest means of -preventing others doing so. The scene was too painful to Amanda. She -hastily withdrew her hand, and, faintly wishing the party a good-night, -went out to the maid, who was waiting for her in the lobby, and was -conducted to her room. She dismissed the servant at the door, and, -throwing herself into a chair, availed herself of solitude to give vent -to the tears whose painful suppression had so long tortured her heart. -She had not sat long in this situation when she heard a gentle tap at -the door. She started, and believing it to be one of the Miss Macqueens, -hastily wiped away her tears, and opened the door. A female stranger -appeared at it, who curtseying, respectfully said, "Lady Martha Dormer, -her lady, desired to see Miss Donald for a few minutes, if not -inconvenient to her." "See me!" repeated Amanda, with the utmost -surprise; "can it be possible?" She suddenly checked herself, and said -she would attend her ladyship immediately. She accordingly followed the -maid, a variety of strange ideas crowding upon her mind. Her conductress -retired as she shut the door of the room into which she showed Amanda. -It was a small ante-chamber adjoining the apartment Lady Martha was to -lie in. Here, with increasing surprise, she beheld Lord Mortimer pacing -the room in an agitated manner. His back was to the door as she entered, -but he turned round with quickness, approached, looked on her a few -moments, then, striking his hand suddenly against his forehead, turned -from her with an air of distraction. - -Lady Martha, who was sitting at the head of the room, and only bowed as -Amanda entered it, motioned for her to take a chair; a motion Amanda -gladly obeyed, for her trembling limbs could scarcely support her. - -All was silent for a few minutes. Lady Martha then spoke in a grave -voice:--"I should not, madam, have taken the liberty of sending for you -at this hour, but that I believe so favorable an opportunity would not -again have occurred of speaking to you on a subject particularly -interesting to me--an opportunity which has so unexpectedly saved me the -trouble of trying to find you out, and the necessity of writing to you." - -Lady Martha paused, and her silence was not interrupted by Amanda. "Last -summer," continued Lady Martha--again she paused. The throbbings of -Amanda's heart became more violent. "Last summer," she said again, -"there were some little gifts presented to you by Lord Mortimer. From -the events which followed their acceptance, I must presume they are -valueless to you: from the events about taking place, they are of -importance elsewhere." She ceased, but Amanda could make no reply. - -"You cannot be ignorant," said Lady Martha, with something of severity -in her accent, as if offended by the silence of Amanda,--"you cannot be -ignorant, I suppose, that it is the picture and ring I allude to. The -latter, from being a family one of particular value, I always destined -for the wife of Lord Mortimer; I therefore claim it in my own name. The -picture, I have his lordship's approbation and authority to demand; and -to convince you I have,--indeed, if such a conviction be -necessary,--have prevailed on him to be present at this conversation." -"No, madam, such a conviction was not necessary," cried Amanda. "I -should----" She could utter no more at the moment, yet tried to suppress -the agonizing feeling that tumultuously heaved her bosom. - -"If not convenient to restore them immediately," said Lady Martha, "I -will give you a direction where they may be left in London, to which -place Mrs. Macqueen has informed me you are going." "It is perfectly -convenient now to restore them, madam," replied Amanda, with a voice -perfectly recovered, animated with conscious innocence and offended -pride, which always gave her strength. "I shall return," continued she, -moving to the door, "with them immediately to your ladyship." - -The picture was suspended from her neck, and the ring in its case lay in -her pocket; but by the manner in which they had been asked, or rather -demanded from her, she felt amidst the anguish of her soul a sudden -emotion of pleasure that she could directly give them back. Yet, when in -her own room she hastily untied the picture from her neck, pulled the -black ribbon from it, and laid it in its case, her grief overcame every -other feeling, and a shower of tears fell from her. "Oh, Mortimer! dear -Mortimer!" she sighed, "must I part even with this little shadow! must I -retain no vestige of happier hours! Yet, why--why should I wish to -retain it, when the original will so soon be another's? Yes, if I behold -Mortimer again, it will be as the husband of Lady Euphrasia." - -She recollected she was staying beyond the expected time, and wiped away -her tears. Yet, still she lingered a few minutes in the chamber, to try -to calm her agitation. She called her pride to her aid; it inspired her -with fortitude, and she proceeded to Lady Martha, determined that lady -should see nothing in her manner which she could possibly construe into -weakness or meanness. Never did she appear more interesting than at the -moment she re-entered the apartment. The passion she had called to her -aid gave a bright glow to her cheeks, and the traces of the tears she -had been shedding appeared upon those glowing cheeks like dew on the -silken leaves of the rose ere the sunbeams of the morning have exhaled -it. Those tears left an humble lustre in her eyes, even more interesting -than their wonted brilliancy. Her hair hung in rich and unrestrained -luxuriance--for she had thrown off her hat on first going to her -chamber--and gave to the beauty of her face, and the elegance of her -form, a complete finishing. - -"Here, madam, is the ring," cried she, presenting it to Lady Martha, -"and here is the picture," she would have added, but her voice faltered, -and a tear started from her eye. Determined to conceal, if possible, her -feelings, she hastily dashed away the pearly fugitive. Lady Martha was -again extending her hand when Lord Mortimer suddenly started from a -couch on which he had thrown himself, and snatching the picture from the -trembling hand that held it, pulled it from its case, and flinging it on -the floor, trampled it beneath his feet. "Thus perish," exclaimed he, -"every memento of my attachment to Amanda! Oh, wretched, wretched girl!" -cried he, suddenly grasping her hand, and as suddenly relinquishing it, -"Oh, wretched, wretched girl! you have undone yourself and me!" He -turned abruptly away, and instantly quitted the room. Shocked by his -words, and terrified by his manner, Amanda had just power to gain a -chair. Lady Martha seemed also thunderstruck; but, from the musing -attitude in which she stood, the deep convulsive suffocating sobs of -Amanda soon called her. She went to her, and finding her unable to help -herself, loosened her cravat, bathed her temples with lavender, and gave -her water to drink. These attentions, and the tears she shed, revived -Amanda. She raised herself in her chair, on which she had fallen back, -but was yet too much agitated to stand. - -"Poor, unhappy young creature!" said Lady Martha, "I pity you from my -soul! Ah! if your mind resembled your person, what a perfect creature -had you been! How happy had then been my poor Mortimer!" - -Now, now was the test, the shining test of Amanda's virtue, agonized by -knowing she had lost the good opinion of those whom she loved with such -ardor, esteemed with such reverence. She knew by a few words she could -explain the appearances which had deprived her of his good opinion, and -fully regain it--regain, by a few words, the love, the esteem of her -valued, her inestimable Mortimer--the affection, the protection, of his -amiable aunt and sister. She leaned her head upon her hand, the weight -on her bosom became less oppressive; she raised her head. "Of my -innocence I can give such proofs," cried she. Her lips closed, a mortal -paleness overspread her face; the sound of suicide seemed piercing -through her ear; she trembled; the solemn, the dreadful declaration Lord -Cherbury had made of not surviving the disclosure of his secret, her -promise of inviolably keeping it, both rushed upon her mind. She beheld -herself on the very verge of a tremendous precipice, and about plunging -herself and a fellow-creature into it, from whence, at the tribunal of -her God, she would have to answer for accelerating the death of that -fellow-creature. "And is it by a breach of faith?" she asked herself, "I -hope to be reestablished in the opinion of Lord Mortimer and his -relations. Ah! mistaken idea, and how great is the delusion passion -spreads before our eyes, even if their esteem could be thus regained? -Oh! what were that, or what the esteem, the plaudits of the world, if -those of my own heart were gone forever! Oh! never!" cried she, still to -herself, and raising her eyes to Heaven. "Oh! never may the pang of -self-reproach be added to those which now oppress me!" Her heart at the -moment formed a solemn vow never, by any wilful act, to merit such a -pang. "And, oh, my God!" she cried, "forgive thy weak creature who, -assailed by strong temptation, thought for a moment of wandering from -the path of truth and integrity, which can alone conduct her to the -region where peace and immortal glory will be hers." - -Amanda, amidst her powerful emotions, forgot she was observed, except by -that Being to whom she applied for pardon and future strength. Lady -Martha had been a silent spectator of her emotions, and, thinking as she -did of Amanda, could only hope that they proceeded from contrition for -her past conduct, forcibly awakened by reflecting on the deprivations it -had caused her. - -When she again saw Amanda able to pay attention, she addressed her: "I -said I was sorry for witnessing your distress; I shall not repent the -expression, thinking as I now do; I hope that it is occasioned by regret -for past errors: the tears of repentance wash away the stains of guilt, -and that heart must indeed be callous which the sigh of remorse will not -melt to pity." Amanda turned her eyes with earnestness on Lady Martha -as she spoke, and her cheeks were again tinged with a faint glow. - -"Perhaps I speak too plainly," cried Lady Martha, witnessing this glow, -and imputing it to resentment; "but I have ever liked the undisguised -language of sincerity. It gave me pleasure," she continued, "to hear you -had been in employment at Mrs. Duncan's, but that pleasure was destroyed -by hearing you were going to London, though to seek your brother; Mrs. -Duncan has informed Mrs. Macqueen. If this were indeed the motive, there -are means of inquiring without taking so imprudent a step." "Imprudent!" -repeated Amanda, involuntarily. "Yes," cried Lady Martha, "a journey so -long, without a protector, to a young, I must add, a lovely woman, teems -with danger, from which a mind of delicacy would shrink appalled. If, -indeed, you go to seek your brother, and he regards you as he should, he -would rather have you neglect him (though that you need not have done by -staying with Mrs. Duncan), than run into the way of insults. No -emergency in life should lead us to do an improper thing; as trying to -produce good by evil is impious, so trying to produce pleasure by -imprudence is folly; they are trials, however flatteringly they may -commence, which are sure to end in sorrow and disappointment. - -"You will," continued Lady Martha, "if indeed anxious to escape from any -farther censure than what has already fallen upon you, return to Mrs. -Duncan, when I inform you (if indeed you are already ignorant of it) -that Colonel Belgrave passed this road about a month ago, on his way -from a remote part of Scotland to London, where he now is." "I cannot -help," said Amanda, "the misconstructions which may be put on my -actions; I can only support myself under the pain they inflict by -conscious rectitude. I am shocked, indeed, at the surmises entertained -about me, and a wretch whom my soul abhorred from the moment I knew his -real principles." - -"If," said Lady Martha, "your journey is really not prompted by the -intention of seeing your brother, you heighten every other by -duplicity." "You are severe, madam," exclaimed Amanda, in whose soul the -pride of injured innocence was again reviving. - -"If I probe the wound," cried Lady Martha. "I would also wish to heal -it. It is the wish I feel of saving a young creature from further error, -of serving a being once so valued by him who possesses my first regard, -that makes me speak as I now do. Return to Mrs. Duncan's, prove in one -instance at least you do not deserve suspicion. She is your friend, and -in your situation a friend is too precious a treasure to run the risk -of losing it with her; as she lives retired, there will be little danger -of your history or real name being discovered, which I am sorry you -dropped, let your motive for doing so be what it may, for the detection -of one deception makes us suspect every other. Return, I repeat, to Mrs. -Duncan's, and if you want any inquiries made about your brother, dictate -them, and I will take care they shall be made, and that you shall know -their result." - -Had Amanda's motive for a journey to London been only to seek her -brother, she would gladly have accepted this offer, thus avoiding the -imputation of travelling after Belgrave, or of going to join him, the -hazard of encountering him in London, and the dangers of so long a -journey; but the affair of the will required expedition, and her own -immediate presence--an affair the injunction of Lady Dunreath had -prohibited her disclosing to any one who could not immediately forward -it, and which, if such an injunction never existed, she could not with -propriety have divulged to Lady Martha, who was so soon to be connected -with a family so materially concerned in it, and in whose favor, on -account of her nephew's connection with them, it was probable she might -be biased. - -Amanda hoped and believed that in a place so large as London, and with -her assumed name (which she now resolved not to drop till in a more -secure situation), she should escape Belgrave. As to meeting him on the -road she had not the smallest apprehension concerning that, naturally -concluding that he never would have taken so long a journey as he had -lately done, if he could have stayed but a few weeks away. Time, she -trusted, would prove the falsity of the inference, which she already was -informed would be drawn from her persevering in her journey. She told -Lady Martha "that she thanked her for her kind offer, but must decline -it, as the line of conduct she had marked out for herself rendered it -unnecessary whose innocence would yet be justified," she added. Lady -Martha shook her head; the consciousness of having excited suspicions -which she could not justify, had indeed given to the looks of Amanda a -confusion when she spoke which confirmed them in Lady Martha's breast. -"I am sorry for your determination," said she, "but notwithstanding it -is so contrary to my ideas of what is right, I cannot let you depart -without telling you that, should you at any time want or require -services, which you would, or could not, ask from strangers, or perhaps -expect them to perform, acquaint me, and command mine; yet, in doing -justice to my own feelings, I must not do injustice to the noble ones -of Lord Mortimer. It is by his desire, as well as my own inclination, I -now speak to you in this manner, though past events, and the situation -he is about entering into, must forever preclude his personal -interference in your affairs. He could never hear the daughter of -Captain Fitzalan suffered inconveniency of any kind, without wishing, -without having her, indeed, if possible, extricated from it." "Oh! -madam," cried Amanda, unable to repress her gushing tears, "I am already -well acquainted with the noble feelings of Lord Mortimer, already -oppressed with a weight of obligations." Lady Martha was affected by her -energy; her eyes grew humid, and her voice softened. "Error in you will -be more inexcusable than in others," cried Lady Martha, "because, like -too many unhappy creatures, you cannot plead the desertion of all the -world. To regret past errors, be they what they may, is to insure my -assistance and protection, if both, or either, are at any time required -by you. Was I even gone, I should take care to leave a substitute behind -me who should fulfil my intentions towards you, and by so doing at once -soothe and gratify the feelings of Lord Mortimer." "I thank you, madam," -cried Amanda, rising from her chair, and, as she wiped away her tears, -summoning all her fortitude to her aid, "for the interest you express -about me; the time may yet come, perhaps, when I shall prove I never was -unworthy of exciting it--when the notice now offered from compassion may -be tendered from esteem--then," continued Amanda, who could not forbear -this justice to herself, "the pity of Lady Martha Dormer will not humble -but exalt me, because then I shall know that it proceeded from that -generous sympathy which one virtuous mind feels for another in -distress." She moved to the door. "How lamentable," said Lady Martha, -"to have such talents misapplied!" "Ah! madam," cried Amanda, stopping, -and turning mournfully to her, "I find you are inflexible." - -Lady Martha shook her head, and Amanda had laid her hand upon the lock, -when Lady Martha said suddenly, "There were letters passed between you -and Lord Mortimer." Amanda bowed. "They had better be mutually -returned," said Lady Martha. "Do you seal up his and send them to Lord -Cherbury's house in London, directed to me, and I will pledge myself to -have yours returned." "You shall be obeyed, madam," replied Amanda, in a -low, broken voice, after the pause of a moment. Lady Martha then said -she would no longer encroach upon her rest, and she retired. - -In her chamber, the feelings she had so long, so painfully tried to -suppress, broke forth without again meeting opposition. The pride which -had given her transient animation was no more; for, as past -circumstances arose to recollection, she could not wonder at her being -condemned from them. She no longer accused Lady Martha in her mind of -severity--no longer felt offended with her; but, oh! Mortimer, the -bitter tears she shed fell not for herself alone; she wept to think thy -destiny, though more prosperous, was not less unhappy than her own; for -in thy broken accents, thy altered looks, she perceived a passion strong -and sincere as ever for her, and well she knew Lady Euphrasia not -calculated to soothe a sad heart, or steal an image from it which -corroded its felicity. Rest, after the incidents of the evening, was not -to be thought of, but nature was exhausted, and insensibly Amanda sunk -upon the bed in a deep sleep--so insensibly, that when she awoke, which -was not till the morning was pretty far advanced, she felt surprised at -her situation. She felt cold and unrefreshed from having lain in her -clothes all night, and when she went to adjust her dress at the glass, -was surprised at the pallidness of her looks. Anxious to escape a second -painful meeting, she went to the window to see if the chaise was come, -but was disappointed on finding that she had slept at the back of the -house. She heard no noise, and concluded the family had not yet risen -after the amusements of the preceding night, sat down by the window -which looked into a spacious garden, above which rose romantic hills -that formed a screen for some young and beautiful plantations that lay -between them and the garden; but the misty tops of the hills, the varied -trees which autumn spread over the plantations, nor the neat appearance -of the garden, had power to amuse the imagination of Amanda. Her -patience was exhausted after sitting some time, and going to the door -she softly opened it, to try if she could hear any one stirring. She had -not stood long, when the sound of footsteps and voices rose from below. -She instantly quitted her room, and descended the stairs into a small -hall, across which was a folding-door; this she gently opened, and found -it divided the hall she stood in from the one that was spacious and -lofty, and which her passing through the preceding night before it was -lighted up had prevented her taking notice of. Here, at a long table, -were the men servants belonging to the family, and the guests assembled -at breakfast, the piper at the head, like the king of the feast. Amanda -stepped back the moment she perceived them, well knowing Lord Mortimer's -servants would recollect her, and was ascending the stairs to her room -to ring for one of the maids, when a servant hastily followed her, and -said the family were already in the breakfast-room. At the same moment, -Mr. Colin Macqueen came from a parlor which opened into the little hall, -and paying Amanda, in a lively and affectionate manner, the compliments -of the morning, he led her to the parlor, where not only all the family -guests who had lain in the house, but several gentlemen, who had been -with them the preceding night, were assembled. Doctor Johnson has -already celebrated a Scotch breakfast, nor was the one at which Mrs. -Macqueen and her fair daughters presided inferior to any he had seen. -Beside chocolate, tea, and coffee, with the usual appendages, there were -rich cakes, choice sweetmeats, and a variety of cold pastry, with ham -and chickens, to which several of the gentlemen did honor. The dishes -were ornamented with sweet herbs and wild flowers, gathered about the -feet of the mountains and in the valley, and by every guest was placed a -fine bouquet from the green-house, with little French mottoes on love -and friendship about them, which, being opened and read, added to the -mirth of the company. - -"I was just going to send one of the girls for you," said Mrs. Macqueen, -when Amanda had taken a place at the table, "and would have done so -before, but wished you to get as much rest as possible, after your -fatiguing journey." "I assure you, madam," said Amanda, "I have been up -this long time, expecting every moment a summons to the chaise." "I took -care of that last night," said Mrs. Macqueen, "for I was determined you -should not depart, at least without breakfasting." Amanda was seated -between Mr. Colin Macqueen and his eldest sister, and sought, by -conversing with the former, for the latter was too much engrossed by the -general gayety to pay much attention to any one, to avoid the looks she -dreaded to see. Yet the sound of Lord Mortimer's voice affected her as -much almost as his looks. - -"Pray, Lady Martha," said the second Miss Macqueen, a lively, -thoughtless girl, "will your ladyship be so good as to guarantee a -promise Lord Mortimer has just made me, or rather that I have extorted -from him, which is the cause of this application?" "You must first, my -dear," answered Lady Martha, "let me know what the promise is." "Why, -gloves and bridal favors; but most unwillingly granted, I can assure -your ladyship." Amanda was obliged to set down the cup she was raising -to her lips, and a glance stole involuntarily from her towards Lord -Mortimer--a glance instantly withdrawn when she saw his eyes in the -same direction. "I declare," continued Miss Phœbe Macqueen, "I should do -the favor all due honor." "I am sure," cried Lord Mortimer, attempting -to speak cheerfully, "your acceptance of it will do honor to the -presenter." "And your lordship may be sure, too," said one of her -brothers, "it is a favor she would wish with all her heart to have an -opportunity of returning." "Oh! in that she would not be singular," said -a gentleman. "What do you think, Miss Donald," cried Colin Macqueen, -turning to Amanda, "do you imagine she would not?" Amanda could scarcely -speak. She tried, however, to hide her agitation, and, forcing a faint -smile, with a voice nearly as faint, said, "that was not a fair -question." The Miss Macqueens took upon themselves to answer it, and -Amanda, through their means, was relieved from farther embarrassment. - -Breakfast over, Amanda was anxious to depart, and yet wanted courage to -be the first to move. A charm seemed to bind her to the spot where, for -the last time, she should behold Lord Mortimer, at least the last time -she ever expected to see him unmarried. - -Her dread of being late on the road--and she heard the destined stage -for the night was at a great distance--at last conquered her reluctance -to move, and she said to Mr. Colin Macqueen it was time for her to go. -At that moment Lord Mortimer rose, and proposed to the young Macqueens -going with them to see the new plantations behind the house, which old -Mr. Macqueen had expressed a desire his lordship should give his opinion -of. - -All the young gentlemen, as well as the Macqueens, Colin excepted, -attended his lordship; nor did they depart without wishing Amanda a -pleasant journey. - -Silent and sad, she continued in her chair for some minutes after they -quitted the room, forgetful of her situation, till the loud laugh of the -Miss Macqueens restored her to a recollection of it. She blushed, and, -rising hastily, was proceeding to pay her farewell compliments, when -Mrs. Macqueen, rising, drew her to the window, and in a low voice -repeated her request for Amanda's company a few days. This Amanda again -declined, but gratefully expressed her thanks for it, and the -hospitality she had experienced. Mrs. Macqueen said, on her return to -Scotland, she hoped to be more successful. She also added, that some of -her boys and girls would gladly have accompanied Amanda a few miles on -her way, had not they all agreed, ere her arrival, to escort Lord -Mortimer's party to an inn at no great distance, and take an early -dinner, with them. She should write that day, she said, to Mrs. Duncan, -and thank her for having introduced to her family a person whose -acquaintance was an acquisition. Amanda, having received the -affectionate adieus of this amiable woman and her daughters, curtseyed, -though with downcast looks, to Lady Martha and Lady Araminta, who -returned her salutation with coolness. - -Followed by two of the Miss Macqueens, she hurried through the hall, -from which the servants and the breakfast things were already removed, -but how was she distressed when the first object she saw outside the -door was Lord Mortimer, by whom stood Colin Macqueen--who had left the -parlor to see if the chaise was ready--and one of his brothers. Hastily -would she have stepped forward to the chaise, had not the gallantry of -the young men impeded her way. They expressed sorrow at her not staying -longer among them, and hopes on her return she would. - -"Pray, my lord," cried the Miss Macqueens, while their brothers were -thus addressing Amanda, "pray, my lord," almost in the same breath, -"what have you done with the gentlemen?" "You should ask your brother," -he replied; "he has locked them up in the plantation." A frolic was at -all times pleasing to the light-hearted Macqueens, and to enjoy the -present one off they ran directly, followed by their brothers, all -calling, as they ran, to Amanda not to stir till they came back, which -would be in a few minutes; but Amanda, from the awkward, the agitating -situation in which they had left her, would instantly have relieved -herself, could she have made the postilion hear her; but, as if enjoying -the race, he had gone to some distance to view it, and none of the -servants of the house were near. Conscious of her own emotions, she -feared betraying them, and stepped a few yards from the door, pretending -to be engrossed by the Macqueens. A heavy sigh suddenly pierced her -ears. "Amanda," in the next moment said a voice to which her heart -vibrated. She turned with involuntary quickness and saw Lord Mortimer -close by her. "Amanda," he repeated; then suddenly clasping his hands -together, exclaimed, with an agonized expression, while he turned -abruptly from her, "Gracious Heaven! what a situation! Amanda," said he, -again looking at her, "the scene which happened last night was -distressing. I am now sorry on your account that it took place. -Notwithstanding past events, I bear you no ill-will. The knowledge of -your uneasiness would give me pain. From my heart I forgive you all that -you have caused--that you have entailed upon me. At this moment I could -take you to my arms, and weep over you--like the fond mother over the -last darling of her hopes--tears of pity and forgiveness." - -Amanda, unutterably affected, covered her face to hide the tears which -bedewed it. - -"Let me have the pleasure of hearing," continued Lord Mortimer, "that -you forgive the uneasiness and pain I might have occasioned you last -night." "Forgive!" repeated Amanda. "Oh, my lord," and her voice sunk in -the sobs which heaved her bosom. "Could I think you were, you would be -happy--" Lord Mortimer stopped, overcome by strong emotions. - -"Happy!" repeated Amanda! "oh! never--never!" continued she, raising her -streaming eyes to heaven; "oh, never--never in this world!" - -At this moment the Macqueens were not only heard but seen running back, -followed by the gentlemen whom they had been prevailed on to liberate. -Shocked at the idea of being seen in such a situation, Amanda would have -called the postilion, but he was too far off to hear her weak voice, had -she then even been able to exert that voice. She looked towards him, -however, with an expression which denoted the feelings of her soul. Lord -Mortimer, sensible of those feelings, hastily pulled open the door of -the chaise, and taking the cold and trembling hand of Amanda with one -equally cold and trembling, assisted her into the chaise, then pressing -the hand he held between both his, he suddenly let it drop from him, and -closing the door without again looking at Amanda, called to the driver, -who instantly obeyed the call, and had mounted ere the Macqueens -arrived. Oh, what a contrast did their looks, blooming with health and -exercise, their gayety, their protected situation, form to the wan, -dejected, desolate Amanda! With looks of surprise they were going up to -the chaise, when Lord Mortimer, still standing by it, and anxious to -save his unhappy, lost Amanda the pain of being noticed in such -agitation, gave the man a signal to drive off, which was instantly -obeyed. - -Thus did Amanda leave the mansion of the Macqueens, where sorrow had -scarcely ever before entered without meeting alleviation, a mansion, -where the stranger, the wayfaring man, and the needy, were sure of a -welcome, cordial as benevolence and hospitality themselves could give; -and where happiness, as pure as in this sublunary state can be -experienced, was enjoyed. As she drove from the door, she saw the -splendid equipages of Lord Mortimer and Lady Martha driving to it. She -turned from them with a sigh, at reflecting they would soon grace the -bridal pomp of Lady Euphrasia. She pursued the remainder of her journey -without meeting anything worthy of relation. It was in the evening she -reached London. The moment she stopped at the hotel she sent for a -carriage, and proceeded in it to Mrs. Connel's, in Bond Street. - - - - -CHAPTER L. - - "Dissembling hope, her cloudy front she clears, - And a false vigor in her eyes appears."--DRYDEN. - - -She alighted from the carriage when it stopped at the door, and entered -the shop, where, to her inexpressible satisfaction, the first object she -beheld was Miss Rushbrook, sitting pensively at one of the counters. The -moment she saw Amanda she recollected her, and, starting up, exclaimed, -as she took her hand, "Ah! dear madam, this is indeed a joyful surprise! -Ah! how often have I wished to meet you again to express my gratitude." -The affectionate reception she met, and the unexpected sight of Miss -Rushbrook, seemed to promise Amanda that her wishes relative to -Rushbrook would not only be accelerated, but crowned with success. She -returned the fervent pressure of Miss Rushbrook's hand, and inquired -after her parents--the inquiry appeared distressing, and she was -answered, with hesitation, that they were indifferent. The evident -embarrassment her question excited prevented her renewing it at this -time. The mistress of the house was not present, and Amanda requested, -if she was within, she might see her directly. Miss Rushbrook -immediately stepped to a parlor behind the shop, and almost instantly -returned, followed by the lady herself, who was a little fat Irish -woman, past her prime, but not past her relish for the good things of -this life. "Dear madam," said she, curtseying to Amanda, "you are very -welcome. I protest I am very glad to see you, though I never had that -pleasure but once before; but it is no wonder I should be so, for I have -heard your praises every day since, I am sure, from that young lady," -looking at Miss Rushbrook. Amanda bowed, but her heart was too full of -the purpose of this visit to allow her to speak about anything else. She -was just come from the country, she told Mrs. Connel, where (she sighed -as she spoke) she had left her friends, and, being unwilling to go -amongst total strangers, she had come to her house in hopes of being -able to procure lodgings in it. - -"Dear ma'am," said Mrs. Connel, "I protest I should have been happy to -have accommodated you, but at present my house is quite full." - -The disappointment this speech gave Amanda rendered her silent for a -moment, and she was then going to ask Mrs. Connel if she could recommend -her to a lodging, when she perceived Miss Rushbrook whispering her. -"Why, madam," cried the former, who, by a nod of her head, seemed to -approve of what the latter had been saying, "since you dislike so much -going among strangers, which, indeed, shows your prudence, considering -what queer kind of people are in the world, Miss Emily says, that if you -condescend to accept of part of her little bed, till you can settle -yourself more comfortably in town, you shall be extremely welcome to it; -and I can assure you, madam, I shall do everything in my power to render -my house agreeable to you." "Oh, most joyfully, most thankfully, do I -accept the offer," said Amanda, whose heart had sunk at the idea of -going amongst strangers. "Any place," she continued, speaking in the -fulness of that agitated heart, "beneath so reputable a roof, would be -an asylum of comfort I should prefer to a palace, if utterly -unacquainted with the people who inhabited it." Her trunk was now -brought in, and the carriage discharged. "I suppose, ma'am," said Mrs. -Connel, looking at the trunk on which her assumed name was marked, "you -are Scotch by your name, though, indeed, you have not much of the accent -about you." "I declare," cried Emily, also looking at it, "till this -moment I was ignorant of your name." - -Amanda was pleased to hear this, and resolved not to disclose her real -one, except convinced Rushbrook would interest himself in her affairs. -She was conducted into the parlor, which was neatly furnished, and -opened into the shop by a glass door. Mrs. Connel stirred a declining -fire into a cheerful blaze, and desired to know if Amanda would choose -anything for dinner. "Speak the word only, my dear," said she, "and I -think I can procure you a cold bone in the house. If you had come two -hours sooner, I could have given you a bit of nice veal for your -dinner." Amanda assured her she did not wish to take anything till -tea-time. - -"Well, well," cried Mrs. Connel, "you shall have a snug cup of tea by -and by, and a hot muffin with it. I am very fond of tea myself, though -poor Mr. Connel, who is dead and gone, used often and often to say, 'I -that was so nervous should never touch tea;' 'but, Biddy,' he would -say, and he would laugh so, poor clear man, 'you and all your sex are -like your mother Eve, unable to resist temptation.'" - -Emily retired soon after Amanda entered; but returned in a few minutes -with her hat and cloak on, and said, nothing but a visit she must pay -her parents should have induced her to forego, for the first evening, at -least, the pleasure of Miss Donald's society. Amanda thanked her for her -politeness, but assured her if considered as a restraint she should be -unhappy. - -"I assure you," said Mrs. Connel, as Emily departed, "she is very fond -of you." "I am happy to hear it," replied Amanda, "for I think her a -most amiable girl." "Indeed she is," cried the other; "all the fault I -find with her is being too grave for her time of life. Poor thing, one -cannot wonder at that, however, considering the situation of her -parents." "I hope," interrupted Amanda, "it is not so bad as it was." -"Bad! Lord! it cannot be worse; the poor captain has been in jail above -a year." "I am sorry," said Amanda, "to hear this. Has any application -been made to Lady Greystock since his confinement?" "To Lady Greystock! -why, Lord! one might as well apply to one of the wild beasts in the -Tower! Ah! poor gentleman, if he was never to get nothing but what she -gave him, I believe he would not long be a trouble to any one. It is now -about fourteen years since my acquaintance with him first commenced. My -poor husband, that is no more, and I kept a shop in Dublin, where the -captain's regiment was quartered, and he being only a lieutenant had not -room enough for his family in the barracks, so he took lodgings at our -house, where Mrs. Rushbrook lay in, and I being with her now and then -during her confinement, a kind of friendship grew up amongst us. They -had not left us long to go to America, when a relation of my husband, -who owned this house and shop, having lost his wife, and being lonesome, -without either chick or child, invited us to come and live with him, -promising us if we did, to settle us in his business, and leave us -everything he had. Well, such offers do not come every day; so, to be -sure, we took him at his word; and here we had not long been when the -poor man bid adieu to all mortal care, and was soon followed by Mr. -Connel. Well, to be sure, I was sad and solitary enough; but when I -thought how irreligious it was to break one's heart with grief, I -plucked up my spirits and began to hold up my head again. So, to make a -short story of a long one, about six years ago Mrs. Rushbrook and Miss -Emily came one day into the shop to buy something, little thinking they -should see an old friend. It was, to be sure, a meeting of joy and -sorrow, as one may say. We told all our griefs to each other, and I -found things were very bad with the poor captain. Indeed I have a great -regard for him and his family, and when he was confined, I took Emily -home as an assistant in my business. The money she earned was to go to -her parents, and I agreed to give her her clothes gratis; but that would -have gone but a little way in feeding so many mouths, had I not procured -plain work for Mrs. Rushbrook and her daughters. Emily is a very good -girl, indeed, and it is to see her parents she is now gone. But while I -am gabbling away I am sure the kettle is boiling." So saying, she -started up, and ringing the bell, took the tea-things from a beaufet -where they were kept. The maid having obeyed the well-known summons, -then retired; and as soon as the tea was made, and the muffins buttered, -Mrs. Connel made Amanda draw her chair close to the table, that she -might, as she said, look snug, and drink her tea comfortably. - -"I assure you, madam," cried she, "it was a lucky hour for Miss Emily -when she entered my house." "I have no doubt of that," said Amanda. "You -must know, madam," proceeded Mrs. Connel, "about a month ago a gentleman -came to lodge with me, who I soon found was making speeches to Miss -Emily. He was one of those wild looking sparks, who, like Ranger in the -play, looked as if they would be popping through every one's doors and -windows, and playing such tricks as made poor Mr. Strickland so jealous -of his wife. Well, I took my gentleman to task one day unawares. 'So, -Mr. Sipthorpe,' says I, 'I am told you have cast a sheep's eye upon one -of my girls; but I must tell you she is a girl of virtue and family, so -if you do not mean to deal honorably with her, you must either decamp -from this, or speak to her no more.' Upon this he made me a speech as -long as a member of parliament's upon a new tax. 'Lord, Mr. Sipthorpe,' -said I, 'there is no occasion for all this oratory, a few words will -settle the business between us.' Well, this was coming close to the -point, you will say, and he told me then he always meant to deal -honorably by Miss Emily, and told me all about his circumstances; and I -found he had a fine fortune, which indeed I partly guessed before from -the appearance he made, and he said he would not only marry Miss Emily, -but take her parents out of prison, and provide for the whole family. -Well, now comes the provoking part of the story. A young clergyman had -been kind at the beginning of their distress to them, and he and Miss -Emily took it into their heads to fall in love with each other. Well, -her parents gave their consent to their being married, which to be sure -I thought a very foolish thing, knowing the young man's inability to -serve them. To be sure he promised fair enough; but, Lord! what could a -poor curate do for them, particularly when he got a wife and a house -full of children of his own? I thought; so I supposed they would be -quite glad to be off with him, and to give her to Mr. Sipthorpe; but no -such thing I assure you. When I mentioned it to them, one talked of -honor, and another of gratitude, and as to Miss Emily, she fairly went -into fits. Well, I thought I would serve them in spite of themselves, -so, knowing the curate to be a romantic young follow, I writes off to -him, and tells him what a cruel thing it would be, if, for his own -gratification, he kept Miss Emily to her word, and made her lose a match -which would free her family from all their difficulties; and, in short, -I touched upon his passion not a little, I assure you, and, as I hoped, -a letter came from him, in which he told her he gave her up. Well, to be -sure there was sad work when it came--with her, I mean, for the captain -and his wife were glad enough of it, I believe, in their hearts; so at -last everything was settled for her marriage with Mr. Sipthorpe, and he -made a number of handsome presents to her, I assure you, and they are to -be married in a few days. He is only waiting for his rents in the -country to take the captain out of prison; but here is Miss Emily, -instead of being quite merry and joyful, is as dull and as melancholy as -if she was going to be married to a frightful old man." "Consider," said -Amanda, "you have just said her heart was pre-engaged." "Lord!" cried -Mrs. Connel, "a girl at her time of life can change her love as easily -as her cap." "I sincerely hope," exclaimed Amanda, "that she either has, -or may soon be able to transfer hers." "And now, pray, madam," said Mrs. -Connel, with a look which seemed to say Amanda should be as -communicative as she had been, "may I ask from whence you have -travelled?" "From a remote part of Scotland." "Dear, what a long -journey!--Lord! they say that is a very desolate place, without never a -tree or a bush in it." "I assure you it wants neither shade nor -verdure," replied Amanda. "Really; well, Lord, what lies some people -tell! Pray, ma'am, may I ask what countrywoman you are?" "Welsh," said -Amanda. "Really; well, I suppose, ma'am, you have had many a scramble up -the mountains, after the goats, which they say are marvellous plenty in -that part of the world." "No, indeed," replied Amanda, "Are you come to -make any long stay in London, ma'am?" "I have not determined." "I -suppose you have come about a little business, ma'am?" resumed Mrs. -Connel. "Yes," replied Amanda. "To be sure, not an affair of great -consequence, or so young a lady would not have undertaken it." Amanda -smiled, but made no reply, and was at length relieved from these -tiresome and inquisitive questions by Mrs. Connel's calling in her girls -to tea; after which she washed the tea-things, put them into the -beaufet, and left the room to order something comfortable for supper. -Left to herself, Amanda reflected that at the present juncture of -Rushbrook's affairs, when his attention and time were engrossed by the -approaching settlement of his daughter, an application to him, on her -own account, would be not only impertinent, but unavailing; she -therefore determined to wait till the hurry and agitation produced by -such an event had subsided, and most sincerely did she hope that it -might be productive of felicity to all. Mrs. Connel was not long absent, -and Emily returned almost at the moment she re-entered the room. "Well, -miss," said Mrs. Connel, addressing her ere she had time to speak to -Amanda, "I have been telling your good friend here all about your -affairs." - -"Have you, ma'am?" cried Emily, with a faint smile, and a dejected -voice. Amanda looked earnestly in her face, and saw an expression of the -deepest sadness in it. From her own heart she readily imagined what her -feelings must be at such a disappointment as Mrs. Connel had mentioned, -and felt the sincerest pity for her. Mrs. Connel's volubility tormented -them both; supper happily terminated it, as she was then much better -employed, in her own opinion, than she could possibly have been in -talking. Amanda pleaded fatigue for retiring early. Mrs. Connel advised -her to try a few glasses of wine as a restorative, but she begged to be -excused, and was allowed to retire with Emily. The chamber was small but -neat, and enlivened by a good fire, to which Amanda and Emily sat down -while undressing. The latter eagerly availed herself of this opportunity -to express the gratitude of her heart. Amanda tried to change the -discourse, but could not succeed. "Long, madam," continued Emily, "have -we wished to return our thanks for a benefaction so delicately conveyed -as yours, and happy were my parents to-night when I informed them I -could now express their grateful feelings." "Though interested -exceedingly in your affairs," said Amanda, making another effort to -change the discourse, "be assured I never should have taken the liberty -of inquiring minutely into them, and I mention this, lest you might -suppose from what Mrs. Connel said, that I had done so." "No, madam," -replied Emily, "I had no such idea, and an inquiry from you would be -rather pleasing than otherwise, because I should then flatter myself you -might be induced to listen to griefs which have long wanted the -consolation of sympathy--such, I am sure, as they would receive from -you." "Happy should I be," cried Amanda, "had I the power of alleviating -them." "Oh! madam, you have the power," said Emily, "for you would -commiserate them, and commiseration from you would be balm to my heart; -you would strengthen me in my duties--you would instruct me in -resignation; but I am selfish in desiring to intrude them on you." "No," -replied Amanda, taking her hand, "you flatter me by such a desire." -"Then, madam, whilst you are undressing, I will give myself the -melancholy indulgence of relating my little story." - - - - -CHAPTER LI. - - "Take heed, take heed, thou lovely maid, - Nor be by glittering ills betrayed." - - -To open our hearts to those we know will commiserate our sorrows is the -sweetest consolation those sorrows can receive; to you, then, madam, I -divulge mine, sure at least of pity. At the time I first had the -happiness of seeing you, the little credit my father had was exhausted, -and his inability to pay being well known, he was arrested one evening -as he sat by the bedside of my almost expiring mother! I will not pain -your gentle nature by dwelling on the horrors of that moment, on the -agonies of a parent, and a husband torn from a family so situated as was -my father's. Feeble, emaciated, without even sufficient clothing to -guard him from the inclemency of the weather, he leaned upon the arm of -one of the bailiffs, as he turned his eyes from that wife he never more -expected to behold. She fainted at the moment he left the room, and it -was many minutes ere I had power to approach her. The long continuance -of her fit at length recalled my distracted thoughts; but I had no -restoratives to apply, no assistance to recover her, for my eldest -brother had followed my father, and the rest of the children, terrified -by the scene they had witnessed, wept together in a corner of the room. -I at last recollected a lady who lived nearly opposite to us, and from -whom I hoped to procure some relief for her. Nothing but the present -emergency could have made me apply to her, for the attention she had -paid us on first coming to Mr. Heathfield's was entirely withdrawn after -his death. Pride, however, was forgotten at the present moment, and I -flew to her house. The servant showed me into a parlor, where she, her -daughters, and a young clergyman I had never before seen, were sitting -at tea. I could not bring myself to mention my distress before a -stranger, and accordingly begged to speak to her in another room; but -she told me in a blunt manner I might speak there. In a low and -faltering voice, which sighs and tears often impeded, I acquainted her -of what had happened, the situation of my mother, and requested a -cordial for her. How great was my confusion when she declared aloud all -I had told her, and turning to her daughter, bid her give me part of a -bottle of wine. 'Ay, ay,' cried she, 'I always thought things would turn -out so. It was really very foolish of Mr. Heathfield to bring you to his -house, and lead you all into such expenses!' I listened to no more, but -taking the wine with a silent pang, retired. - -"I had not been many minutes returned, and was kneeling by the bedside -of my mother, who began to show some symptoms of returning life, when a -gentle knock came to the hall-door. I supposed it my brother, and bade -one of the children fly to open it. What was my surprise when in a few -minutes she returned, followed by the young clergyman I had just seen. I -started from my kneeling posture, and my looks expressed my wonder. He -approached, and in the soft accent of benevolence, apologized for his -intrusion; but said he came with a hope and a wish that he might be -serviceable. Oh! how soothing was his voice! Oh! how painfully pleasing -the voice of tenderness to the wretched! The tears which pride and -indignation had suspended but a few moments before again began flowing. - -"But I will not dwell upon my feelings; suffice it to say, that every -attention which could mitigate my wretchedness he paid, and that his -efforts, aided by mine, soon restored my mother. His looks, his manner, -his profession, all conspired to calm her spirits, and she blessed the -power which so unexpectedly had given us a friend. My brother returned -from my father merely to inquire how we were, and to go back to him -directly. The stranger requested permission to accompany him; a request -most pleasing to us, as we trusted his soothing attention would have -the same effect upon his sorrowing heart as it had upon ours. Scarcely -were they gone ere a man arrived from a neighboring hotel with a basket -loaded with wine and provisions. But to enumerate every instance of this -young man's goodness would be encroaching upon your patience. In short, -by his care, my mother in a few days was able to be carried to my -father's prison. Mrs. Connel, who, on the first intimation of our -distress, had come to us, took me into the house at a stated salary, -which was to be given to my parents, and the rest of the children were -to continue with them. My mother desired me one evening to take a walk -with the children to Kensington, as she thought them injured by constant -confinement. Our friend attended us, and in our way thither, informed me -that he must soon leave town, as he was but a country curate, and his -leave of absence from his rector was expired. It was above a month since -we had known him, during which time his attentions were unremitting, and -he was a source of comfort to us all. A sudden chill came over my heart -as he spoke, and every sorrow at that moment seemed aggravated. On -entering Kensington gardens, I seated myself on a little rising mount, -for I felt trembling and fatigued, and he sat beside me. Never had I -before felt so oppressed, and my tears gushed forth in spite of my -efforts to restrain them. Something I said of their being occasioned by -the recollection of the period when my parents enjoyed the charming -scene I now contemplated along with him. 'Would to Heaven,' cried he, 'I -could restore them again to the enjoyment of it.' - -"'Ah,' said I, 'they already lie under unreturnable obligations to you. -In losing you,' added I, involuntarily, 'they would lose their only -comfort.' 'Since then,' cried he, 'you flatter me by saying it is in my -power to give them comfort, oh! let them have a constant claim upon me -for it! Oh! Emily!' he continued, taking my hand, 'let them be my -parents as well as yours; then will their too scrupulous delicacy be -conquered, and they will receive as a right what they now consider as a -favor.' I felt my cheeks glow with blushes, but still did not perfectly -conceive his meaning. 'My destiny is humble,' he continued; 'was it -otherwise, I should long since have entreated you to share it with me. -Could you be prevailed on to do so, you would give it pleasures it never -yet experienced.' He paused for a reply, but I was unable to give one. - -"Ah! madam, how little necessity either was there for one; my looks, my -confusion, betrayed my feelings. He urged me to speak, and at last I -acknowledged I should not hesitate to share his destiny, but for my -parents, who, by such a measure, would lose my assistance. 'Oh! do not -think,' cried he, 'I would ever wish to tempt you into any situation -which should make you neglect them.' He then proceeded to say that, -though unable at present to liberate them, yet he trusted that if they -consented to our union, he should by economy be enabled to contribute -more essentially to their support than I could do, and also be able in a -short time to discharge their debts. His proposals were made known to -them, and met their warmest approbation. The pleasure they derived from -them was more on my account than their own, as the idea of having me so -settled removed a weight of anxiety from their minds; some of my -brothers and sisters should live with us, he said, and promised my time -should be chiefly spent in doing fine works, which should be sent to -Mrs. Connel to dispose of for my parents; and also that, from time to -time, I should visit them till I had the power of bringing them to my -cottage, for such he described his residence. - -"He was compelled to go to the country, but it was settled he should -return in a short time, and have everything finally settled. In about a -week after his departure, as I was returning one morning from a lady's, -where I had been on a message from Mrs. Connel, a gentleman joined me in -the street, and with a rude familiarity endeavored to enter into -conversation with me. I endeavored to shake him off, but could not -succeed, and hastened home with the utmost expedition, whither I saw he -followed me. I thought no more of the incident till about two days after -I saw him enter the shop, and heard him inquire of Mrs. Connel about her -lodgings, which to my great mortification he immediately took, for I -could not help suspecting he had some improper motive for taking them. I -resolved, however, if such a motive really existed, to disappoint it by -keeping out of his way; but all my vigilance was unavailing; he was -continually on the watch for me, and I could not go up or down stairs -without being insulted by him. I at length informed Mrs. Connel of his -conduct, and entreated her to fulfil the sacred trust her friends -reposed in her, when they gave me to her care, by terminating the -insults of Mr. Sipthorpe. Alas! could I have possibly foreseen the -consequences that would have followed my application to her, I should -have borne these insults in silence. She has already informed you of -them. Oh! madam! when the letter came which dissolved a promise so -cheerfully, so fondly given, every prospect of felicity was in a moment -overshadowed! For a long time I resisted every effort that was made to -prevail on me to marry Sipthorpe; but when at last my mother said she -was sorry to find my feelings less than his, who had so generously -resigned me, that my father might be extricated from his difficulties, I -shrunk with agony at the rebuke. I wondered, I was shocked, how I could -have so long hesitated to open the prison gates of my father, and -determined from that moment to sacrifice myself for him; for oh! Miss -Donald, it is a sacrifice of the most dreadful nature I am about making. -Sipthorpe is a man I never could have liked, had my heart even been -disengaged." - -Amanda felt the truest pity for her young friend, who ended her -narrative in tears; but she did not, by yielding entirely to that pity -(as too many girls with tender hearts, but weak heads, might have done), -heighten the sorrow of Miss Rushbrook. She proved her friendship and -sympathy more sincerely than she could have done by mere expressions of -condolement, which feed the grief they commiserate, in trying to -reconcile her to a destiny that seemed irrevocable. She pointed out the -claims a parent had upon a child, and dwelt upon the delight a child -experienced when conscious of fulfilling those claims. She spoke of the -rapture attending the triumph of reason and humanity over self and -passion, and mentioned the silent plaudits of the heart as superior to -all gratification or external advantages. She spoke from the real -feelings of her soul. She recollected the period at which, to a father's -admonition, she had resigned a lover, and had that father been in -Captain Rushbrook's situation, and the same sacrifice been demanded from -her as from Emily, she felt, without hesitation, she would have made it. -She was indeed a monitress that had practised, and would practise (was -there a necessity for so doing) the lessons she gave, not as poor -Ophelia says-- - - "Like some ungracious pastors, - Who show the steep and thorny path to heaven, - But take the primrose one themselves." - -The sweet consciousness of this gave energy, gave more than usual -eloquence to her language; but whilst she wished to inspirit her young -friend, she felt from the tenderness of her nature, and the sad -situation of her own heart, what that friend must feel from disappointed -affection and a reluctant union. Scarcely could she refrain from weeping -over a fate so wretched, and which she was tempted to think as dreadful -as her own; but a little reflection soon convinced her she had the sad -pre-eminence of misery; for in her fate there were none of those -alleviations as in Emily's, which she was convinced must, in some -degree, reconcile her to it. Her sufferings, unlike Emily's, would not -be rewarded by knowing that they contributed to the comfort of those -dearest to her heart. - -"Your words, my dear madam," said Emily, "have calmed my spirits; -henceforth I will be more resolute in trying to banish regrets from my -mind. But I have been inconsiderate to a degree in keeping you so long -from rest, after your fatiguing journey." Amanda indeed appeared at this -moment nearly exhausted, and gladly hastened to bed. Her slumbers were -short and unrefreshing; the cares which clung to her heart when waking -were equally oppressive while sleeping. Lord Mortimer mingled in the -meditations of the morning, in the visions of the night, and when she -awoke she found her pillow wet with the tears she had shed on his -account. Emily was already up, but on Amanda's drawing back the curtain -she laid down the book she was reading, and came to her. She saw she -looked extremely ill, and, imputing this to fatigue, requested she would -breakfast in bed; but Amanda, who knew her illness proceeded from a -cause which neither rest nor assiduous care could cure, refused -complying with this request, and immediately dressed herself. - -As she stood at the toilet, Emily suddenly exclaimed, "If you have a -mind to see Sipthorpe, I will show him to you now, for he is just going -out." Amanda went to the window, which Emily gently opened; but, oh! -what was the shock of that moment, when in Sipthorpe she recognized the -insidious Belgrave! A shivering horror ran through her veins, and -recoiling a few paces she sunk half fainting on a chair. Emily, -terrified by her appearance, was flying to the bell to ring for -assistance, when, by a faint motion of her hand, Amanda prevented her. -"I shall soon be better," said she, speaking with difficulty; "but I -will lie down on the bed for a few minutes, and I beg you may go to your -breakfast." Emily refused to go, and entreated, that instead of leaving -her, she might have breakfast brought up for them both. Amanda assured -her she could take nothing at present, and wished for quiet. Emily -therefore reluctantly left her. Amanda now endeavored to compose her -distracted thoughts, and quiet the throbbings of her agonizing heart, -that she might be able to arrange some plan for extricating herself from -her present situation, which appeared replete with every danger to her -imagination; for, from the libertine principles of Belgrave, she could -not hope that a new object of pursuit would detach him from her, when he -found her so unexpectedly thrown in his way. Unprotected as she was, she -could not think of openly avowing her knowledge of Belgrave. To discover -his baseness, required therefore caution and deliberation, lest in -saving Emily from the snare spread for her destruction, she should -entangle herself in it. To declare at once his real character, must -betray her to him; and though she might banish him from the house, yet, -unsupported as she was by her friends or kindred--unable to procure the -protection of Rushbrook, in his present situation, however willing he -might be to extend it--she trembled to think of the dangers to which, by -thus discovering, she might expose herself--dangers which the deep -treachery and daring effrontery of Belgrave would, in all probability, -prevent her escaping. As the safest measure, she resolved on quitting -the house in the course of the day; but without giving any intimation -that she meant not to return to it. She recollected a place where there -was a probability of her getting lodgings which would be at once secret -and secure; and by an anonymous letter to Captain Rushbrook, she -intended to acquaint him of his daughter's danger, and refer him to Sir -Charles Bingley, at whose agent's he could receive intelligence of him -for the truth of what she said. Her plan concerted, she grew more -composed, and was able, when Emily entered the room with her breakfast, -to ask, in a seemingly careless manner, when Mr. Sipthorpe was expected -back. - -"It is very uncertain, indeed," answered she. - -"I must go out in the course of the day," said Amanda, "about particular -business; I may therefore as well prepare myself at once for it." She -accordingly put on her habit, and requested materials for writing from -Emily, which were immediately brought, and Emily then retired till she -had written her letter. Amanda, left to herself, hastily unlocked her -little trunk, and taking from it two changes of linen, and the will and -narrative of Lady Dunreath, she deposited the two former in her pocket, -and the two latter in her bosom, then sat down and wrote the following -letter to Captain Rushbrook:-- - - A person who esteems the character of Captain Rushbrook, and the - amiable simplicity of his daughter, cautions him to guard that - simplicity against the danger which now threatens it, from a - wretch who, under the sacred semblance of virtue, designs to fix - a sharper sting in the bosom of affliction than adversity ever - yet implanted. The worth of Sipthorpe is not more fictitious - than his name. His real one is Belgrave. His hand is already - another's, and his character for many years past marked with - instances of deceit, if not equal, at least little inferior to - the present. For the truth of these assertions, the writer of - the letter refers Captain Rushbrook to Sir Charles Bingley, of - ---- regiment, from whose agent a direction may be procured to - him, certain, from his honor and sensibility, he will eagerly - step forward to save worth and innocence from woe and - destruction. - -Amanda's anxiety about Emily being equal to what she felt for herself, -she resolved to leave this letter at Rushbrook's prison, lest any -accident should happen if it went by any other hands. She was anxious to -be gone, but thought it better to wait till towards evening, when there -would be the least chance of meeting Belgrave, who at that time would -probably be fixed in some place for the remainder of the day. Emily -returned in about an hour, and finding Amanda disengaged, requested -permission to sit with her. Amanda, in her present agitation, would have -preferred solitude, but could not decline the company of the -affectionate girl, who, in conversing with her, sought to forget the -heavy cares which the dreadful idea of a union with Sipthorpe had drawn -upon her. Amanda listened with a beating heart to every sound, but no -intimation of Belgrave's return reached her ear. At length they were -summoned to dinner; but Amanda could not think of going to it, lest she -should be seen by him. To avoid this risk, and also the particularity of -a refusal, she determined immediately to go out, and, having told Emily -her intention, they both descended the stairs together. Emily pressed -her exceedingly to stay for dinner, but she positively refused, and left -the house with a beating heart, without having answered Emily's -question, who desired to know if she would not soon return. Thus -perpetually threatened with danger, like a frighted bird again was she -to seek a shelter for her innocent head. She walked with quickness to -Oxford Street, where she directly procured a carriage, but was so weak -and agitated the coachman was almost obliged to lift her into it. She -directed it to the prison, and on reaching it sent for one of the -turnkeys, to whom she gave her letter for Rushbrook, with a particular -charge to deliver it immediately to him. She then ordered the carriage -to Pall Mall, Where it may be remembered she had once lodged with Lady -Greystock. This was the only lodging-house in London she knew, and in it -she expected no satisfaction but what would be derived from thinking -herself safe, as its mistress was a woman of a most unpleasant temper. -She had once been in affluent circumstances, and the remembrance of -those circumstances soured her temper, and rendered her, if not -incapable of enjoying, at least unwilling to acknowledge, the blessings -she yet possessed. On any one in her power she vented her spleen. Her -chief pursuit was the gratification of a most insatiate curiosity, and -her first delight relating the affairs, good or bad, which that -curiosity dived into. Amanda, finding she was within, dismissed the -coach, and was shown by the maid into the back parlor, where she sat. -"Oh dear!" cried she, with a supercilious smile, the moment Amanda -entered, without rising from her chair to return her salute, "When did -you return to London?--and pray, may I ask what brought you back to it?" - -Amanda was convinced from Mrs. Hansard's altered manner, who had once -been servile to a degree to her, that she was perfectly acquainted with -her destitute condition, and a heavy sigh burst from her heart at the -idea of associating with a woman who had the meanness to treat her ill -because of that condition. A chillness crept through her frame when she -reflected her sad situation might long compel her to this. Sick, weak, -exhausted, she sunk upon a chair, which she had neither been offered nor -desired to take. "Well, miss, and pray what is your business in town?" -again asked Mrs. Hansard, with an increased degree of pertness. - -"My business, madam," replied Amanda, "can be of no consequence to a -person not connected with me. My business with you is to know whether -you can accommodate me with lodgings?" "Really. Well, you might have -paid me the compliment of saying you would have called at any rate to -know how I did. You may guess how greatly flattered an humble being like -me would be by the notice of so amiable a young lady." - -These words were pronounced with a kind of sneer that, by rousing the -pride of Amanda, a little revived her spirits. "I should be glad, -madam," said she, with a composed voice, while a faint glow stole over -her cheek, "to know whether you can, or choose, to accommodate me with -lodgings?" "Lord, my dear," replied Mrs. Hansard, "do not be in such a -wondrous hurry--take a cup of tea with me, and then we will settle about -that business." These words implied that she would comply with the wish -of Amanda; and, however disagreeable the asylum, yet to have secured one -cheered her sinking heart. Tea was soon made, which to Amanda, who had -touched nothing since breakfast--and but little then--would have been a -pleasant refreshment, had she not been tormented and fatigued by the -questions of Mrs. Hansard, who laid a thousand baits to betray her into -a full confession of what had brought her to London. Amanda, though a -stranger in herself to every species of art, from fatal experience was -aware of it in others, and therefore guarded her secret. Mrs. Hansard, -who loved what she called a gossipping cup of tea, sat a tedious time -over the tea-table. Amanda, at last mortified and alarmed by some -expressions which dropped from her, again ventured to ask if she could -be lodged under her roof. - -"Are you really serious in that question?" said Mrs. Hansard. There was -a certain expression of contempt in her features as she spoke, which -shocked Amanda so much that she had not power to reply; "because if you -are, my dear," continued Mrs. Hansard, "you have more assurance than I -thought you were possessed of, though I always gave you credit for a -pretty large share. Do you think I would ruin my house, which lodges -people of the first rank and character, by admitting you into it? you, -who, it is well known, obtained Lady Greystock's protection from -charity, and lost it through misconduct. Poor lady--I had the whole -story from her own mouth. She suffered well from having anything to say -to you. I always guessed how it would be. Notwithstanding your demure -look, I saw well enough how you would turn out. I assure you, to use -your own words, if I could accommodate you in my house, it would not -answer you at all, for there are no convenient closets in it in which a -lady of your disposition might now and then want to hide a smart young -fellow. I advise you, if you have had a tiff with any of your friends, -to make up the difference; though, indeed, if you do not, in such a -place as London, you can never be at a loss for such friends. Perhaps -you are now beginning to repent of your evil courses, and, if I took you -into my house, I should suffer as much in my pocket, I suppose, as in my -character." - -The terrified and distressed look with which Amanda listened to this -speech, would have stopped Mrs. Hansard in the middle of it, had she -possessed a spark of humanity, even if she believed her (which was not -the case) guilty. But lost to the noble, the gentle feelings of -humanity, she exulted in the triumph of malice, and rejoiced to have an -opportunity of piercing the panting heart of helpless innocence with the -sharp darts of insult and unmerited reproach. Amidst the various shocks -Amanda had experienced in the short but eventful course of her life, one -greater than the present she had never felt. Petrified by Mrs. Hansard's -words, it was some time ere she had power to speak. "Gracious Heaven!" -exclaimed she, at last, looking up to that Heaven she addressed, and -which she now considered her only refuge from evil, "to what trials am I -continually exposed! Persecuted, insulted, shocked! Oh! what happiness -to lay my feeble frame, my woe-struck heart, within that low asylum -where malice could no more annoy, deceit no more betray me! I am happy," -she continued, starting up, and looking at Mrs. Hansard, "that the -accommodation I desired in this house you refused me, for I am now well -convinced, from the knowledge of your disposition, that the security my -situation requires I should not have found within it." She hastily -quitted the room; but on entering the hall her spirits entirely forsook -her, at the dreadful idea of having no home to go to. Overcome with -horror, she sunk in a flood of tears upon one of the hall chairs. A -maid, who had probably been listening to her mistress's conversation, -now came from a front parlor, and as Mrs. Hansard had shut the door -after Amanda, addressed her without fear of being overheard. "Bless me, -miss," said she, "are you crying? Why, Lord! surely you would not mind -what old Blouzy in the parlor says? I promise you, if we minded her, we -should have red eyes here every day in the week. Do, pray, miss, tell me -if I can be of any service to you?" - -Amanda, in a voice scarcely articulate, thanked her, and said in a few -minutes she should be better able to speak. To seek lodgings at this -late hour was not to be thought of, except she wished to run into the -very dangers she had wanted to avoid, and Mrs. Connel's house returned -to her recollection, as the impossibility of procuring a refuge in any -other was confirmed in her mind. She began to think it could not be so -dangerous as her fears in the morning had represented it to be. Ere this -she thought Belgrave (for since the delivery of the letter there had -been time enough for such a proceeding) might be banished from it; if -not, she had a chance of concealing herself, and, even if discovered, -she believed Mrs. Connel would protect her from his open insults, whilst -she trusted her own precautions would, under Heaven, defeat his secret -schemes, should he again contrive any. She therefore resolved, or rather -necessity compelled her--for could she have avoided it she would not -have done so--to return to Mrs. Connel's; she accordingly requested the -maid to procure her a carriage, and rewarded her for her trouble. As she -was returning to Mrs. Connel's, she endeavored to calm her spirits, and -quell her apprehensions. When the carriage stopped, and the maid -appeared, she could scarcely prevent herself ere she alighted from -inquiring whether any one but the family was within; conscious, -however, that such a question might create suspicions, and that -suspicions would naturally excite inquiries, she checked herself, and -re-entered, though with trembling limbs, that house from whence in the -morning she had fled with such terror. - - - - -CHAPTER LII. - - "Why, thou poor mourner, in what baleful corner - Hast thou been talking with that witch, the night? - On what cold stone hast thou been stretched along, - Gathering the grumbling winds about thy head, - To mix with theirs the accents of thy woes?"--OTWAY. - - -Amanda had not reached the parlor when the door opened, and Mrs. Connel -came from it. "Oh! oh! miss," cried she, "so you are returned. I protest -I was beginning to think you had stolen a march upon us." There was a -rude bluntness in this speech which confounded Amanda; and her mind -misgave her that all was not right. "Come," continued Mrs. Connel, "come -in, miss, I assure you I have been very impatient for your return." -Amanda's fears increased. She followed Mrs. Connel in silence into the -parlor, where she beheld an elderly woman, of a pleasing but emaciated -appearance, who seemed in great agitation and distress. How she could -possibly have anything to say to this woman, she could not conjecture, -and yet an idea that she had, instantly darted into her mind; she sat -down, trembling in every limb, and waited with impatience for an -explanation of this scene. After a general silence of a few minutes, the -stranger, looking at Amanda, said, "My daughter, madam, has informed me -we are indebted to your bounty; I am therefore happy at an opportunity -of discharging the debt." These words announced Mrs. Rushbrook, but -Amanda was confounded at her manner; its coolness and formality were -more expressive of dislike and severity than of gentleness or gratitude. -Mrs. Rushbrook rose as she spoke, and offered a note to her. Speechless -from astonishment, Amanda had not power either to decline or accept it, -and it was laid on a table before her. - -"Allow me, madam," said Mrs. Rushbrook, as she resumed her seat, "to ask -if your real name is Donald?" Amanda's presentiment of underhand doings -was now verified; it was evident to her that their author was Belgrave, -and that he had been too successful in contriving them. - -Amanda now appeared to have reached the crisis of her fate. In all the -various trials she had hitherto experienced, she had still some stay, -some hope, to support her weakness, and soothe her sorrows. When -groaning under the injuries her character sustained by the success of an -execrable plot, she had the consolation to think an idolizing father -would shelter her from further insult. When deprived of that father, -tender friends stepped forward, who mingled tears of sympathy with hers, -and poured the balm of pity on her sorrowing heart. When torn from the -beloved object enshrined within that heart, while her sick soul -languished under the heavy burden of existence, again did the voice of -friendship penetrate its gloom, and, though it could not remove, -alleviated its sufferings. Now helpless, unprotected, she saw a dreadful -storm ready to burst over her devoted head, without one hope to cheer, -one stretched-out arm to shield her from its violence. Surrounded by -strangers prejudiced against her, she could not think that her plain, -unvarnished tale would gain their credence, or prevail on them to -protect her from the wretch whose machinations had ruined her in their -estimation. The horrors of her situation all at once assailed her mind, -overpowered its faculties; a kind of mental sickness seized her, she -leaned her throbbing head upon her hand, and a deep groan burst from her -agonizing heart. - -"You see," said Mrs. Connel, after a long silence, "she cannot brave -this discovery." - -Amanda raised her head at these words; she had grown a little more -composed. "The Being in whom I trust," she said to herself, "and whom I -never wilfully offended, will still, I doubt not, as heretofore, protect -me from danger." Mrs. Rushbrook's unanswered question still sounded in -her ear. "Allow me, madam," she cried, turning to her, "to ask your -reason for inquiring whether my real name is Donald?" "Oh, Lord! my -dear!" said Mrs. Connel, addressing Mrs. Rushbrook, "you need not pester -yourself or her with any more questions about the matter; her question -is an answer in itself." "I am of your opinion, indeed," exclaimed Mrs. -Rushbrook, "and think any farther inquiry needless." "I acknowledge, -madam," said Amanda, whose voice grew firmer from the consciousness of -never having acted improperly, "that my name is not Donald. I must also -do myself the justice to declare (let me be credited or not) that my -real one was not concealed from any motive which could deserve reproach -or censure. My situation is peculiarly distressing. My only consolation -amidst my difficulties is the idea of never having drawn them upon -myself by imprudence." "I do not want, madam," replied Mrs. Rushbrook, -"to inquire into your situation; you have been candid in one instance, I -hope you will be equally so in another. Pray, madam," handing to Amanda -the letter she had written to Rushbrook, "Is this your writing?" "Yes, -madam," answered Amanda, whose pride was roused by the contempt she met, -"it is my writing." "And pray," said Mrs. Rushbrook, looking steadfastly -at her, while her voice grew more severe, "what was your motive for -writing this letter?" "I think, madam," cried Amanda, "the letter -explains that." "A pretty explanation, truly!" exclaimed Mrs. Connel; -"and so you will try to vilify the poor gentleman's character; but, -miss, we have had an explanation you little dream of; ay, we found you -out, notwithstanding your slyness in writing, like one of the madams in -a novel, a bit of a letter without ever a name to it. Mr. Sipthorpe knew -directly who it came from. Ah! poor gentleman, he allowed you wit -enough; a pity there is not more goodness with it; he knows you very -well to his cost." "Yes," said Amanda, "he knows I am a being whose -happiness he disturbed, but whose innocence he never triumphed over. He -knows that like an evil genius, he has pursued my wandering footsteps, -heaping sorrow upon sorrow on me by his machinations; but he also knows, -when encompassed with those sorrows, perplexed with those machinations, -I rose superior to them all, and with uniform contempt and abhorrence -rejected his offers." "Depend upon it," cried Mrs. Connel, "she has been -an actress." "Yes, madam," said Amanda, whose struggling voice confessed -the anguish of her soul, "upon a stage where I have seen a sad variety -of scenes." "Come, come," exclaimed Mrs. Connel, "confess all about -yourself and Sipthorpe; full confession will entitle you to pardon." "It -behooves me, indeed," said Amanda, "to be explicit; my character -requires it, and my wish," she continued, turning to Mrs. Rushbrook, "to -save you from a fatal blow demands it." She then proceeded to relate -everything she knew concerning Belgrave; but she had the mortification -to find her short and simple story received with every mark of -incredulity. "Beware, madam," said she to Mrs. Rushbrook, "of this -infatuation; I adjure you beware of the consequences of it. Oh! doom not -your innocent, your reluctant Emily to destruction; draw not upon your -own head by such a deed horrible and excruciating anguish. Why does not -Mr. Sipthorpe, If I must call him so, appear, and in my presence support -his allegations?" "I asked him to do so," replied Mrs. Rushbrook; "but -he has feeling, and he wished not to see your distress, however merited -it might be." "No, madam," cried Amanda, "he refused, because he knew -that without shrinking he could not behold the innocent he has so -abused; because he knew the conscious coloring of his cheek would betray -the guilty feelings of his soul. Again, I repeat, he is not what he -appears to be. I refer you for the truth of my words to Sir Charles -Bingley. I feel for you, though you have not felt for me. I know, from -false representations, you think me a poor misguided creature; but was I -even so, my too evident anguish might surely have excited pity. Pardon -me, madam, if I say your conduct to me has been most unkind. The gentle -virtues are surely those best fitting a female breast. She that shows -leniency to a fallen fellow-creature, fulfils the Divine precept. The -tear she sheds over her frailties is consecrated in the sight of Heaven, -and her compassion draws a blessing on her own head. Oh! madam, I once -looked forward to a meeting with you, far, far different from the -present one. I once flattered myself, that from the generous friendship -of Mr. and Mrs. Rushbrook, I should derive support and consolation; but -this, like every other hope, is disappointed." Amanda's voice faltered -at these last words, and tears again trickled down her lovely cheeks. A -faint glow tinged the pale cheek of Mrs. Rushbrook at Amanda's -accusation of unkindness. She bent her eyes to the ground as if -conscious it was merited, and it was many minutes ere she could again -look on the trembling creature before her. "Perhaps," said she, at last, -"I may have spoken too severely, but it must be allowed I had great -provocation. Friendship and gratitude could not avoid resenting such -shocking charges as yours against Sipthorpe." "For my part, I wonder you -spoke so mildly to her," exclaimed Mrs. Connel; "I protest in future I -shall be guarded who I admit into my house. I declare she seemed so -distressed at the idea of going amongst strangers, that, sooner than let -her do so, I believe, if Miss Emily had not, I should have offered her -part of my bed; but this distress was all a pretext to get into the -house with Mr. Sipthorpe, that she might try to entangle him in her -snares again. Well, I am determined she shall not stay another night -under my roof. Ay, you may stare as you please, miss, but you shall -march directly. You are not so ignorant about London, I dare say, as you -pretend to be." - -Mrs. Connel rose as she spoke, and approached her with a look which -seemed to say she would put her threat into execution. It was Amanda's -intention to quit the house the next morning, but to be turned from it -at such an hour, a wanderer in the Street, the idea was replete with -horror! She started up, and retreating a few paces, looked at Mrs. -Connel with a kind of melancholy wildness. "Yes," repeated Mrs. Connel, -"I say you shall march directly." The wretched Amanda's head grew giddy, -her sight failed, her limbs refused to support her, and she would have -fallen to the ground had not Mrs. Rushbrook, who perceived her -situation, timely caught her. She was replaced in a chair, and water -sprinkled on her face. "Be composed, my dear," said Mrs. Rushbrook, -whose softened voice proclaimed the return of her compassion, "you shall -not leave this house to-night, I promise, in the name of Mrs. Connel. -She is a good-natured woman, and would not aggravate your distress." -"Ay, Lord knows, good-nature is my foible," exclaimed Mrs. Connel. "So, -miss, as Mrs. Rushbrook has promised, you may stay here to-night." -Amanda, opening her languid eyes, and raising her head from Mrs. -Rushbrook's bosom, said in a low, tremulous voice, "To-morrow, madam, I -shall depart. Oh! would to Heaven," cried she, clasping her hands -together, and bursting into an agony of tears, "before to-morrow I could -be rid of the heavy burden that oppresses me!" "Well, we have had -wailing and weeping enough to-night," said Mrs. Connel, "so, miss, you -may take one of the candles off the table, and go to your chamber if you -choose." - -Amanda did not require to have this permission repeated. She arose, and -taking the light, left the parlor. With feeble steps she ascended to the -little chamber; but here all was dark, and solitary, no cheerful fire -sent forth an animating blaze; no gentle Emily, like the mild genius of -benevolence, appeared to offer with undissembled kindness her little -attentions. Forsaken, faint, the pale child of misery laid down the -candle, and seating herself at the foot of the bed, gave way to deep and -agonizing sorrow. - -"Was I ever," she asked herself, "blessed with friends who valued my -existence as their own, who called me the beloved of their hearts? Oh! -yes," she groaned, "once such friends were mine, and the sad remembrance -of them aggravates my present misery. Oh! happy is our ignorance of -futurity. Oh! my father, had you been permitted to read the awful volume -of fate, the page marked with your Amanda's destiny would have rendered -your existence miserable, and made you wish a thousand times the -termination of hers. - -"Oh, Oscar! from another hand than mine must you receive the deed which -shall entitle you to independence. My trials sink me to the grave, to -that grave where, but for the sweet hope of again seeing you, I should -long since have wished myself." The chamber door opened. She turned her -eyes to it in expectation of seeing Emily, but was disappointed on -perceiving only the maid of the house. "Oh! dear ma'am," cried she, -going up to Amanda, "I declare it quite grieves me to see you in such a -situation. Poor Miss Emily is just in as bad a plight. Well, it is no -matter, but I think both the old ladies will be punished for plaguing -you in this manner. Madam Rushbrook will be sorry enough, when, after -giving her daughter to Mr. Sipthorpe, she finds he is not what he seems -to be." Amanda shrunk with horror from the idea of Emily's destruction, -and by a motion of her hand, signified to the maid her dislike to the -subject. "Well, ma'am," she continued, "Miss Emily, as I was saying, is -quite in as bad a plight as yourself. They have clapped her into my -mistress's chamber, which she durst not leave without running the risk -of bringing their tongues upon her. However, she contrived to see me, -and sent you this note." Amanda took it and read as follows:-- - - "I hope my dear Miss Donald will not doubt my sincerity when I - declare that all my sorrows are heightened by knowing I have - been the occasion of trouble to her. I have heard of the - unworthy treatment she has received in this house, and her - intention of quitting it to-morrow. Knowing her averseness to - lodge in a place she is unacquainted with, I have been speaking - to the maid about her, and had the satisfaction to hear, that, - through her means, my dear Miss Donald might be safely - accommodated for a short time; long enough, however, to permit - her to look out for an eligible situation. I refer her for - particulars of the conversation to the maid, whose fidelity may - be relied on. To think it may be useful to my dear Miss Donald, - affords me the only pleasure I am now capable of enjoying. In - her esteem may I ever retain the place of a sincere and - affectionate friend. - - E. R." - -"And where is the place I can be lodged in?" eagerly asked Amanda. "Why, -ma'am," said the maid, "I have a sister who is housemaid, at a very -grand place, on the Richmond Road. All the family are now gone to -Brighton, and she is left alone in the house, where you would be very -welcome to take up your residence till you could get one to your mind. -My sister is a sage, sober body, and would do everything in her power to -please and oblige you, and you would be as snug and secure with her as -in a house of your own; and poor Miss Emily begged you would go to her, -till you could get lodgings with people whose characters you know. And, -indeed, ma'am, it is my humble opinion, it would be safe and pleasant -for you to do so; and, if you consent, I will conduct you there -to-morrow morning; and I am sure, ma'am, I shall be happy if I have the -power of serving you." Like the Lady in Comus, Amanda might have said-- - - "I take thy word, - And trust thy honest offered courtesy, - For in a place - Less warranted than this, or less secure - I cannot be, that I should fear to change it: - Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial - To my proportioned strength." - -To take refuge in this manner, in any one's house, was truly repugnant -to the feelings of Amanda; but sad necessity conquered her scrupulous -delicacy, and she asked the maid at what hour in the morning she should -be ready for her. - -"I shall come to you, ma'am," answered she, "as soon as I think there is -a carriage on the stand, and then we can go together to get one. But I -protest, ma'am, you look sadly. I wish you would allow me to assist in -undressing you, for I am sure you want a little rest. I dare say, for -all my mistress said, if you choose it, I could get a little wine from -her to make whey for you." Amanda refused this, but accepted her offer -of assistance, for she was so overpowered by the scenes of the day, as -to be almost unequal to any exertion. The maid retired after she had -seen her to bed. Amanda entreated her to be punctual to an early hour, -and also requested her to give her most affectionate love to Miss -Rushbrook, and her sincere thanks for the kind solicitude she had -expressed about her. Her rest was now, as on the preceding night, -broken, and disturbed by frightful visions. She arose pale, trembling, -and unrefreshed. The maid came to her soon after she was dressed, and -she immediately accompanied her down stairs, trembling as she went, lest -Belgrave should suddenly make his appearance, and either prevent her -departure, or follow her to her new residence. She left the house, -however, without meeting any creature, and soon obtained the shelter of -a carriage. - -As they proceeded, Amanda besought the maid, who seemed perfectly -acquainted with everything relative to Belgrave, to tell Miss Rushbrook -to believe her assertions against him if she wished to save herself from -destruction. The maid assured her she would, and declared she always -suspected Mr. Sipthorpe was not as good as he should be. Amanda soon -found herself at the end of her little journey. The house was elegant -and spacious, with a short avenue before it planted with chestnuts. The -maid's sister was an elderly-looking woman, who received Amanda with -every appearance of respect, and conducted her into a handsome parlor, -where a neat breakfast was laid out. "I took care, ma'am," said the -maid, smiling, "to apprise my sister last night of the honor she was to -have this morning: and I am sure she will do everything in her power to -oblige you." "I thank you both," cried Amanda, with her usual sweetness, -but while she spoke a struggling tear stole down her lovely cheek at the -idea of that forlorn situation which had thus cast her upon the kindness -of strangers--strangers who were themselves the children of poverty and -dependence. "I hope, however, I shall not long be a trouble to either, -as it is my intention immediately to look out for a lodging amongst the -cottages in this neighborhood, till I can settle my affairs to return to -my friends. In the mean time, I must insist on making some recompense -for the attention I have received, and the expense I have put you to." -She accordingly forced a present upon each, for both the women appeared -unwilling to accept them, and Mrs. Deborah, the maid's sister, said it -was quite unnecessary at present to think of leaving the house, as the -family would not return to it for six weeks. Amanda, however, was -resolved on doing what she had said, as she could not conquer her -repugnance to continue in a stranger's house. Mrs. Connel's maid -departed in a few minutes. Of the breakfast prepared for her, Amanda -could only take some tea. Her head ached violently, and her whole frame -felt disordered. Mrs. Deborah, seeing her dejection, proposed showing -her the house and garden, which were very fine, to amuse her, but Amanda -declined the proposal at present, saying she thought if she lay down she -should be better. She was immediately conducted to an elegant chamber, -where Mrs. Deborah left her, saying she would prepare some little nice -thing for her dinner, which she hoped would tempt her to eat. Amanda now -tried to compose her spirits by reflecting she was in a place of -security; but their agitation was not to be subdued from the sleep into -which mere fatigue threw her. She was continually starting in -inexpressible terrors. Mrs. Deborah came up two or three times to know -how she was, and at last appeared with dinner. She laid a small table by -the bedside, and besought Amanda to rise and try to eat. There was a -friendliness in her manner which recalled to Amanda's recollection her -faithful nurse Edwin, and she sighed to think that the shelter of her -humble cottage she could no more enjoy (should such a shelter be -required) from its vicinity to Tudor Hall, near which every feeling of -propriety and tenderness must forbid her residing; the sad remembrance -of which, now reviving in her mind, drew tears from her, and rendered -her unable to eat. She thanked Mrs. Deborah for her attention, but, -anxious to be alone, said she would no longer detain her; yet no sooner -was she alone than she found solitude insupportable. She could not -sleep, the anguish of her mind was so great, and arose with the idea -that a walk in the garden might be of use to her. As she was descending -the stairs, she heard, notwithstanding the door was shut, a man's voice -from a front parlor. She started, for she thought it was a voice -familiar to her ear. With a light foot and a throbbing heart she turned -into a parlor at the foot of the stairs which communicated with the -other. Here she listened, and soon had her fears confirmed by -recollecting the voice to be that of Belgrave's servant, whom she had -often seen in Devonshire. She listened with that kind of horror which -the trembling wretch may be supposed to feel when about hearing a -sentence he expects to be dreadful. - -"Ay, I assure you," cried the man, "we are blown up at Mrs. Connel's, -but that is of little consequence to us; the colonel thinks the game now -in view better than that he has lost, so to-night you may expect him in -a chaise and four to carry off your fair guest." "I declare, I am glad -of it," said Mrs. Deborah, "for I think she will die soon." "Die soon!" -repeated he. "Oh! yes, indeed, great danger of that--" and he added -something else, which, being delivered with a violent burst of laughter, -Amanda could not hear. She thought she heard them moving towards the -door; she instantly slipped from the parlor, and, ascending the stairs -in breathless haste, stopped outside the chamber door to listen. In a -few minutes she heard them coming into the hall, and the man softly let -out by Mrs. Deborah. Amanda now entered the chamber and closed the door, -and knowing a guilty conscience is easily alarmed, she threw herself on -the bed, lest Mrs. Deborah, if she found her up, should have her -suspicions awakened. Her desperate situation inspired her with strength -and courage, and she trusted by presence of mind to be able to extricate -herself from it. It was her intention, if she effected her escape, to -proceed directly to London, though the idea of entering it, without a -certain place to go to, was shocking to her imagination; yet she thought -it a more secure place for her than any of the neighboring cottages, -which she thought might be searched. Mrs. Deborah, as she expected, soon -came up to her. Amanda involuntarily shuddered at her appearance, but -knowing her safety depended on the concealment of her feelings, she -forced herself to converse with the treacherous creature. She at last -arose from the bed, declaring she had indulged her languor too much, -and, after a few turns about the room, went to the window, and pretended -to be engrossed in admiring the garden. "There is a great deal of fruit -in the garden," said she, turning to Mrs. Deborah; "if I did not think -it encroached too much on your kindness, I should ask for a nectarine or -two." "Dear ma'am," replied Miss Deborah, "you are heartily welcome. I -declare I should have offered them to you, only I thought you would like -a turn in the garden and pull them yourself." "No," said Amanda, "I -cannot at present." Mrs. Deborah went off, and Amanda watched at the -window till she saw her at the very end of the garden; she then snatched -up her hat, and tied it on with a handkerchief, the better to conceal -her face, then hastily descended the stairs, and locked the back door to -prevent any immediate pursuit. She ran down the avenue, nor flagged in -her course till she had got some paces from it; she was then compelled -to do so, as much from weakness as from fear of attracting notice, if -she went on in such a wild manner. She started at the sound of every -carriage, and hastily averted her head as they passed; but she reached -London without any alarm but what her own fears gave her. The hour was -now late and gloomy, and warned Amanda of the necessity there was for -exertions to procure a lodgings. Some poor women she saw retiring from -their little fruit-stand drew a shower of tears from her, to think her -situation was more wretched than theirs, whom but a few days before she -should have considered as objects of compassion. She knew at such an -hour she would only be received into houses of an inferior description, -and looked for one in which she could think there might be a chance of -gaining admittance. She at last came to a small, mean-looking house. -"This humble roof, I think," cried she, "will not disdain to shelter an -unhappy wanderer!" She turned into the shop, where butter and cheese -were displayed, and where an elderly woman sat knitting behind the -counter. She arose immediately, as if from surprise and respect at -Amanda's appearance, who in universal agitation leaned against the door -for support, unable for some minutes to speak. At last, in faltering -accents, whilst over her pale face a crimson blush was diffused, she -said, "I should be glad to know if you have any lodgings to let?" - -The woman instantly dropped into her seat, and looked steadfastly at -Amanda. "This is a strange hour," cried she, "for any decent body to -come looking for lodgings!" "I am as sensible of that as you can be," -said Amanda, "but peculiar circumstances have obliged me to it; if you -can accommodate me, I can assure you you will not have reason to repent -doing so." "Oh! I do not know how that may be," cried she; "it is -natural for a body to speak a good word for themselves; however, if I do -let you a room, for I have only one to spare, I shall expect to be paid -for it beforehand." "You shall, indeed," said Amanda. "Well, I will show -it you," said she. She accordingly called a little girl to watch the -shop, and, taking a candle, went up, before Amanda, a narrow, winding -flight of stairs, and conducted her into a room, whose dirty, miserable -appearance made her involuntarily shrink back, as if from the den of -wretchedness itself. She tried to subdue the disgust it inspired her -with, by reflecting that, after the imminent danger she had escaped, she -should be happy to procure any asylum she could consider safe. She also -tried to reconcile herself to it, by reflecting that in the morning she -should quit it. - -"Well, ma'am," said the woman, "the price of the room is neither more -nor less than one guinea per week, and if you do not like it, you are -very welcome not to stay." "I have no objection to the price," replied -Amanda; "but I hope you have quiet people in the house." "I flatter -myself, ma'am," said the woman, drawing up her head, "there is never a -house in the parish can boast a better name than mine." "I am glad to -hear it," answered Amanda; "and I hope you are not offended by the -inquiry." She now put her hand in her pocket for the purse, to give the -expected guinea, but the purse was not there. She sat down on the side -of the bed, and searched the other, but with as little success. She -pulled out the contents of both, but no purse was to be found. -"Now--now," cried she, clasping her hands together, in an agony which -precluded reflection, "now--now, I am lost indeed! My purse is stolen," -she continued, "and I cannot give you the promised guinea." "No, nor -never could, I suppose," exclaimed the woman. "Ah! I suspected all along -what you were;--and so you was glad my house had a good name? I shall -take care it does not lose that name by lodging you." "I conjure you," -cried Amanda, starting up, and laying her hand on the woman's, "I -conjure you to let me stay this night; you will not--you shall not lose -by doing so. I have things of value in a trunk in town, for which I will -this instant give you a direction." "Your trunk!" replied the woman in a -scornful tone. "Oh! yes, you have a trunk with things of value in it, as -much as you have a purse in your pocket. A pretty story, indeed. But I -know too much of the ways of the world to be deceived nowadays--so march -directly." - -Amanda again began to entreat, but the woman interrupted her, and -declared, if she did not depart directly, she would be sorry for it. -Amanda instantly ceased her importunities, and in trembling silence -followed her down stairs. Oppressed with weakness, she involuntarily -hesitated in the shop, which the woman perceiving, she rudely seized -her, and pushing her from it, shut the door. Amanda could not now, as in -former exigencies, consider what was to be done. Alas! if even capable -of reflection, she could have suggested no plan which there was a hope -of accomplishing. The powers of her mind were overwhelmed with horror -and anguish. She moved mechanically along, nor stopped, till from -weakness, she sunk upon the step of a door, against which she leaned her -head in a kind of lethargy; but from this she was suddenly aroused by -two men who stopped before her. Death alone could have conquered her -terrors of Belgrave. She instantly concluded these to be him and his -man. She started up, uttered a faint scream, and calling upon Heaven to -defend her, was springing past them, when her hand was suddenly caught. -She made a feeble but unsuccessful effort to disengage it, and overcome -by terror and weakness fell, though not fainting, unable to support -herself, upon the bosom of him who had arrested her course. "Gracious -Heaven!" cried he, "I have heard that voice before." - -Amanda raised her head. "Sir Charles Bingley!" she exclaimed. The -feelings of joy, surprise, and shame, that pervaded her whole soul, and -thrilled through her frame, were, in its present weak state, too much -for it, and she again sunk upon his shoulder. The joy of unexpected -protection--for protection she was convinced she should receive from Sir -Charles Bingley--was conquered by reflecting on the injurious ideas her -present situation must excite in his mind--ideas she feared she should -never be able to remove, so strongly were appearances against her. - -"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed Sir Charles, "is this Miss Fitzalan? Oh, -this," he cried, in a tone of deep dejection, "is indeed a meeting of -horror!" A deep convulsive sob from Amanda alone proclaimed her -sensibility; for she lay motionless in his arms--arms which -involuntarily encircled and enfolded her to a heart that throbbed with -intolerable anguish on her account. His friend stood all this time a -spectator of the scene, the raillery which he had been on the point of -uttering at seeing Amanda, as he thought, so premeditatedly fell into -the arms of his companion, was stopped by the sudden exclamation of Sir -Charles. Though the face of Amanda was concealed, the glimmering of a -lamp over their heads gave him a view of her fine form, and the -countenance of Sir Charles as he bent over her, full of sorrow and -dismay. "Miss Fitzalan," cried Sir Charles, after the silence of a -minute, "you are ill; allow me to have the pleasure of seeing you home." -"Home!" repeated Amanda, in the slow and hollow voice of despair, and -raising her languid head, "alas! I have no home to go to." - -Every surmise of horror which Sir Charles had formed from seeing her in -her present situation was now confirmed. He groaned, he shuddered, and -scarcely able to stand, was obliged to lean with the lovely burden he -supported against the rails. He besought his friend either to procure a -chair or coach in which he might have her conveyed to a house where he -knew he could gain her admittance. Touched by his distress, and the -powerful impulse of humanity, his friend instantly went to comply with -his request. - -The silence of Amanda Sir Charles imputed to shame and illness, and -grief and delicacy forbade him to notice it. His friend returned in a -few minutes with a coach, and Sir Charles then found that Amanda's -silence did not altogether proceed from the motives he had ascribed it -to; for she had fainted on his bosom. She was lifted into the carriage, -and he again received her in his arms. On the carriage stopping, he -committed her to the care of his friend, whilst he stepped into the -house to procure a reception. In a few minutes he returned with a maid, -who assisted him in carrying her up stairs. But on entering the -drawing-room, how great was his amazement, when a voice suddenly -exclaimed, "Oh, merciful Powers! this is Miss Donald!" It was indeed to -Mrs. Connel's house, and to the care of the Rushbrooks, whom his bounty -had released from prison, he had brought her. He had previously informed -them of the situation in which he found her, little suspecting, at the -time, she was the Miss Donald they mentioned being under such -obligations to. - -"It is I, it is I," cried Mrs. Rushbrook, gazing on her with mingled -horror and anguish, "it is I have been the occasion of her distress, and -never shall I forgive myself for it." "Oh, my preserver, my friend, my -benefactress!" said Emily, clasping her in an agony of tears to her -bosom, "is it thus your Emily beholds you?" Amanda was laid upon a -couch, and her hat being removed, displayed a face which, with the -paleness of death, had all the wildness of despair--a wildness that -denoted more expressively than language could have done, the conflicts -her spirit had endured; heavy sighs announced her having recovered from -her fainting fit; but her eyes still continued closed, and her head, too -weak to be self-supported, rested against the arm of the couch. Mrs. -Rushbrook and her daughter hung over her in inexpressible agonies. If -they were thus affected, oh! how was Sir Charles Bingley distressed--oh! -how was his heart, which loved her with the most impassionate -tenderness, agonized! As he bent over the couch, the big tear trickled -down his manly cheek, and fell upon the cold, pale face he contemplated. -He softly asked himself, Is this Amanda? Is this she, whom but a short -time ago I beheld moving with unequalled elegance, adorned with -unrivalled beauty, whom my heart worshipped as the first of women, and -sought to unite its destiny to, as the surest means of rendering that -destiny happy? Oh! what a change is here! How feeble is that form! how -hollow is that cheek! how heavy are those eyes whose languid glance -speak incurable anguish of the soul! Oh, Amanda, was the being present -who first led you into error, what horror and remorse must seize his -soul at seeing the consequence of that error! "Has this unhappy young -creature," asked Rushbrook, who had approached the couch and viewed her -with the truest pity, "no connections that could be prevailed on to save -her?" "None that I know of," replied Sir Charles; "her parents are both -dead." "Happy are the parents," resumed Rushbrook, "who, shrouded in the -dust, cannot see the misfortunes of their children--the fall of such a -child as this!" glancing his tearful eyes as he spoke on his daughters. - -"And pray, sir," said Mrs. Connel, who was chafing her temples with -lavender, "if she recovers, what is to become of her?" "It shall be my -care," cried Sir Charles, "to procure her an asylum. Yes, madam," he -continued, looking at her with an expression of mingled tenderness and -grief, "he that must forever mourn thy fate, will try to mitigate it; -but does she not want medical assistance?" "I think not," replied Mrs. -Connel; "it is want of nourishment and rest has thrown her into her -present situation." "Want of nourishment and rest!" repeated Sir -Charles. "Good Heavens!" continued he, in the sudden agony of his soul, -and walking from the couch, "is it possible that Amanda was a wanderer -in the streets, without food, or a place to lay her head in? Oh, this is -dreadful! Oh! my friends," he proceeded, looking around him, whilst his -eyes beamed the divine compassion of his soul, "be kind, be careful of -this poor creature; but it is unnecessary to exhort you to this, and -excuse me for having done so. Yes, I know you will delight in binding up -a broken heart, and drying the tears of a wretched outcast. A short time -ago, and she appeared----" he stopped, overcome by his emotions, and -turned away his head to wipe away his tears. "A short time ago," he -resumed, "and she appeared all that the heart of man could desire, all -that a woman should wish and ought to be. Now she is fallen, indeed, -lost to herself and to the world!" "No," cried Emily, with generous -warmth, starting from the side of the couch, at which she had been -kneeling, "I am confident she never was guilty of an error." "I am -inclined, indeed, to be of Emily's opinion," said Mrs. Rushbrook. "I -think the monster, who spread such a snare for her destruction, traduced -Miss Donald in order to drive her from those who would protect her from -his schemes." "Would to Heaven the truth of your conjecture could be -proved," exclaimed Sir Charles. Again he approached the couch. Amanda -remained in the same attitude, but seeing her eyes open, he took her -cold hand, and in a soothing voice assured her she was safe; but the -assurance had no effect upon her. Hers, like the "dull, cold ear of -death," was insensible of sound. A faint spark of life seemed only -quivering through her woe-worn frame. "She is gone!" cried Sir Charles, -pressing her hand between his; "she is gone, indeed! Oh! sweet Amanda, -the mortal bounds that enclose thy afflicted spirit will soon be -broken!" "I trust not, sir," exclaimed Captain Rushbrook. His wife and -daughter were unable to speak. "In my opinion she had better be removed -to bed." - -Amanda was accordingly carried to a chamber, and Sir Charles remained in -the drawing-room till Mrs. Rushbrook had returned to it. She informed -him Miss Donald continued in the same state. He desired a physician -might be sent for, and departed in inexpressible dejection. - - - - -CHAPTER LIII. - - "Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once."--THOMSON. - - -We shall now account for the incidents in the last chapter. Amanda's -letter to the Rushbrooks filled them with surprise and consternation. -Mrs. Rushbrook directly repaired to Mrs. Connel, who, without -hesitation, gave it as her opinion that the whole was a fabrication, -invented by malice to ruin Sipthorpe in their opinion, or else by envy -to prevent their enjoying the good fortune which he offered to their -acceptance. Mrs. Rushbrook was inclined to be of the same opinion. Her -mind was sensibly affected by the favors Sipthorpe had conferred on her -family, and, yielding to its gratitude, she resolved to be guided -implicitly by her friend, who advised her to show the letter to him. She -considered this the best measure she could pursue. If innocent, he would -be pleased by the confidence reposed in his honor; if guilty, his -confusion must betray him. But Belgrave was guarded against detection. -His servant had seen Amanda as she was alighting from the coach the -evening she arrived in town. He inquired from the maid concerning her, -and learned that she was to lodge in the house, and go by her assumed -name. These circumstances he related to his master the moment he -returned home, who was transported at the intelligence. From her change -of name, he supposed her not only in deep distress, but removed from the -protection of her friends, and he determined not to lose so favorable an -opportunity as the present for securing her in his power. He instantly -resolved to relinquish his designs on Emily--designs which her beautiful -simplicity and destitute condition had suggested, and to turn all his -thoughts on Amanda, who had ever been the first object of his wishes. -His pride, as well as love, was interested in again ensnaring her, as he -had been deeply mortified by her so successfully baffling his former -stratagems; he knew not of the manner she had left the house. Half -distracted at what he supposed her escape from it, he had followed her -to Ireland, and remained incognito near the convent, till the appearance -of Lord Mortimer convinced him any schemes he formed against her must -prove abortive; but to concert a plan for securing her required some -deliberation. Ere he could devise one he was summoned to Mrs. Connel's -parlor to peruse the letter, and from the hand as well as purport, -instantly knew Amanda to be its author. With the daring effrontery of -vice, he directly declared she was a discarded mistress of his, who from -jealousy had taken this step, to prevent, if possible, his union. He -assured them her real name was not Donald, bid them tax her with that -deceit, and judge from her confusion whether she was not guilty of that, -as well as everything else he alleged against her. His unembarrassed -manner had the appearance of innocence to his too credulous auditors, -prejudiced as they were already in his favor, and in their minds he was -now fully acquitted of his imputed crimes. He was now careless whether -Amanda saw him or not (for he had before stolen into the house), being -well convinced nothing she could allege against him would be credited. -When night approached without bringing her, he grew alarmed lest he had -lost her again. At last her return relieved him from this fear. The -conversation which passed in the parlor he heard through the means of -his servant, who had listened to it. The mention of Amanda's removal in -the morning made him immediately consult his servant about measures for -securing her, and he, with the assistance of the maid, contrived the -scheme which has been already related, having forged a letter in Emily's -name. But how inadequate is language to describe the rage that took -possession of his soul, when, going at the appointed hour to carry -Amanda off, he found her already gone. He raved, cursed, stamped, and -accused the woman and his servant of being privy to her escape. In vain -Mrs. Deborah told him of the trick she had played on her, and how she -had been obliged to get into the house through the window. He continued -his accusations, which so provoked his servant, conscious of their -unjustness, that he at last replied to them with insolence. This, in the -present state of Belgrave's mind, was not to be borne, and he -immediately struck him over the forehead with his sword, and with a -violence which felled him to the earth. Scarcely had he obeyed ere he -repented his impulse of passion, which seemed attended with fatal -consequences, for the man gave no symptoms of existence. Consideration -for his own safety was more prevalent in his mind than any feelings of -humanity, and he instantly rushed from the house, ere the woman was -sufficiently recovered from her horror and amazement to be able to call -to the other servants, as she afterwards did, to stop him. He fled to -town, and hastened to an hotel in Pall Mall, from whence he determined -to hire a carriage for Dover, and thence embark for the continent. -Ascending the stairs he met a man, of all others he would have wished to -avoid, namely, Sir Charles Bingley. He started, but it was too late to -retreat. He then endeavored to shake off his embarrassment, from a faint -hope that Sir Charles had not heard of his villanous design upon Miss -Rushbrook; but this hope vanished the moment Sir Charles addressed him, -who with coldness and contempt said he would be glad to speak to him for -a few minutes. But ere we relate their conversation, it is necessary to -relate a few particulars of the Rushbrooks. - -Captain Rushbrook, from knowing more of the deceits of mankind than his -wife, was less credulous. The more he reflected on the letter the more -he felt doubts obtruding on his mind, and he resolved sooner to forfeit -the friendship of Sipthorpe than permit any further intercourse between -him and his daughter till those doubts were removed. He sent his son to -Sir Charles's agent, and had the satisfaction of hearing he was then in -town, and lodged at an hotel in Pall Mall. He immediately wrote to Sir -Charles, and requested to see him whenever he was at leisure; adding, he -was well convinced his benevolence would excuse the liberty he had -taken, when informed of the purpose for which his visit was requested. -Sir Charles was fortunately within, and directly attended little -Rushbrook to the prison. The letter had filled him with surprise, but -that surprise gave way, the moment he entered the wretched apartment of -Rushbrook, to the powerful emotions of pity. A scene more distressing he -had never seen, or could not have conceived. He saw the emaciated form -of the soldier, for such his dress announced him, seated beside a dying -fire, his little children surrounding him, whose faded countenances -denoted their keen participation of his grief, and the sad partner of -his misery bending her eyes upon those children with mingled love and -sorrow. - -Rushbrook was unable to speak for a few minutes after his entrance. When -he recovered his voice, he thanked him for the kind attention he had -paid his request, briefly informed him of the motives for that request, -and ended by putting Amanda's letter into his hand. Sir Charles perused -it with horror and amazement. "Gracious Heaven!" he exclaimed, "what a -monster! I know not the lady who has referred you to me, but I can -testify the truth of her allegations. I am shocked to think such a -monster as Belgrave exists." - -Shocked at the idea of the destruction she was so near devoting her -daughter to, disappointed in the hopes she entertained of having her -family liberated from prison, and struck with remorse for her conduct to -Amanda, Mrs. Rushbrook fell fainting to the floor, overpowered by her -painful emotions. Sir Charles aided in raising her from it, for the -trembling hand of Rushbrook refused its assistance. "Unhappy woman!" he -exclaimed, "the disappointment of her hopes is too much for her feeble -frame." Water, the only restorative in the room, being sprinkled on her -face, she slowly revived, and the first object she beheld was the pale -and weeping Emily, whom her father had insisted on being brought to the -prison. "Oh, my child," she cried, clasping her to her bosom, "can you -forgive the mother who was so near devoting you to destruction? Oh! my -children, for your sake, how near was I sacrificing this dear, this -precious girl! I blush! I shudder! when I reflect on my conduct to the -unhappy young creature, who, like a guardian angel, interposed between -my child and ruin. But these dreary walls," she continued, bursting -into an agony of tears, "which now we must never hope to pass, will hide -my shame and sorrows together!" "Do not despair, my dear madam," said -Sir Charles, in the soft accent of benevolence, "nor do you," continued -he, turning to Rushbrook, "deem me impertinent in inquiring into those -sorrows." His accent, his manner, were so soothing, that these children -of misery, who had long been strangers to the voice of kindness, gave -him, with tears, and sighs, a short relation of their sorrows. He heard -them with deep attention, and, when he departed, gave them such a smile -as, we may suppose, would beam from an angel, if sent by Heaven to pour -the balm of comfort and mercy over the sorrows of a bursting heart. - -He returned early in the morning. How bright, how animated was his -countenance! Oh, ye sons of riot and extravagance! ye children of -dissipation! never did ye experience a pleasure equal to his, when he -entered the apartment of Rushbrook to inform him he was free; when, in -the impassioned, yet faltering accents of sensibility, he communicated -the joyful tidings, and heard the little children repeat his words, -while their parents gazed on each other with surprise and rapture. - -Rushbrook at length attempted to pour out the fulness of his heart, but -Sir Charles stopped him. "Blessed with a fortune," cried he, "beyond my -wants, to what nobler purpose could superfluous wealth be devoted, than -to the enlargement of a man who has served his country, and who has a -family which he may bring up to act as he has done? May the restoration -of liberty be productive of every happiness! Your prison gates, I -rejoice to repeat, are open. May the friendship which commenced within -these walls be lasting as our lives!" To dwell longer on this subject is -unnecessary. The transported family were conveyed to Mrs. Connel's, -where he had been the preceding night to order everything for their -reception. He then inquired about Sipthorpe, or rather Belgrave, whom he -meant to upbraid for his cruel designs against Miss Rushbrook; but -Belgrave, as soon as his plan was settled about Amanda, had quitted Mrs. -Connel's. The joy of the Rushbrooks was greatly damped the next morning -on hearing of the secret departure of Amanda. What Belgrave had said -against her they never would have credited, but for the appearance of -mystery which enveloped her. Still, her amiable attention to them -merited their truest gratitude; they wished to have expressed that -gratitude to her, and offer her their services. Much as appearances were -against Amanda, yet from the very moment Mrs. Rushbrook declared it her -idea that Belgrave had traduced her for the purpose of depriving her of -protection, a similar idea started in Sir Charles's mind, and he -resolved to seek Belgrave, and never rest till he had discovered whether -there was any truth in his assertions against Amanda. Their meeting at -the hotel was considered as fortunate as unexpected by him; yet could he -not disguise for a moment the contempt his character inspired him with. -He reproached him as soon as they entered an apartment, for his base -designs against Miss Rushbrook; designs in every respect degrading to -his character, since he knew the blow he levelled at the peace of her -father, could not, from the unfortunate situation of that father, be -resented. "You are," continued Sir Charles, "not only the violator, but -the defamer of female innocence. I am well convinced from reflection on -past and present circumstances, that your allegations against Miss -Fitzalan were as false as vile." "You may doubt them, Sir Charles," -replied Belgrave, "if it is agreeable to you; but yet, as a friend, I -advise you not to let every one know you are her champion." "Oh, -Belgrave!" cried Sir Charles, "can you think without remorse, of having -destroyed not only the reputation, but the existence of an amiable young -creature?" "The existence!" repeated Belgrave, starting, and with a kind -of horror in his look. "What do you mean?" "I mean that Amanda Fitzalan, -involved through your means in a variety of wretchedness she was unable -to support, is now on her death-bed!" Belgrave changed color, trembled, -and in an agitated voice, demanded an explanation of Sir Charles's -words. - -Sir Charles saw his feelings were touched, and trusting they would -produce the discovery he wished, briefly gave him the particulars he -asked for. - -Amanda was the only woman that had ever really touched the heart of -Belgrave. His mind, filled with horror and enervated with fear at the -idea of the crime he had recently committed, could make no opposition to -the grief he experienced on hearing of her situation--a grief heightened -almost to distraction, by reflecting that he was accessory to it. -"Dying!" he repeated, "Amanda Fitzalan dying! but she will be happy! -Hers will be a pure and ministering spirit in heaven, when mine lies -howling. The angels are not purer in mind and person than she is!" "Then -you are an execrable villain," cried Sir Charles, laying his hand on his -sword. "Strike," exclaimed Belgrave, with an air of wildness; "death -will rid me of horrors. Death from you will be better than the -ignominious one which now stares me in the face; for I have, oh, -horrible! this night I have committed murder!" - -Astonished and dismayed, Sir Charles gazed on him with earnestness. "It -is true!" continued he, in the same wild manner, "it is true! therefore -strike! but against you I will not raise my hand; it were impious to -touch a life like yours, consecrated to the purposes of virtue. No, I -would not deprive the wretched of their friend." Sir Charles, still -shuddering at his words, demanded an explanation of them; and the -tortured soul of Belgrave, as if happy to meet any one it could confide -in, after a little hesitation, divulged at once its crimes and horrors. -"No," cried Sir Charles, when he had concluded, "to raise a hand against -him over whom the arm of justice is uplifted, were cruel as well as -cowardly. Go, then, and may repentance, not punishment, overtake you." -To describe the raptures Sir Charles experienced at the acquittal of -Amanda, is impossible. Not a fond father rejoicing over the restored -fame of a darling child, could experience more exquisite delight. The -next morning, as soon as he thought it possible he could gain -admittance, he hastened to Mrs. Connel's, and had the satisfaction of -hearing from Mrs. Rushbrook that Amanda was then in a sweet sleep, from -which the most salutary consequences might be expected. With almost -trembling impatience he communicated the transports of his heart, and -his auditors rejoiced as much at these transports on Amanda's account as -on his. Mrs. Rushbrook and Emily had sat up with her the preceding -night, which she passed in a most restless manner, without any -perception of surrounding objects. Towards morning she fell into a -profound sleep, which they trusted would recruit her exhausted frame. -Mrs. Rushbrook then withdrew to her husband. It was past noon ere Amanda -awoke. At first a pleasing languor was diffused through her frame, which -prevented her from having an idea of her situation; but gradually her -recollection returned, and with it anxiety to know where she was. She -remembered, too, the moment she had met Sir Charles, but no further. She -gently opened the curtain, and beheld--oh! how great the pleasure of -that moment--Emily sitting by the bedside, who, instantly rising, kissed -her cheek in a transport of affection, and inquired how she did. Oh! how -delightful, how soothing was that gentle voice to the ears of Amanda! -The softest music could not have been more grateful. Her heart vibrated -to it with an exquisite degree of pleasure, and her eyes feasted on the -rays of benevolence which streamed from those of Emily. At last, in a -faint voice, she said: "I am sure I am safe, since I am with Emily." - -Mrs. Rushbrook entered at that instant. Her delight at the restored -faculties of Amanda was equal to her daughter's; yet the recollection of -her own conduct made her almost reluctant to approach her. At last, -advancing, "I blush, yet I rejoice--oh! how truly rejoice--to behold -you," she exclaimed; "that I could be tempted to harbor a doubt against -you fills me with regret; and the vindication of your innocence can -scarcely yield you more pleasure than it yields me." "The vindication of -my innocence!" repeated Amanda, raising her head from the pillow. "Oh, -gracious Heaven! is it then vindicated? Tell me, I conjure you, how, and -by what means." - -Mrs. Rushbrook hastened to obey her, and related all she had heard from -Sir Charles. The restoration of her fame seemed to reanimate the soul of -Amanda, yet tears burst from her, and she trembled with emotion. Mrs. -Rushbrook was alarmed, and endeavored to compose her. "Do not be -uneasy," said Amanda, "those tears will never injure me. It is long, it -is very long, since I have shed tears of joy!" She implored Heaven's -choicest blessings on Sir Charles for his generosity to her, his -benevolence to the Rushbrooks. Her heart, relieved of a heavy burden of -anxiety on her own account, now grew more anxious than ever to learn -something of her poor Oscar; and notwithstanding Mrs. Rushbrook's -entreaties to the contrary, who feared she was exerting herself beyond -her strength, she arose in the afternoon for the purpose of going to the -drawing-room, determined, as Sir Charles's generous conduct merited her -confidence, to relate to him as well as to Mrs. Rushbrook the motives -which had brought her to town; the particulars of her life necessary to -be known; and to request their assistance in trying to learn -intelligence of her brother. Emily helped her to dress, and supported -her to the drawing-room. Sir Charles had continued in the house the -whole day, and met her as she entered with mingled love and pity; for in -her feeble form, her faded cheek, he witnessed the ravages of grief and -sickness. His eyes more than his tongue expressed his feelings, yet in -the softest accent of tenderness did he pour forth those feelings, -whilst his hand trembled as it pressed hers to his bosom. "My feelings, -Sir Charles," said she, "cannot be expressed; but my gratitude to you -will cease but with my existence." - -Sir Charles besought her to be silent on such a subject. "He was -selfish," he said, "in everything he did for her, for on her happiness -his depended." - -Rushbrook approached to offer his congratulations. He spoke of her -kindness, but, like Sir Charles, the subject was painful to her, and -dropped at her request. The idea of being safe, the soothing attentions -she experienced, gave to her mind a tranquillity it had long been a -stranger to, and she looked back on her past dangers but to enjoy more -truly her present security. As she witnessed the happiness of the -Rushbrooks, she could scarcely forbear applauding aloud the author of -that happiness; but she judged of his heart by her own, and therefore -checked herself by believing he would prefer the silent plaudits of that -heart to any praise whatsoever. After tea, when only Sir Charles, Mr. -and Mrs. Rushbrook, and Emily, were present, she entered upon the -affairs she wished to communicate. They heard her with deep attention, -wonder, and pity, and, when she concluded, both Sir Charles and -Rushbrook declared their readiness to serve her. The latter, who had -betrayed strong emotions during her narrative, assured her he doubted -not, nay, he was almost convinced, he should soon be able to procure her -intelligence of her brother. - -This was a sweet assurance to the heart of Amanda, and, cheered by it, -she soon retired to bed. Her strength being exhausted by speaking, she -sunk into a tranquil slumber, and next morning she arose for breakfast. -"Well," said Rushbrook to her as they sat at it, "I told you last night -I should soon be able to procure you intelligence of your brother, and I -was not mistaken." "Oh, heavens!" cried Amanda, in trembling emotion, -"have you really heard anything of him?" "Be composed, my dear girl," -said he, taking her hand in the most soothing, most affectionate manner, -"I have heard of him, but----" "But what?" interrupted Amanda, with -increased emotion. "Why, that he has experienced some of the trials of -life. But let the reflection that these trials are over, prevent your -suffering pain by hearing of them." "Oh! tell me, I entreat," said -Amanda, "where he is! Tell me, I conjure you; shall I see him?" "Yes," -replied Rushbrook, "you shall see him, to keep you no longer in -suspense. In that dreary prison, from which I have just been released, -he has languished for many months." "Oh, my brother!" exclaimed Amanda, -while tears gushed from her. - -"I knew not," continued Rushbrook, "from the concealment of your name, -that he was your brother, till last night. I then told Sir Charles, and -he is gone this morning to him; but you must expect to see him somewhat -altered. The restoration of liberty, and the possession of fortune, will -no doubt soon re-establish his health. Hark! I think I hear a voice on -the stairs." - -Amanda started, arose, attempted to move, but sunk again upon her chair. -The door opened, and Sir Charles entered, followed by Oscar. Though -prepared for an alteration in his looks, she was not by any means -prepared for an alteration which struck her the moment she beheld him. -Pale and thin, even to a degree of emaciation, he was dressed, or rather -wrapped, in an old regimental great-coat, his fine hair wildly -dishevelled. As he approached her, Amanda rose. "Amanda, my sister!" -said he, in a faint voice. She tottered forward, and falling upon his -bosom, gave way in tears to the mingled joy and anguish of the moment. -Oscar pressed her to his heart. He gazed on her with the fondest -rapture--yet a rapture suddenly checked, by surveying the alteration in -her appearance, which was as striking to him, as his was to her. Her -pale and woe-worn countenance, her sable dress, at once declared her -sufferings, and brought most painfully to recollection the irreparable -loss they had sustained since their last meeting. - -"Oh, my father!" groaned Oscar, unable to control the strong emotions of -his mind--"Oh, my father! when last we met we were blessed with your -presence." He clasped Amanda closer to his heart as he spoke, as if -doubly endeared to him by her desolate situation. - -"To avoid regretting him is indeed impossible," said Amanda; "yet, had -he lived, what tortures would have wrung his heart in witnessing the -unhappiness of his children, when he had not the power of removing it!" -"Come," cried Captain Rushbrook, whose eyes, like those of every person -present, confessed his sympathetic feelings, "let us not cloud present -blessings by the retrospection of past misfortunes. In this life we must -all expect to meet with such losses as you lament." As soon as Oscar and -Amanda grew composed, they were left to themselves, and Oscar then -satisfied the anxious and impatient heart of his sister, by informing -her of all that had befallen him. He began with his attachment for -Adela, and the disappointment of that attachment; but as this part of -his story is already known, we Shall pass it over in silence, and merely -relate the occasion of his quarrel with Belgrave. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV. - - "But thou who, mindful of the unhonored dead, - Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, - If chance, by lonely contemplation led, - Some kindred spirit should lament thy fate, - Haply some hoary headed swain may say, - Oft have I seen him at the peep of dawn, - Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, - To meet the sun upon the upland lawn." - - -"I left Enniskillen," said Oscar, "in the utmost distress of mind, for I -left it with the idea that I might no more behold Adela. Yet, dear and -precious as was her sight to my soul, I rejoiced she had not accompanied -the regiment, since to have beheld her but as the wife of Belgrave would -have been insupportable. Had the disappointment of my passion been -occasioned by its not meeting a return, pride would have assisted me to -conquer it; but to know it was tenderly returned, at once cherished and, -if possible, increased it. The idea of the happiness I might have -attained, rendered me insensible of any that I might still have enjoyed. -I performed the duties of my situation mechanically, and shunned society -as much as possible, unable to bear the raillery of my gay companions on -my melancholy. - -"The summer you came to Ireland the regiment removed to Bray, whose -romantic situation allowed me to enjoy many delightful and solitary -rambles. It was there a man enlisted, whose manner and appearance were -for many days subjects of surprise and conversation to us all. From -both, it was obvious he had been accustomed to one of the superior -situations in life. A form more strikingly elegant I never beheld. The -officers made many attempts to try and discover who he really was; but -he evaded all their inquiries, yet with the utmost agitation. What -rendered him, if possible, more interesting, was his being accompanied -by a young and lovely woman, who, like him, appeared sunk beneath her -original state; but to their present one both conformed, if not with -cheerfulness, at least with resignation. - -"Mary obtained work from almost all the officers; Henry was diligent in -his duties; and both were universally admired and respected. Often, in -my lonely rambles, have I surprised this unfortunate pair, who, it was -evident, like me, sought solitude for the indulgence of sorrow, weeping -together as if over the remembrance of happier hours. Often have I -beheld them gazing with mingled agony and tenderness on the infant which -Mary nursed, as if shuddering at the idea of its destiny. - -"The loveliness of Mary was too striking not to attract the notice of -Belgrave; and from her situation he flattered himself she would be an -easy prey. He was, however, mistaken. She repulsed his overtures with -equal abhorrence and indignation. She wished to conceal them from her -husband, but he heard of them through the means of his fellow-soldiers, -who had several times seen the colonel following his wife. It was then -he really felt the bitterness of a servile situation. Of his wife he had -no doubt; she had already given him a convincing proof of constancy, but -he dreaded the insults she might receive from the colonel. The united -vigilance of both prevented, however, for some time, a repetition of -those insults. Exasperated by their vigilance, the colonel at last -concerted one of the most diabolical plans which could have entered into -the heart of man. A party of soldiers were ordered to the sea-side to -watch there for smuggled goods. Henry was named to be of the party, but -when the soldiers were drawn out he was not to be found. Belgrave's -servant, the vile agent of his master, had informed him that the colonel -meant to take advantage of his absence, and visit his wife. He trembled -for her safety, resolved to run every risk, sooner than leave her -unguarded, and accordingly absconded till the departure of the party. -The consequence of this was, that on his reappearance he was put under -an arrest for disobedience of orders, tried the next day, and sentenced -to be flogged on the following one. The very officers that passed the -sentence regretted it, but the strictness of military discipline -rendered it unavoidable. - -"I shall not attempt to describe the situation of the unhappy young -couple; they felt for each other more than for themselves, and pride -heightened the agonies of Henry. - -"Pale, weeping, with a distracted air, Mary flew to my apartment, and, -sinking at my feet, with uplifted hands besought me to interpose in -favor of her husband. I raised the poor mourner from the ground, and -assured her, yet with a sigh, from the fear of proving unsuccessful, -that I would do all in my power to save him. I therefore hastened to the -colonel, to ask for another that favor I should have disdained to desire -for myself; but to serve this wretched couple, I felt I could almost -humble myself to the earth. - -"The colonel was on the parade; and, as if aware of my intention, -appeared sedulous to avoid me. But I would not be repulsed by this, and -followed him, entreating his attention for a few minutes. 'Dispatch your -business then in haste, sir,' said he, with an unusual haughtiness. 'I -shall, sir,' cried I, endeavoring to repress the indignation his manner -excited, 'and I also hope with success.' 'What is your business, sir?' -demanded he. ''Tis the business of humanity,' I replied, 'and 'tis only -for others I could ask a favor.' - -"I then proceeded to mention it. Rage and malice inflamed his -countenance as I spoke. 'Never,' exclaimed he, 'shall the wretch receive -pardon from me; and I am astonished at your presumption in asking it.' -'Yet not half so astonished,' replied I, 'as I am at your obduracy. -Though, why do I say so? from your past actions, I should not be -surprised at any act you may commit.' - -"His passion grew almost to frenzy; he asked me if I knew whom I was -addressing. 'Too well,' I replied; 'I know I am addressing one of the -completest villains upon earth.' - -"He raised a small rattan he held, at these words, in a threatening -manner. I could no longer oppose my indignation. I rushed upon him, -wrested it from his hand, broke it, and flung it over his head. 'Now,' -cried I, laying my hand upon my sword, 'I am ready to give you the -satisfaction you may desire for my words--words whose truth I will -uphold with my life.' 'No,' said he, with the coolness of deliberate -malice; ''tis a far different satisfaction I shall expect to receive. -Some of the officers had by this time gathered round us, and attempted -to interfere, but he commanded their silence in a haughty manner, and -ordered me under an immediate arrest. My fate I then knew decided, but I -resolved to bear that fate with fortitude, nor let him triumph in every -respect over me. I was confined to my room, and Henry the next morning -was brought forth to receive his punishment. I will not, my sister, pain -your gentle heart by describing to you, as it was described to me by an -officer, his parting from his wife. Pride, indignation, tenderness, and -pity, were struggling in his heart, and visible in his countenance. He -attempted to assume composure, but when he reached the destined spot, he -could no longer control his feelings. The idea of being exposed, -disgraced, was too much for his noble soul. The paleness of his face -increased. He tottered, fell into the arms of a soldier, and expired -groaning forth the name of Mary. Four days after this melancholy event a -court-martial was held on me, when, as I expected, I was broken for -contempt to my superior officer. I retired to a solitary inn near Bray, -in a state of mind which baffles description, destitute of friends and -fortune. I felt in that moment as if I had no business in the world. I -was followed to the inn by a young lieutenant with whom I had been on an -intimate footing. The grief he expressed at my situation roused me from -almost a stupefaction that was stealing on me. The voice of friendship -will penetrate the deepest gloom, and I felt my sorrows gradually -allayed by it. He asked me had I fixed on any plan for myself. I replied -I had not, for it was vain to fix on plans when there were no friends to -support them. He took my hand and told me I was mistaken. In a few days -he trusted to procure me letters to a gentleman in London who had -considerable possessions in the West Indies, if such a thing was -agreeable to me. It was just what I wished for, and I thanked him with -the sincerest gratitude. - -"In the evening I received a message from the unfortunate Mary, -requesting to see me directly. The soldier who brought it said she was -dying. I hastened to her. She was in bed, and supported by a soldier's -wife. The declining sunbeams stole into the apartment, and shed a kind -of solemn glory around her. The beauty that had caused her misfortunes -was faded, but she looked more interesting than when adorned with that -bloom of beauty. Sighs and tears impeded her words for some minutes -after I approached her. At last, in a faint voice she said, 'I sent for -you, sir, because I knew your goodness, your benevolence would excuse -the liberty. I knew you would think that no trouble which could soothe -the last sad moments of a wretched woman.' - -"She then proceeded to inform me of the motives which made her -send--namely, to convey her infant to her father, a person of fortune in -Dublin, and to see her remains, ere I did so, laid by those of her -husband. Her unfortunate Henry, she added, had been son to a respectable -merchant. Their families were intimate, and an attachment which -commenced at an early period between them was encouraged. Henry's father -experienced a sudden reverse of fortune, and hers, in consequence of it, -forbade their ever thinking more of each other; but they could not obey -his commands, and married clandestinely, thus forfeiting the favor of -all their friends, as Henry's thought he wanted spirit, and hers deemed -her deficient in respect to her father. They were therefore compelled by -necessity to a state of life infinitely beneath them. 'But in my grave,' -continued she, 'I trust my father will bury all his resentment, and -protect this little orphan.' - -"I promised a religious observance to her commands, and she expired in -about an hour after I quitted her. Mournful were the tasks she enjoined -me. I attended her remains to the grave, and then conveyed her child to -Dublin. - -"Startled, amazed, distressed, her father too late regretted his rigor, -and received her infant to his arms with floods of repentant tears. - -"I now procured my recommendatory letters, and sailed for England, -having first written farewell ones to my father and Mrs. Marlowe, in -which I informed both I was about quitting the kingdom. As soon as I had -procured cheap lodgings in London, I repaired to the gentleman to whom I -was recommended; but conceive my consternation when I heard he was -himself gone to the West Indies. I turned into a coffee-house, with an -intention of communicating this intelligence to my friend. While the -waiter was getting me materials for writing, I took up a newspaper, and -cast my eyes carelessly over it. Oh! my Amanda, what was the shock of -that moment, when I read my father's death: grief for him, anxiety for -you, both assailed my heart too powerfully for its feelings. My heart -grew giddy, my sight failed me, and I fell back with a deep groan. When -recovered, by the assistance of some gentlemen, I requested a carriage -might be sent for, but I was too weak to walk to it. On returning to my -lodgings, I was compelled to go to bed, from which I never rose for a -fortnight. During my illness all the little money I had brought along -with me was expended, and I was besides considerably in debt with the -people of the house for procuring me necessaries. When able to sit up -they furnished their accounts, and I candidly told my inability to -discharge them. In consequence of this I was arrested, and suffered to -take of my clothes but a change or two of linen. The horrors of what I -imagined would be a lasting captivity were heightened by reflecting on -your unprotected situation. A thousand times was I on the point of -writing to inquire into that situation, but still checked myself by -reflecting that, as I could not aid you, I should only add to any griefs -you might be oppressed with by acquainting you of mine. The company of -Captain Rushbrook alleviated in some degree the dreariness of my time. I -knew I should sustain an irreparable loss in losing him, but I should -have detested myself if any selfish motives had prevented my rejoicing -at his enlargement. Oh! little did I think his liberation was leading -the way to mine. Early this morning he returned, and introduced Sir -Charles Bingley to me. Gently, and by degrees, they broke the joyful -intelligence they had to communicate. With truth I can aver that the -announcement of a splendid fortune was not so pleasing to my heart as -the mention of my sister's safety. Of my poor Adela I know nothing since -my confinement; but I shudder to think of what she may have suffered -from being left solely in the power of such a man as Belgrave, for the -good old general died soon after I left Enniskillen. - -"'Regret not too bitterly, my dear Oscar,' said Mrs. Marlowe, in one of -her letters, 'the good man's death; rather rejoice he was removed ere -his last hours were embittered by the knowledge of his darling child's -unhappiness.' - -"Oh! my sister!" continued Oscar, with a heavy sigh, while tears fell -from him, and mingled with those Amanda was shedding, "in this world we -must have still something to wish and sigh for." - -Oscar here concluded his narrative with such an expression of melancholy -as gave to Amanda the sad idea of his passion for Adela being incurable. -This was indeed the case; neither reason, time, nor absence could remove -or lessen it, and the acquisition of liberty or fortune lost half their -value by brooding over her loss. - -When their friends returned to the drawing-room and again offered their -congratulations, Oscar's dejection would not permit him to reply to -them. When Mr. and Mrs. Rushbrook spoke of the happiness he might now -enjoy, he listened to their recapitulation of it as to a fulsome tale, -to which his heart in secret gave the lie. An innate sense of piety, -however, recalled him to a proper recollection of the blessings so -unexpectedly declared to be his. He accused himself of ingratitude to -Heaven in yielding to murmurs, after so astonishing a reverse in his -situation. Perfect happiness he had been early taught--and daily -experience confirmed the truth of the remark--was rarely to be met with; -how presumptuous in him, therefore, to repine at the common lot of -humanity: to be independent, to have the means of returning the -obligations Sir Charles Bingley had conferred upon him; to be able to -comfort and provide for his lovely and long-afflicted sister; and to -distribute relief amongst the children of indigence, were all blessings -which would shortly be his--blessings which demanded his warmest -gratitude, and for which he now raised his heart with thankfulness to -their divine Dispenser. His feelings grew composed: a kind of soft and -serene melancholy stole over his mind. He still thought of Adela, but -not with that kind of distracting anguish he had so recently -experienced; it was with that kind of tender regret which a soul of -sensibility feels when reflecting on a departed friend, and to him Adela -was as much lost, as if already shrouded in her native clay. "Yes, my -love," he said, as if her gentle spirit had already forsaken its earthly -mansion, "in that happy world we shall be reunited, which only can -reward thy goodness and thy sufferings." - -He could now enter into conversation with his friends about the measures -which should be taken to forward his pretensions. It was the opinion of -Captain Rushbrook and Sir Charles, that to make known his claim to the -Marquis of Roslin was all that was necessary; a claim which they did not -imagine he would or could dispute, when such proofs of its validity as -the testimony of Lady Dunreath, and the will, could be produced. Was it -disputed, it was then time enough to apply elsewhere for justice. - -Sir Charles knew the Marquis personally, and was also well acquainted in -his neighborhood, and declared he would accompany Oscar to Scotland. -Oscar thanked him for his intention. The support of a person so well -known, and universally esteemed he was convinced, would essentially -serve him. Sir Charles said, regimental business required his presence -in Ireland, which, however, would occasion no great delay, as he should -have it transacted in a few days; and as his regiment lay near -Donaghadee, they could cross over to Port-Patrick, and, in a few hours -after, reach the Marquis of Roslin's Castle. - -The day after the next he had fixed for commencing his journey, and he -asked Oscar if it would be agreeable and convenient to accompany him -then. Oscar instantly assured him it was both. Amanda's heart fluttered -at the idea of a journey to Ireland. It was probable, she thought, that -they would take Wales in their way; and her soul seemed already on the -wing to accompany them thither, and be left at the cottage of nurse -Edwin, from whence she could again wander through the shades of Tudor -Hall, and take a last, a sad farewell of them; for she solemnly -determined from the moment she should be apprised of Lord Mortimer's -return to England to visit them no more. In such a farewell she believed -she should find a melancholy consolation that would soothe her spirits. -She imagined there was no necessity for accompanying her brother into -Scotland, and except told there was an absolute one, she determined to -decline the journey if she should be asked to undertake it. To go to the -very spot where she would hear particulars of Lord Mortimer's nuptials, -she felt would be too much for her fortitude, and might betray to her -brother a secret she had resolved carefully to conceal from him, as she -well knew the pain he would feel from knowing that the pangs of a -hopeless attachment were entailed upon her life, and would defeat -whatever flattering hopes he entertained for her. Exclusive of the -above-mentioned objections, she could not bear to go to a place where -she might perhaps witness the pain which Lord Mortimer must unavoidably -feel from having any disgrace befall a family he was so nearly connected -with. Oh, how her heart swelled at the idea that ere Oscar reached -Scotland, the interest of the Marquis of Roslin and Lord Mortimer would -be but one! From her apprehensions of being asked to undertake a journey -so truly repugnant to her feelings, she was soon relieved by Oscar's -declaring that, except she wished it, he would not ask her to take so -fatiguing a one, particularly as her presence he could not think at all -necessary. - -Sir Charles Bingley assured him it was not; though in a low voice he -said to her, it was against his own interest he spoke. - -She would now have mentioned her wish of going to Wales, had not a -certain consciousness checked her. She feared her countenance would -betray her motives for such a wish. While she hesitated about mentioning -it, Sir Charles Bingley told Captain Rushbrook, that he had applied to a -friend of his in power for a place for him, and had been fortunate -enough to make application at the very time there was one of tolerable -emolument vacant, at ----, about seventy miles distant from London, -whither it would be necessary he should go as soon as possible. He -therefore proposed that he and Mrs. Rushbrook should begin preparations -for their journey the ensuing morning, and exert themselves to be able -to undertake it in the course of the week. - -They were all rapture and gratitude at this intelligence, which opened a -prospect of support through their own means, as the bread of -independence, however hardly earned, which here was not the case, must -ever be sweet to souls of sensibility. - -Oscar looked with anxiety at his sister, on the mention of the -Rushbrook's removal from town, as if to say, to whose care then can I -intrust you? Mrs. Rushbrook interpreted his look, and instantly -requested that Miss Fitzalan might accompany them, declaring her society -would render their felicity complete. This was the moment for Amanda to -speak. She took courage, and mentioned her earnest wish of visiting her -faithful nurse, declaring she could not lose so favorable an opportunity -as now offered for the gratification of that wish, by accompanying her -brother into Wales. Emily pleaded, but Amanda, though with the utmost -gratitude and tenderness, as if to soften her refusal, was steady. Oscar -was pleased with his sister's determination, as he trusted going into -what might be called her native air, joined to the tender care of nurse -Edwin, would recruit her health. Sir Charles was in raptures at the idea -of having her company so far on their way. - -Everything relative to the proceedings of the whole party was arranged -before dinner, at which Sir Charles presided, giving pleasure to all -around him, by the ineffable sweetness of his manners. He withdrew at an -early hour at night, and his friends soon after retired to their -respective chambers. On entering the breakfast-room next morning, Amanda -found not only her brother and the Rushbrooks, but Sir Charles Bingley -there. Immediately after breakfast, he drew Oscar aside, and in the most -delicate terms insisted on being his banker at present, to which Oscar -gratefully consented. As soon as this affair was settled, he put a note -into his sister's hands, to purchase whatever she should deem necessary; -and she went out with the Rushbrooks, who, according to Sir Charles's -directions, began preparations for their journey this day. After their -return, Sir Charles found an opportunity of again making an offer of his -hand to Amanda. - -The sincere friendship she had conceived for him made her determine to -terminate his suspense on her account. "Was I to accept your generous -proposal, Sir Charles," said she, "I should be unworthy of that esteem -which it will be my pride to retain and my pleasure to return, because -beyond esteem I cannot go myself. It is due to your friendship," cried -she, after the hesitation of a moment, whilst a rosy blush stole over -her lovely face, and as quickly faded from it, "to declare, that ere I -saw you, the fate of my heart was decided." - -Sir Charles turned pale. He grasped her hands in a kind of silent agony -to his bosom, then exclaimed: "I will not, Miss Fitzalan, after your -generous confidence, tease you with further importunity." - - - - -CHAPTER LV. - - "------I solitary court - The inspiring breeze."--THOMSON. - - -The ensuing morning, Oscar, Amanda, and Sir Charles began their journey. -The Rushbrooks, who regarded Amanda as the cause of their present -happiness, took leave of her with a tender sorrow that deeply affected -her heart. The journey to Wales was pleasant and expeditious, the -weather being fine, and relays of horses being provided at every stage. -On the evening of the third day they arrived about sunset at the village -which lay contiguous to Edwin's abode; from whence, as soon as they had -taken some refreshment, Amanda set off, attended by her brother, for the -cottage, having ordered her luggage to be brought after her. She would -not permit the attendance of Sir Charles, and almost regretted having -travelled with him, as she could not help thinking his passion seemed -increased by her having done so. "How dearly," cried he, as he handed -her down stairs, "shall I pay for a few short hours of pleasure, by the -unceasing regret their remembrance will entail upon me." - -Amanda withdrew her hand, and, bidding him farewell, hurried on. Oscar -proceeded no farther than the lane, which led to the cottage, with his -sister. He had no time to answer the interrogations which its -inhabitants might deem themselves privileged to make. Neither did he -wish his present situation to be known to any others than those already -acquainted with it. Amanda therefore meant to say she had taken the -opportunity of travelling so far with two particular friends who were -going to Ireland. Oscar promised to write to her immediately from -thence, and from Scotland, as soon as he had seen the marquis. He gave -her a thousand charges concerning her health, and took a tender -farewell. From his too visible dejection, Amanda, rejoiced she had not -revealed her own sorrows to him. She trusted it would be in her power, -by soothing attentions, by the thousand little nameless offices of -friendship, to alleviate his. To pluck the thorn from his heart which -rankled within it was beyond her hopes. In their dispositions, as well -as fates, there was too great a similitude to expect this. - -Amanda lingered in the walk as he departed. She was now in the very -spot that recalled a thousand fond and tender remembrances. It was here -she had given a farewell look to Tudor Hall; it was here her father had -taken a last look at the spire of the church where his beloved wife was -interred; it was here Lord Mortimer used so often to meet her. Her soul -sunk in the heaviest sadness. Sighs burst from her overcharged heart, -and with difficulty she prevented her tears from falling. All around was -serene and beautiful; but neither the serenity nor the beauty of the -scene could she now enjoy. The plaintive bleating of the cattle that -rambled about the adjacent hills only heightened her melancholy, and the -appearance of autumn, which was now far advanced, only made her look -back to the happy period when admiring its luxuriance had given her -delight. The parting sunbeams yet glittered on the windows of Tudor -Hall. She paused involuntarily to contemplate it. Hours could she have -continued in the same situation, had not the idea that she might be -observed from the cottage made her at last hasten to it. - -The door lay open. She entered, and found only the nurse within, -employed at knitting. Her astonishment at the appearance of Amanda is -not to be described. She started, screamed, surveyed her a minute, as if -doubting the evidence of her eyes, then, running to her, flung her arms -about her neck, and clasped her to her bosom. "Good gracious!" cried -she; "well, to pe sure, who ever would have thought such a thing? Well, -to pe sure, you are as welcome as the flowers in May. Here we have peen -in such a peck of troubles about you. Many and many a time has my good -man said, that if he knew where you were, he would go to you." Amanda -returned the embraces of her faithful nurse, and they both sat down -together. - -"Ah! I fear," said the nurse, looking tenderly at her for a few minutes, -"you have been in a sad way since I last saw you. The poor tear captain, -alack! little did I think when he took you away from us, I should never -see him more." Amanda's tears could no longer be suppressed; they gushed -in torrents from her, and deep sobs spoke the bitterness of her -feelings. "Ay," said the nurse, wiping her eyes with the corner of her -apron, "gentle or simple, sooner or later, we must all go the same way; -so, my tear chilt, don't take it so much to heart. Well, to pe sure, -long pefore this I thought I should have seen or heard of your being -greatly married; put I pelieve it is true enough, that men are like the -wind--always changing. Any one that had seen Lord Mortimer after you -went away, would never have thought he could prove fickle. He was in -such grief, my very heart and soul pitied him. To pe sure, if I had -known where you were, I should have told him. I comforted myself, -however, by thinking he would certainly find you out, when, Lort! -instead of looking for you, here he's going to be married to a great -lady, with such a long, hard name--a Scotch heiress, I think they call -her. Ay, golt is everything in these days. Well, all the harm I wish him -is, that she may plague his life out." - -This discourse was too painful to Amanda. Her tears had subsided, and -she endeavored to change it, by asking after the nurse's family. The -nurse, in a hasty manner, said they were well, and thus proceeded: "Then -there is Parson Howel. I am sure one would have thought him as steady as -Penmaenmawr, but no such thing. I am sure he has changed, for he does -not come to the cottage half so often to ask about you as he used to -do." - -Amanda, notwithstanding her dejection, smiled at the nurse's anger about -the curate, and again requested to hear particulars of her family. The -nurse no longer hesitated to comply with her request. She informed her -they were all well, and then at a little distance at the mill in the -valley. She also added, that Ellen was married to her faithful Chip; had -a comfortable cottage, and a fine little girl she was nursing, and to -whom, from her love to her tear young laty, she would have given the -name of Amanda, but that she feared people would deem her conceited, to -give it so fine a one. The nurse said she often regretted having left -her young lady, and then even Chip himself could not console her for -having done so. Tears again started in Amanda's eyes, at hearing of the -unabated attachment of her poor Ellen. She longed to see and -congratulate her on her present happiness. The nurse, in her turn, -inquired of all that had befallen Amanda since their separation, and -shed tears at hearing of her dear child's sufferings since that period. -She asked about Oscar, and was briefly informed he was well. The family -soon returned from the dance; and it would be difficult to say whether -surprise or joy was most predominant at seeing Amanda. One of the young -men ran over for Ellen, and returned in a few minutes with her, followed -by her husband, carrying his little child. She looked wild with delight. -She clasped Amanda in her arms, as if she would never let her depart -from them, and wept in the fulness of her heart. "Now, now," cried she, -"I shall be quite happy; but oh! why, my dear young laty, did you not -come amongst us before? you know all in our power we would have done to -render you happy." She now recollected herself, and modestly retired to -a little distance. She took her child and brought it to Amanda, who -delighted her extremely by the notice she took of it and Chip. If Amanda -had had less cause for grief, the attentions of these affectionate -cottagers would have soothed her mind; but at present nothing could -diminish her dejection. Her luggage was by this time arrived. She had -brought presents for all the family, and now distributed them. She tried -to converse about their domestic affairs, but found herself unequal to -the effort, and begged to be shown to her chamber. The nurse would not -suffer her to retire till she had tasted her new cheese and Welsh ale. -When alone within it, she found fresh objects to remind her of Lord -Mortimer, and consequently to augment her grief. Here lay the book-case -he had sent her. She opened it with trembling impatience; but scarcely a -volume did she examine in which select passages were not marked, by his -hand, for her particular perusal. Oh! what mementoes were those volumes -of the happy hours she had passed at the cottage! The night waned away, -and still she continued weeping over them. She could with difficulty -bring herself to close the book-case; and when she retired to rest her -slumbers were short and unrefreshing. The next morning as she sat at -breakfast, assiduously attended by the nurse and her daughters (for -Ellen had come over early to inquire after her health), Howel entered to -pay her a visit. The previous intimation she had received of the -alteration in his sentiments rendered his visit more pleasing than it -would otherwise have been to her. His pleasure was great at seeing her, -but it was not the wild and extravagant delight of a lover, but the soft -and placid joy of a friend. After his departure, which was not soon, she -accompanied Ellen to view her cottage, and was infinitely pleased by its -neatness and romantic situation. It lay on the side of a hill which -commanded a beautiful prospect of Tudor Hall. Everything she beheld -reminded Amanda of Lord Mortimer, even the balmy air she breathed, on -which his voice had so often floated. - -The sad indulgence of wandering through the shades of Tudor Hall, which -she had so eagerly desired, and fondly anticipated, she could not longer -deny herself. The second evening after her arrival at the cottage, she -turned her solitary steps to them; their deep embowering glens, their -solitude, their silence, suited the pensive turn of her feelings. Here, -undisturbed and unobserved, she could indulge the sorrows of her heart; -and oh! how did recollection augment those sorrows by retracing the -happy hours she had spent within those shades. A cold, a death-like -melancholy pervaded her feelings, and seemed repelling the movements of -life. Her trembling limbs were unable to support her, and she threw -herself on the ground. For some minutes she could scarcely breathe. -Tears at length relieved her painful oppression, she raised her languid -head, she looked around, and wept with increasing violence at beholding -what might be termed mementoes of former happiness. She repeated in soft -and tremulous accents the name of Mortimer; but as the beloved name -vibrated on her ear, how did she start at recollecting that she was then -calling upon the husband of Lady Euphrasia. She felt a momentary glow -upon her cheeks. She arose, and sighed deeply. "I will strive to do -right," she cried; "I will try to wean my soul from remembrances no -longer proper to be indulged." Yet still she lingered in the wood. The -increasing gloom of evening rendered it, if possible, more pleasing to -her feelings, whilst the breeze sighed mournfully through the trees, and -the droning bat fluttered upon the air, upon which the wild music of a -harp, from one of the neighboring cottages, softly floated. - -Amanda drew nearer to it. It looked dark and melancholy. She sighed--she -involuntarily exclaimed, "Oh, how soon will it be enlivened by bridal -pomp and festivity!" She now recollected the uneasiness her long absence -might create at the cottage, and as soon as the idea occurred, hastened -to it. She met Edwin in the lane, who had been dispatched by his wife in -quest of her. The good woman expressed her fears, that such late rambles -would injure the health of Amanda; "it was a sad thing," she said, "to -see young people giving way to dismal fancies." - -Amanda did not confine her rambles entirely to Tudor Hall; she visited -all the spots where she and Mortimer used to ramble together. She went -to the humble spot where her mother lay interred. Her feelings were now -infinitely more painful than when she had first seen it. It recalled to -her mind, in the most agonizing manner, all the vicissitudes she had -experienced since that period. It recalled to view the calamitous -closure of her father's life--the sorrows, the distresses of that life, -and she felt overwhelmed with grief. Scarcely could she prevent herself -from falling on the grave, and giving way in tears and lamentations to -that grief. Deprived of the dearest connections of life, blasted in -hopes and expectations--"Oh! well had it been for me," she cried, "had -this spot at once received the mother and child; and yet," she -exclaimed, after a minute's reflection; "oh! what, my God, am I, that I -should dare to murmur or repine at thy decrees? Oh! pardon the -involuntary expressions of a woe-worn heart, of a heart that feels the -purest gratitude for thy protection through past dangers. Oh! how -presumptuous," she continued, "to repine at the common lot of humanity, -as the lot of her," she continued, casting her tearful eyes upon the -grave, where the last flowers of autumn were now withering, "who reposes -in this earthly bed; who, in life's meridian, in beauty's prime, sunk, -the sad victim of sorrow, into the arms of death! Oh, my parents, how -calamitous were your destinies! even your ashes were not permitted to -moulder together, but in a happier region, your kindred spirits are now -united. Blessed spirits, your child will strive to imitate your example; -in patient resignation to the will of Heaven, she will endeavor to -support life. She will strive to live, though not from an idea of -enjoying happiness, but from an humble hope of being able to dispense it -to others." - -Such were the words of Amanda at the grave of her mother, from which she -turned like a pale and drooping lily, surcharged with tears. At the end -of a week, she heard from Oscar, who told her in the course of a few -days he expected to embark for Scotland. Amanda had brought materials -for drawing with her, and she felt a passionate desire of taking views -of Tudor Hall; views which, she believed, would yield her a melancholy -pleasure when she should be far and forever distant from the spots they -represented. - -This desire, however, she could not gratify without the assistance of -her nurse, for she meant to take her views from the library, and she -feared if she went there without apprising the housekeeper, she should -be liable to interruption. She, therefore, requested her nurse to ask -permission for her to go there. The nurse shook her head, as if she -suspected Amanda had a motive for the request she did not divulge. She -was, however, too anxious to gratify her dear child to refuse complying -with it, and accordingly lost no time in asking the desired permission, -which Mrs. Abergwilly readily gave, saying--"Miss Fitzalan was welcome -to go to the library whenever she pleased, and should not be -interrupted." - -Amanda did not delay availing herself of this permission, but it was -some time after she entered the library, ere she could compose herself -sufficiently for the purpose which had brought her to it. In vain did -nature appear from the windows, displaying the most beautiful and -romantic scenery to her view, as if to tempt her to take up the pencil. -Her eyes were dimmed with tears as she looked upon this scenery, and -reflected that he who had once pointed out its various beauties was lost -to her forever. By degrees, however, her feelings grew composed, and -every morning she repaired to the library, feeling, whilst engaged with -it, a temporary alleviation of sorrow. - -Three weeks passed in this manner, and at the expiration of that period, -she received a letter from Oscar. She trembled in the most violent -agitation as she broke the seal, for she saw by the post-mark he was in -Scotland; but how great was her surprise and joy at the contents of this -letter, which informed her everything relative to the important affair -so lately in agitation, was settled in the most amicable manner; that -the avowal of his claim occasioned not the smallest litigation; that he -was then in full possession of the fortune bequeathed him by the earl, -and had already received the congratulations of the neighboring families -on his accession, or rather restoration to it. He had not time, he said, -to enumerate the many particulars which rendered the adjustment of -affairs so easy, and hoped the pleasing intelligence his letter -communicated would atone for his brevity; he added, he was then -preparing to set off for London with Sir Charles Bingley, of whose -friendship he spoke in the highest terms, to settle some affairs -relative to his new possessions, and particularly about the revival of -the Dunreath title, which not from any ostentatious pride, he desired to -obtain, as he was sure she would suppose, but from gratitude and respect -to the wishes of his grandfather, who in his will had expressed his -desire that the honors of his family should be supported by his heir. -When everything was finally settled, he proceeded to say, he would -hasten on the wings of love and impatience to her, for in her sweet -society alone he found any balm for the sorrows of his heart, sorrows -which could not be eradicated from it, though fortune had been so -unexpectedly propitious; and he hoped, he said, he should find her then -gay as the birds, blooming as the flowerets of spring, and ready to -accompany him to the venerable mansion of their ancestors. - -The joyful intelligence this letter communicated she had not spirits at -present to mention to the inhabitants of this cottage; the pleasure it -afforded was only damped by reflecting on what Lord Mortimer must feel -from a discovery which could not fail of casting a dark shade of obloquy -upon his new connections. She was now doubly anxious to finish her -landscapes, from the prospect there was of her quitting Wales so soon. -Every visit she now paid the library was paid with the sad idea of its -being the last. As she was preparing for going there one morning, -immediately after breakfast, the nurse, who had been out some time -previous to her rising, entered the room with a look of breathless -impatience, which seemed to declare she had something wonderful to -communicate. "Goot lack-a-taisy," cried she, as soon as she had -recovered her breath, lifting up her head from the back of the chair on -which she had thrown herself, "goot lack-a-taisy, well, to pe sure there -is nothing but wonderful things happening in this world! Here, old Dame -Abergwilly sent in such a hurry for me this morning; to pe sure I was -surprised, but what was that to the surprise I felt when I heard what -she had sent to me for." It was now Amanda's turn to feel breathless -impatience. "Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "what did she tell you?" "Ay, -I knew," cried the nurse, "the commotion you would be in when I told you -the news; if you were guessing from this time till this time tomorrow -you would never stumble over what it is." "I dare say I should not," -cried Amanda, "so do be brief." "Why, you must know,--but Lort, my tear -child, I am afraid you made but a bad breakfast, for you look very pale; -inteed I made no great one myself, for I was in such a hurry-flurry with -what Mrs. Abergwilly told me, that though she made some nice green tea, -and we had a slim cake, I could scarcely touch anything." "Well," said -Amanda, tortured with anxiety and impatience, "what did she tell you?" -"Why, my tear child, down came a special messenger from London last -night, to let them know that Lort Cherbury was tead, and that Lort -Mortimer had sold Tudor Hall; and the steward is ordered to pay all the -servants off, and to discharge them; and to have everything in readiness -against the new lantlort comes down to take possession. Oh! Lort, there -is such weeping and wailing at the Hall; the poor creatures who had -grown old in service, hoped to have finished their tays in it; it is not -that they are in any fear of want--the young lort has taken care of -that, for he has settled something yearly upon them all--but that they -are sorry to quit the family. Poor Mrs. Abergwilly, nothing can comfort -the old soul; she has neither chick nor child, and she told me she loved -the very chairs and tables, to which, to pe sure, her hand has given -many a polishing rub. She says she thinks she will come and lodge with -me; put if she does, she says I must not put her into a room from whence -she can have a view of Tudor Hall; for she says she will never be able -to look at it when once it gets a new master. So this, my tear child, is -the sum totem of what I have heard." - -Amanda was equally astonished and affected by what she heard. She -wished to know if the nurse had received any intelligence of Lord -Mortimer's marriage, but she could not bring herself to ask the -question. Besides, upon reflection, she was convinced she should have -heard it had it been the case. With Lord Cherbury died all hopes of the -restoration of her fame in the opinion of his son. "Yet why," she asked -herself, "should I regret this? since thus separated, it is better, -perhaps, he had ceased to esteem me, as undoubtedly it must lessen his -feelings on my account." Why he should part with Tudor Hall she could -not conceive, except it was to humor some caprice of Lady Euphrasia's, -who, it was probable, she imagined, knew that the attachment between -Lord Mortimer and her had there commenced. - -"Ah!" cried Amanda, "she never could have relished its -beauties--beauties which, if Lord Mortimer thinks as I do would, if -reviewed, only have augmented his sorrows--sorrows which propriety now -demands his repelling." She hastened to the hall, but was some time -there ere she could commence her employment, so much had she been -agitated. The landscape she was finishing was taken from the little -valley which lay beneath the windows of the music-room. The romantic -ruins of an old castle overhung an eminence at its extremity; and of the -whole scene she had taken a most accurate copy; it wanted but one charm -to please her, and that charm was the figure of Lord Mortimer, with whom -she had often wandered round the ruins. Her hand was ready in obeying -the impulse of her heart, and she soon beheld, sketched in the most -striking manner, the elegant features of him so ardently beloved. She -gazed with rapture upon them, but it was a short-lived rapture. She -started, as if conscious she had committed a crime, when she reflected -on the situation in which he now stood with another woman; her trembling -hand hastened to atone for its error, by expunging the dangerous -likeness, and the warm involuntary tear she shed at the moment, aided -her design. "Oh! how unnecessary," she cried, as she made this sacrifice -to delicacy, "to sketch features which are indelibly engraven on my -heart." As she spoke, a deep and long-drawn sigh reached her ear. -Alarmed, confounded at the idea of being overheard, and, of course, the -feelings of her heart discovered, she started with precipitation from -her seat, and looked round her with a kind of wild confusion. But, -gracious Heavens! who can describe the emotions of her soul when the -original of the picture so fondly sketched, so hastily obliterated, met -her eye. Amazed, unable to speak, to move, almost to breathe, she stood -motionless and aghast, the pale statue of surprise, as if she neither -durst nor could believe the evidence of her eyes. Well, indeed, might -she have doubted them, for in the pale countenance of Lord Mortimer -scarce a vestige of his former self (except in the benignancy of his -looks) remained. His faded complexion, the disorder of his hair, his -mourning habit, all heightened the sad expression of his features--an -expression which declared that he and happiness were never so disunited -as at the present moment. The first violence of Amanda's feelings in a -little time abated, she somewhat recovered the use of her faculties, and -hastily snatching up her drawings, moved with weak and trembling steps -to the door. She had nearly reached it, when the soft, the tremulous -voice of Lord Mortimer arrested her course. "You go, then, Miss -Fitzalan," cried he, "without one adieu. You go, and we never more shall -meet." The agonizing manner in which these words were pronounced, struck -a death-like chill upon the heart of Amanda. She stopped, and turned -around involuntarily, as if to receive that last, that sad adieu, which -she was half reproached for avoiding. Lord Mortimer approached her, he -attempted to speak, but his voice was inarticulate; a gust of sorrow -burst from his eyes, and he hastily covered his face with a -handkerchief, and walked to a window. - -Amanda, unutterably affected, was unable to stand; she sunk upon a -chair, and watched with a bursting heart the emotions of Lord Mortimer. -Oh! with what difficulty at this moment did she confine herself within -the cold, the rigid rules of propriety; with what difficulty did she -prevent herself from flying to Lord Mortimer; from mingling tears with -his, and lamenting the cruel destiny which had disunited them forever. -Lord Mortimer in a few minutes was sufficiently recovered again to -approach her. "I have long wished for an opportunity of seeing you," -said he, "but I had not courage to desire an interview. How little did I -imagine this morning, when, like a sad exile, I came to take a last -farewell of a favorite residence, that I should behold you! Fate, in -granting this interview, has for once befriended me. To express my -horror--my remorse--my anguish--not only for the error a combination of -events led me into concerning you, but for the conduct that error -influenced me to adopt, will, I think, a little lighten my heart. To -receive your pardon will be a sweet, a sad consolation; yet," continued -he, after a moment's pause, "why do I say it will be a consolation? -Alas! the sweetness that may lead you to accord it will only heighten my -wretchedness at our eternal separation." Here he paused. Amanda was -unable to speak. His words seemed to imply he was acquainted with the -injuries she had sustained through his father's means, and she waited in -trembling expectation for an explanation of them. "The purity of your -character," exclaimed Lord Mortimer, "was at length fully revealed to -me. Good Heaven! under what afflicting circumstances? by that being, to -whom you so generously made a sacrifice of what then you might have -considered your happiness." "Did Lord Cherbury, then," said Amanda, with -inexpressible eagerness, "did he then, at last, justify me?" "Yes," -cried Lord Mortimer, "he proved you were indeed the most excellent, the -most injured of human beings; that you were all which my fond heart had -once believed you to be; but oh! what were the dreadful emotions of that -heart to know his justification came too late to restore its peace. Once -there was a happy period, when, after a similar error being removed, I -had hoped, by a life forever devoted to you, to have made some -reparation, some atonement, for my involuntary injustice; but alas! no -reparation, no atonement can now be made." - -Amanda wept. She raised her streaming eyes to heaven, and again cast -them to the earth. - -"You weep," cried Lord Mortimer, in a tone expressive of surprise, after -surveying her some minutes in silence. "My love, my Amanda," continued -he, suddenly seizing her hand, while he surveyed her with a most -rapturous fondness, a crimson glow mantling his cheek and a beam of -wonted brilliancy darting from his eye, "What am I to imagine from those -tears? are you, then, indeed, unaltered?" - -Amanda started. She feared the emotions she betrayed had convinced Lord -Mortimer of the continuance, the unabated strength of her affection. She -felt shocked at her imprudence, which had alone, she was convinced, -tempted Lord Mortimer to address her in such a manner. "I know not, my -lord," cried she, "in what sense you ask whether I am unchanged; but of -this be assured, a total alteration must have taken place in my -sentiments, if I could remain a moment longer with a person who seems at -once forgetful of what is due to his own situation and mine." "Go, then, -madam," exclaimed Lord Mortimer, in an accent of displeasure, "and -pardon my having thus detained you--pardon my involuntary -offence--excuse my having disturbed your retirement, and obtruded my -sorrows on you." - -Amanda had now reached the door. Her heart recoiled at the idea of -parting in such a manner from Lord Mortimer, but prudence bade her -hasten as fast as possible from him. Yet slow and lingering she pursued -her way. Ere she had gone many yards she was overtaken by Lord Mortimer. -His pride was inferior to his tenderness, which drove him to despair at -the idea of parting in displeasure from her. "Oh! my Amanda," cried he, -seizing her hand, and almost breathless with emotion, "add not, by your -anger, to the bitterness of this sad hour. Since we must part, oh! let -us part in amity, as friends that regard each other. You have not yet -(if, indeed, it is possible for you to do so) pronounced your -forgiveness of the persecutions you underwent on my account. You have -not granted your pardon for the harshness, the cruelty with which a -dreadful error tempted me to treat you." "Oh! my lord," said Amanda, -again yielding to the softness of her soul, while tears trickled down -her cheeks, "why torture me by speaking in this manner? How can I -pronounce forgiveness when I never was offended? When wretched and -deserted, I appeared to stand upon the great theatre of life, without -one hand to offer me assistance, your ready friendship came to my -relief, and poured the balm of comfort over the sorrows of my heart! -when deprived by deceit and cruelty of your good opinion, even then your -attention and solicitude pursued my wandering footsteps, and strove to -make a path of comfort for me to take! these, these are the obligations -that never can be forgotten, that demand, that possess, my eternal -gratitude, my----." A warmer expression rose to her lips, but was again -buried in her heart. She sighed, and after a pause of a minute, thus -went on:--"For your happiness, my warmest, purest prayers are daily -offered up; oh! may it yet be equal to your virtues; greater I cannot -wish it." - -Lord Mortimer groaned in the excruciating agony of his soul. "Oh! -Amanda," he said, "where, where can I receive consolation for your loss? -Never, never in the world!" He took her hands within his, he raised them -to Heaven, as if supplicating its choicest blessings on her head. "For -my happiness you pray; ah! my love, how unavailing is the prayer!" - -Amanda now saw more than ever the necessity of hastening away. She -gently withdrew her hands, and hurried on as fast as her trembling limbs -could carry her. Still Lord Mortimer attended her. "Yet, Amanda," cried -he, "a little moment. Tell me," he continued, again seizing her hand, -"do not these shades remind you of departed hours? Oh! what blissful -ones have we not passed beneath their foliage, that foliage which I -shall never more behold expanding to the breath of spring." - -Amanda trembled. This involuntary but sad declaration of the loss of a -seat so valued by him, overpowered her. Her respiration grew faint, she -could not support herself, and made a motion to sit down upon the grass, -but Lord Mortimer eagerly caught her to his bosom. She had not strength -to resist the effort, and her head reclined upon his shoulder. But who -can speak her feelings as she felt the beating heart of Mortimer, which, -from its violent palpitations, seemed as if it would burst his bosom to -find a passage to her feet. In a few minutes she was a little recovered, -and, sensible of the impropriety of her situation, was now resolutely -determined to quit Lord Mortimer. "We must part, my lord," cried she, -disengaging herself from his arms, notwithstanding a gentle effort he -made to retain her. "We must part, my lord," she repeated, "and part -forever." "Tell me, then," he exclaimed, still impeding her course, -"tell me whether I may hope to live in your remembrance; whether I may -hope not to be obliterated from your memory by the happiness which will -shortly surround you? Promise I shall at times be thought of with your -wonted, though, alas! unavailing wishes for my happiness, and the -promise will, perhaps, afford me consolation in the solitary exile I -have doomed myself to." "Oh! my lord," said Amanda, unable to repress -her feelings, "why do I hear you speak in this manner? In mentioning -exile, do you not declare your intentions of leaving unfulfilled the -claims which situation, family, and society have upon you? Oh! my lord, -you shock--shall I say more--you disappoint me! Yes, I repeat it, -disappoint the idea I had formed of the virtue and fortitude of him, -who, as a friend, I shall ever regard. To yield thus to sorrow, to -neglect the incumbent duties of life, to abandon a woman to whom so -lately you plighted your solemn vows of love and protection. Oh! my -lord, what will her friends, what will Lady Euphrasia herself say to -such cruel, such unjustifiable conduct?" "Lady Euphrasia!" repeated Lord -Mortimer, recoiling a few paces. "Lady Euphrasia!" he again exclaimed, -in tremulous accents, regarding Amanda with an expression of mingled -horror and wildness. "Gracious Heaven! is it, can it be possible you are -ignorant of the circumstances which lately happened? Yes, your words, -your looks, declare you are so." - -It was now Amanda's turn to repeat his words. She demanded, with a -wildness of countenance equal to that he just displayed, what were the -circumstances he alluded to? - -"First tell me," cried he, "was the alteration in your manner produced -by your supposing me the husband of Lady Euphrasia?" "Supposing you her -husband?" repeated Amanda, unable to answer his question in a moment of -such torturing suspense. "And are you not so?" "No," replied Lord -Mortimer; "I never had the misfortune to offer vows which my heart could -not ratify. Lady Euphrasia made another choice. She was your enemy; but -I know your gentle spirit will mourn her sad and sudden fate." He -ceased, for Amanda had no longer power to listen. She sunk, beneath -surprise and joy, into the expanded arms of her beloved Mortimer. It is -ye alone, who, like her, have stood upon the very brink of despair--who, -like her, have been restored, unexpectedly restored to hope, to -happiness, that can form any judgment of her feelings at the present -moment. At the moment when recovering from her insensibility, the soft -accent of Lord Mortimer saluted her ear, and made her heart, without one -censure from propriety, respond to rapture, as he held her to his bosom. -As he gazed on her with tears of impassioned tenderness, he repeated his -question, whether the alteration in her manner was produced alone by the -supposition of his marriage; but he repeated it with a sweet, a happy -consciousness of having it answered according to his wishes. - -"These tears, these emotions, oh! Mortimer, what do they declare?" -exclaimed Amanda. "Ah! do they not say my heart never knew a diminution -of tenderness, that it never could have forgotten you? Yes," she -continued, raising her eyes, streaming with tears of rapture, to heaven, -"I am now recompensed for all my sufferings. Yes, in this blissful -moment, I meet a full reward for them." Lord Mortimer now led her back -to the library, to give an explanation of the events which had produced -so great a reverse of situation; but it was long ere he could -sufficiently compose himself to commence his narrative. Alternately he -fell at the feet of Amanda, alternately he folded her to his bosom, and -asked his heart if its present happiness was real. A thousand times he -questioned her whether she was indeed unaltered--as often implored her -forgiveness for one moment doubting her constancy. Amanda exerted her -spirits to calm her own agitation, that she might be enabled to soothe -him into tranquillity. At length she succeeded, and he terminated her -anxious impatience by giving her the promised relation. - - - - -CHAPTER LVI. - - "By suffering well, our torture we subdue, - Fly when she frowns, and when she calls pursue." - - -Overwhelmed with grief and disappointment at the supposed perfidy of -Amanda, Lord Mortimer had returned to England, acquainting Lord Cherbury -and Lady Martha of the unhappy cause of his returning alone; entreating -them, in pity to his wounded feelings, never to mention the distressing -subject before him. His dejection was unconquerable; all his schemes of -felicity were overthrown, and the destruction of his hopes was the -destruction of his peace. It was not in these first transports of bitter -sorrow that Lord Cherbury ventured to speak his wishes to his son. He -waited till, by slow degrees, he saw a greater degree of composure in -his manner, though it was a composure attended with no abatement of -melancholy. At first he only hinted those wishes--hints, however, which -Lord Mortimer appeared designedly insensible of. At last the earl spoke -plainer. He mentioned his deep regret at beholding a son, whom he had -ever considered the pride of his house, and the solace of his days, -wasting his youth in wretchedness, for an ungrateful woman, who had long -triumphed in the infatuation which bound him to her. "It filled his soul -with anguish," he said, "to behold him lost to himself, his family, and -the world, thus disappointing all the hopes and expectations which the -fair promise of his early youth had given rise to in the bosom of his -friends concerning the meridian of his day." - -Lord Mortimer was unutterably affected by what his father said. The earl -beheld his emotions, and blessed it as a happy omen. His pride, as well -as sensibility, he continued, were deeply wounded at the idea of having -Lord Mortimer still considered the slave of a passion which had met so -base a return. "Oh! I let not the world," added he, with increasing -energy, "triumph in your weakness; try to shake it off, ere the finger -of scorn and ridicule is pointed at you as the dupe of a deceitful -woman's art." - -Lord Mortimer was inexpressibly shocked. His pride had frequently -represented as weakness the regret he felt for Amanda; and the earl now -stimulating that pride, he felt at the moment as if he could make any -sacrifice which should prove his having triumphed over his unfortunate -attachment. But when his father called on him to make such a sacrifice, -by uniting himself to Lady Euphrasia, he shrunk back, and acknowledged -he could not give so fatal a proof of fortitude. He declared his total -repugnance at present to any alliance. Time, and the efforts of reason, -he trusted, would subdue his ill-placed attachment, and enable him to -comply with the wishes of his friends. - -Lord Cherbury would not, could not drop the subject next his heart--a -subject so important, so infinitely interesting to him. He exerted all -his eloquence, he entreated, he implored his son not forever to -disappoint his wishes. He mentioned the compliance he had so recently -shown to his, though against his better judgment, in the useless consent -he had given to his marriage with Miss Fitzalan. - -Lord Mortimer, persecuted by his arguments, at length declared that, was -the object he pointed out for his alliance any other than Lady Euphrasia -Sutherland, he would not perhaps be so reluctant to comply with his -wishes; but she was a woman he could never esteem, and must consequently -forever refuse. She had given such specimens of cruelty and deceit, in -the schemes she had entered into with the marchioness against (he -blushed, he faltered, as he pronounced her name) Miss Fitzalan, that his -heart felt unutterable dislike to her. - -The earl was prepared for this; he had the barbarity to declare, in the -most unhesitating manner, he was sorry to find him still blinded by the -art of that wretched girl. He bade him reflect on her conduct, and then -consider whether any credence was to be given to her declaration of -Belgrave's being admitted to the house without her knowledge. - -Lord Mortimer was startled. Her conduct, indeed, as his father said, -might well make him doubt her veracity. But still the evidence of the -servants; they acknowledged having been instruments in forwarding the -scheme which she said was laid against her. He mentioned this -circumstance. The earl was also prepared for it; the servants, he -declared, had been examined in his presence, when with shame and -contrition they confessed, that seeing the strong anxiety of Lord -Mortimer for the restoration of Miss Fitzalan's fame, and tempted by the -large bribes he offered, if they could or would say anything in her -justification, they had at last made the allegation so pleasing to him. - -Lord Mortimer sighed deeply. "On every side," cried he, "I find I have -been the dupe of art; but it was only the deceit of one could agonize my -soul." Still, however, he was inexorable to all his father could say -relative to Lady Euphrasia. - -Lady Martha was at last called in as an auxiliary; she was now as -strenuous for the connection as ever Lord Cherbury had been. A longer -indulgence of Lord Mortimer's grief, she feared, would completely -undermine his health, and either render him a burden to himself, or -precipitate him to an early grave. Whilst he continued single, she knew -he would not consider any vigorous exertions for overcoming that grief -necessary; but if once united, she was convinced, from the rectitude and -sensibility of his disposition, he would struggle against his feelings, -in order to fulfil the incumbent duties he had imposed upon himself. -Thus did she deem a union requisite to rouse him to exertion; to restore -his peace, and in all probability to save his life. She joined in her -brother's arguments and entreaties, with tears she joined in them, and -besought Mortimer to accede to their wishes. She called him the last -hope of their house. He had long, she said, been the pride, the delight -of their days; their comfort, their existence were interwoven in his; if -he sunk, they sunk with him. - -The yielding soul of Mortimer could not resist such tenderness, and he -gave a promise of acting as they wished. He imagined he could not be -more wretched; but scarcely had this promise passed his lips, ere he -felt an augmentation of misery. To enter into new engagements, to resign -the sweet though melancholy privilege of indulging his feelings, to -fetter at once both soul and body, were ideas that filled him with -unutterable anguish. A thousand times was he on the point of retracting -his regretted and reluctant promise, had not honor interposed, and -showed the inability of doing so, without an infringement on its -principles. Thus entangled, Mortimer endeavored to collect his scattered -thoughts, and in order to try and gain some composure, he altered his -former plan of acting, and mingled as much as possible in society. He -strove to fly from himself, that by so doing he might fly from the -corrosive remembrances which embittered his life. But who shall paint -his agonies at the unexpected sight of Amanda at the Macqueens? The -exertions he had for some time before compelled himself to make, had a -little abated the pain of his feelings; but that pain returned with -redoubled violence at her presence, and every idea of present composure, -or of future tranquillity, vanished. He felt with regret, anguish, that -she was as dear as ever to his soul, and his destined union became more -hateful than ever to him. He tried, by recollecting her conduct, to -awaken his resentment; but, alas! softness, in spite of all his efforts -to the contrary, was the predominant feeling of his soul. Her pallid -cheek, her deep dejection, seemed to say she was the child of sorrow and -repentance. To soothe that sorrow, to strengthen that repentance, oh! -how delightful unto him; but either he durst not do, situated as he then -was. - -With the utmost difficulty Lady Martha Dormer prevailed on him to be -present when she demanded the picture from Amanda. That scene has -already been described; also his parting one with her; but to describe -the anguish he endured after this period is impossible. He beheld Lady -Euphrasia with a degree of horror; his faltering voice refused even to -pay her the accustomed compliments of meeting; he loathed the society he -met at the castle, and, regardless of what would be thought of him, -regardless of health, or the bleakness of the season, wandered for hours -together in the most unfrequented parts of the domain, the veriest son -of wretchedness and despair. - -The day, the dreaded day, at length arrived which was to complete his -misery. The company were all assembled in the great hall of the castle, -from whence they were to proceed to the chapel, and every moment -expected the appearance of the bride. The marquis, surprised at her long -delay, sent a messenger to request her immediate presence, who returned -in a few minutes with a letter, which he presented to the marquis, who -broke the seal in visible trepidation, and found it from Lady Euphrasia. - -She had taken a step, she said, which she must depend on the kind -indulgence of her parents to excuse; a step which nothing but a firm -conviction that happiness could not be experienced in a union with Lord -Mortimer, should have tempted her to. His uniform indifference had at -last convinced her that motives of the most interested nature influenced -his addresses to her; and if her parents inquired into his, or, at -least, Lord Cherbury's conduct, they would find her assertion true, and -would, consequently, she trusted, excuse her for not submitting to be -sacrificed at the shrine of interest. In selecting Mr. Freelove for her -choice, she had selected a man whose addresses were not prompted by -selfish views, but by a sincere affection, which he would openly have -avowed, had he not been assured, in the present situation of affairs, it -would have met with opposition. To avoid, therefore, a positive act of -disobedience, she had consented to a private union. To Lord Mortimer -and Lord Cherbury, she said, she deemed no apology necessary for her -conduct, as their hearts, at least Lord Cherbury's, would at once -exculpate her, from his own consciousness of not having acted either -generously or honorably to her. - -The violent transports of passion the marquis experienced are not to be -described. The marchioness hastily perused the letter, and her feelings -were not inferior in violence to his. Its contents were soon known, and -amazement sat on every countenance. But, oh! what joy did they inspire -in the soul of Lord Mortimer; not a respite, or rather a full pardon to -the condemned wretch, at the very moment when preparing for death, could -have yielded more exquisite delight; but to Lord Cherbury, what a -disappointment! It was, indeed, a death-stroke to his hopes. The hints -in Lady Euphrasia's letter concerning him plainly declared her knowledge -of his conduct; he foresaw an immediate demand from Freelove; foresaw -the disgrace he should experience when his inability to discharge that -demand was known. His soul was shaken in its inmost recesses, and the -excruciating anguish of his feelings was indeed as severe a punishment -as he could suffer. Pale, speechless, aghast, the most horrid ideas took -possession of his mind, yet he sought not to repel them, for anything -was preferable to the shame he saw awaiting him. - -Lord Mortimer's indignation was excited by the aspersions cast upon his -father, aspersions he imputed entirely to the malice of Lady Euphrasia, -and which, from the character of Lord Cherbury, he deemed it unnecessary -to attempt refuting. But alas! what a shock did his noble, his -unsuspicious nature receive, when, in a short time after the perusal of -her letter, one from Freelove was brought him, which fully proved the -truth of her assertions. Freelove, in his little, trifling manner, -expressed his hopes that there would be no difference between his -lordship and him, for whom he expressed the most entire friendship, on -account of the fair lady who had honored him with her regard; declared -her partiality was quite irresistible; and, moreover, that in love, as -in war, every advantage was allowable; begged to trouble his lordship -with his compliments to Lord Cherbury, and a request that everything -might be prepared to settle matters between them, on his return from his -matrimonial expedition. An immediate compliance with this request, he -was convinced, could not be in the least distressing; and it was -absolutely essential to him, from the eclat with which he designed Lady -Euphrasia Freelove should make her bridal entry into public. As to the -report, he said, which he had heard relative to Lord Cherbury's losing -the fortune which was intrusted to his care for him at the gaming-table, -he quite disbelieved it. - -The most distressing, the most mortifying sensations took possession of -Lord Mortimer at this part of the letter. It explained the reasons of -Lord Cherbury's strong anxiety for an alliance with the Roslin family, -which Lord Mortimer, indeed, had often wondered at, and he at once -pitied, condemned, and blushed for him. He stole a glance at his father, -and his deep, despairing look filled him with horror. He resolved, the -first opportunity, to declare his knowledge of the fatal secret which -oppressed him, and his resolution of making any sacrifice which could -possibly remove or lessen his inquietude. - -Lord Cherbury was anxious to fly from the now hated castle, ere further -confusion overtook him. He mentioned his intention of immediately -departing--an intention opposed by the marquis, but in which he was -steady, and also supported by his son. - -Everything was ready for their departure, when Lord Cherbury, -overwhelmed by the dreadful agitation he experienced, was seized with a -fit of the most violent and alarming nature. He was carried to a -chamber, and recourse was obliged to be had to a physician, ere the -restoration of his senses was effected; but he was then so weak that the -physician declared if not kept quiet, a return of his disorder might be -expected. Lord Mortimer, tenderly impatient to lighten the burden on his -father's mind, dismissed the attendants as soon as he possibly could, -and then, in the most delicate terms, declared his knowledge of his -situation. - -Lord Cherbury at this started up in the most violent paroxysm of -anguish, and vowed he would never survive the discovery of his being a -villain. With difficulty could Lord Mortimer compose him; but it was -long ere he could prevail on him to hear what he wished to say. - -Few there were, he said, who at some period of their lives, he believed, -were not led into actions which, upon reflection, they had reason to -regret. He thought not, he meant not, to speak slightly of human nature, -he only wished to prove that, liable as we all are to frailty--a frailty -intended no doubt to check the arrogance of pride and presumption, we -should not suffer the remembrance of error, when once sincerely repented -of, to plunge us into despair, particularly when, as far as in our -power, we meant to atone for it. Thus did Lord Mortimer attempt to calm -the dreadful conflicts of his father's mind, who still continued to -inveigh against himself. - -The sale of Tudor Hall, Lord Mortimer proceeded, and mortgages upon Lord -Cherbury's estates, would enable his father to discharge his debt to Mr. -Freelove. He knew, he said, it was tenderness to him which had prevented -him ere this from adopting such a plan; but he besought him to let no -further consideration on his account make him delay fulfilling -immediately the claims of honor and justice. He besought him to believe -his tranquillity was more precious to him than anything in life; that -the restoration of his peace was far more estimable to him than the -possession of the most brilliant fortune--"a possession which," -continued Lord Mortimer deeply sighing, "I am well convinced will not -alone yield happiness. I have long," said he, "looked with an eye of -cool indifference on the pomps, the pageantries of life. Disappointed in -my tenderest hopes and expectations, wealth, merely on my own account, -has been long valueless to me. Its loss, I make no doubt--nay, I am -convinced--I shall have reason to consider as a blessing. It will compel -me to make those exertions which its possession would have rendered -unnecessary, and by so doing, in all probability, remove from my heart -that sadness which has so long clung about it, and enervated all its -powers. A profession lies open to receive me, which, had I been -permitted at a much earlier period, I should have embraced; for a -military life was always my passion. At the post of danger, I may -perhaps have the happiness of performing services for my country, which, -while loitering supinely in the shade of prosperity, I never could have -done. Thus, my dear father," he continued, "you see how erroneous we are -in opinions we often form of things, since what we often consider as the -bitterest evil leads to the most supreme good. We will, as soon as -possible, hasten everything to be prepared for Freelove, and thus I make -no doubt, disappoint the little malice of his soul. - -"My aunt, my sister, are unacquainted with your uneasiness, nor shall an -intimation of it from me ever transpire to them. Of fortune, sufficient -will remain to allow, though not the splendors, the comforts and -elegancies of life. As for me, the deprivation of what is considered, -and falsely termed, my accustomed indulgences, will be the most salutary -and efficacious thing that could possibly happen to me. In short, I -believe that the realization of my plan will render me happy, since, -with truth I can assure you, its anticipation has already given more -pleasure to my soul than I thought it would ever have again enjoyed." - -Lord Cherbury, overcome by the tenderness, the virtue of his son, by the -sacrifice he so willingly offered, so strenuously insisted on making, of -his paternal fortune, could not for some minutes speak. At length the -struggling emotions of his soul found utterance. - -"Oh! Virtue," he exclaimed, while tears of love, of gratitude, of -contrition, flowed from his eyes, and fell upon the hand of his son, -clasped within his--"Oh! Virtue, I cannot say, like Brutus, thou art but -a shade; no, here, in this invaluable son, thou art personified--this -son, whom I so cruelly deceived, so bitterly distressed! Oh! gracious -powers, would not that heroic, that heaven-born disposition, which now -leads him to sign away his paternal fortune for my sake have also led -him to a still greater resignation, the sacrifice of his Amanda, had I -entrusted him with my wretched situation. Oh! had I confided in him, -what an act of baseness should I have avoided! What pangs, what -tortures, should I have prevented his experiencing! But, to save my own -guilty confusion, I drew wretchedness upon his head. I wrung every fibre -of his heart with agony, by making him believe its dearest, its most -valuable object unworthy of its regards." - -Mortimer started; he gasped--he repeated, in faltering accents, these -last words. His soul seemed as if it would burst its mortal bounds, and -soar to another region to hear an avowal of his Amanda's purity. - -"Oh! Mortimer," cried the earl, in the deep, desponding tone of anguish, -"how shall I dare to lift my eyes to thine after the avowal of the -injustice I have done one of the most amiable and loveliest of human -beings?" "Oh! tell me," cried Mortimer, in breathless, trembling -agitation, "tell me if, indeed, she is all my fond heart once believed -her to be? In mercy, in pity, delay not to inform me." - -Slowly, in consequence of his weakness, but with all the willingness of -a contrite spirit, anxious to do justice to the injured, did Lord -Cherbury reveal all that had passed between him and Amanda. "Poor -Fitzalan," cried he, as he finished his relation, "poor, unhappy friend! -From thy cold grave, couldst thou have known the transactions of this -world, how must thy good and feeling spirit have reproached me for my -barbarity to thy orphan in robbing her of the only stipend thy adverse -fortune had power to leave her--a pure and spotless fame?" - -Lord Mortimer groaned with anguish. Every reproachful word he had -uttered to Amanda darted upon his remembrance, and were like so many -daggers to his heart. It was his father that oppressed her. This -knowledge aggravated his feelings, but stifled his reproaches; it was a -father contrite, perhaps at that very moment stretched upon a death-bed, -therefore he forgave him. He cast his eyes around, as if in that moment -he had hoped to behold her, have an opportunity of falling prostrate at -her feet and imploring her forgiveness. He cast his eyes around, as if -imagining he should see her, and be allowed to fold her to his beating -heart, and ask her soft voice to pronounce his pardon. - -"Oh! thou lovely mourner," he exclaimed to himself, while a gush of -sorrow burst from his eyes. "Oh! thou lovely mourner, when I censured, -reviled, upbraided you, even at that very period your heart was -suffering the most excruciating anguish. Yes, Amanda, he who would -willingly have laid down life to yield thee peace, even he was led to -aggravate thy woes. With what gentleness, what unexampled patience didst -thou bear my reproaches! No sudden ray of indignation for purity so -insulted, innocence so arraigned, flashed from thy eyes; the beams of -meekness and resignation alone stole from underneath their tearful lids. - -"No sweet hope of being able to atone, no delightful idea of being able -to make reparation for my injustice, now alleviates the poignancy of my -feelings; since fate interposed between us in the hour of prosperity, I -cannot, in the bleak and chilling period of adversity, seek to unite -your destiny with mine. Now almost the child of want myself, a soldier -of fortune, obliged by the sword to earn my bread, I cannot think of -leading you into difficulties and dangers greater than you ever before -experienced. Oh! my Amanda, may the calm shade of security be forever -thine; thy Mortimer, thy ever-faithful, ever-adoring Mortimer, will not, -from any selfish consideration, seek to lead thee from it. If thy loss -be agonizing, oh! how much more agonizing to possess but to see thee in -danger or distress. I will go, then, into new scenes of life with only -thy dear, thy sweet, and worshipped idea to cheer and support me--an -idea I shall lose but with life, and which to know I may cherish, -indulge, adore, without a reproach from reason for weakness in so doing, -is a sweet and soothing consolation." - -The indulgence of feelings such as his language expressed, he was -obliged to forego, in order to fulfil the wish he felt of alleviating -the situation of his father; but his attention was unable to lighten the -anguish which oppressed the mind of Lord Cherbury; remorse for his past -conduct, mortification at being lessened in the estimation of his son, -sorrow for the injury he was compelled to do him, to be extricated from -the power of Freelove, all preyed upon his mind, and produced the most -violent agitations, and an alarming repetition of fits. - -Things remained in this situation for a few days, during which time no -intelligence had been received of Euphrasia, when one morning, as Lord -Mortimer was sitting for a few minutes with the marquis and marchioness, -a servant entered the apartment, and informed his lord that a gentleman -had just arrived at the castle, who requested to be introduced to his -presence. The marquis and marchioness instantly concluded this was some -person sent as an intercessor from Lady Euphrasia, and they instantly -admitted him, in order to have an opportunity of assuring her ladyship, -through his means, it must be some time (if indeed at all) ere they -could possibly forgive her disrespect and disobedience. Lord Mortimer -would have retired, but was requested to stay, and complied, prompted -indeed by curiosity to hear what kind of apology or message Lady -Euphrasia had sent. A man of a most pleasing appearance entered, and was -received with the most frigid politeness. He looked embarrassed, -agitated, even distressed. He attempted several times to speak, but the -words still died away undistinguished. At length the marchioness, -yielding to the natural impetuosity of her soul, hastily desired he -would reveal what had procured them the honor of his visit. - -"A circumstance of the most unhappy nature, madam," he replied in a -hesitating voice. "I came with the hope, the expectation of being able -to break it by degrees, so as not totally to overpower; but I find -myself unequal to the distressing task." "I fancy, sir," cried the -marchioness, "both the marquis and I are already aware of the -circumstance you allude to." "Alas! madam," said the stranger, fixing -his eyes with a mournful earnestness on her face, "I cannot think so. If -you were, it would not be in human, in parent nature to appear as you -now do." He stopped, he turned pale, he trembled, his emotions became -contagious. - -"Tell me," said the marquis, in a voice scarcely articulate, "I beseech -you, without delay, the meaning of your words." - -The stranger essayed to speak, but could not; words indeed were scarcely -necessary to declare that he had something shocking to reveal. His -auditors, like old Northumberland, might have said, "The paleness on -thy cheek is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand." "Something -dreadful has happened to my child," said the marchioness, forgetting in -that agonizing moment all displeasure. "Alas! madam," cried the -stranger, while a trickling tear denoted his sensibility for the sorrows -he was about giving rise to. "Alas! madam, your fears are too well -founded; to torture you with longer suspense would be barbarity. -Something dreadful has happened, indeed--Lady Euphrasia in this world -will never more be sensible of your kindness." A wild, a piercing, -agonizing shriek burst from the lips of the marchioness, as she dropped -senseless from her seat. The marquis was sinking from his, had not Lord -Mortimer, who sat by him, timely started up, and, though trembling -himself with horror, caught him in his arms. The servants were summoned, -the still insensible marchioness was carried to her chamber; the -wretched marquis, reviving in a few minutes--if that could be called -reviving, which was only a keener perception of misery--demanded, in a -tone of anguish, the whole particulars of the sad event. Yet scarcely -had the stranger begun to comply with his request, ere, with all the -wild inconsistency of grief, he bade him forbear, and, shuddering, -declared he could not listen to the dreadful particulars. But it were -needless, as well as impossible, to describe the feelings of the -wretched parents, who in one moment beheld their hopes, their wishes, -their expectations finally destroyed. Oh! what an awful lesson did they -inculcate of the instability of human happiness, of the insufficiency of -rank or riches to retain it. This was one of the events which -Providence, in its infinite wisdom, makes use of to arrest the -thoughtless in their career of dissipation, and check the arrogance of -pride and vanity. When we behold the proud, the wealthy, the -illustrious, suddenly surprised by calamity, and sinking beneath its -stroke, we naturally reflect on the frail tenure of earthly possessions, -and, from the reflection, consider how we may best attain that happiness -which cannot change. The human heart is in general so formed as to -require something great and striking to interest and affect it. Thus a -similar misfortune happening to a person in a conspicuous, and to one in -an obscure situation, would not, in all probability, equally affect or -call home the wandering thoughts to sadness and reflection. The humble -floweret, trampled to the dust, is passed with an eye of careless -indifference; but the proud oak torn from the earth, and levelled by the -storm, is viewed with wonder and affright. The horrors of the blow which -overwhelmed the marquis and marchioness, were augmented by the secret -whispers of conscience, that seemed to say it was a blow of retribution -from a Being all righteous and all just, whose most sacred laws they had -violated, in oppressing the widow and defrauding the orphan. Oh! what an -augmentation of misery is it to think it merited! Remorse, like the -vengeance of Heaven, seemed now awakened to sleep no more. No longer -could they palliate their conduct, no longer avoid retrospection--a -retrospection which heightened the gloomy horrors of the future. In Lady -Euphrasia, all the hopes and affections of the marquis and marchioness -were centred. She alone had ever made them feel the tenderness of -humanity, yet she was not less the darling of their love than the idol -of their pride. In her they beheld the being who was to support the -honors of their house, and transmit their names to posterity. In her -they beheld the being who gave them an opportunity of gratifying the -malevolent, as well as the tender and ambitious passions of their souls. -The next heir to the marquis's title and fortune had irreconcilably -disobliged him. As a means, therefore, of disappointing him, if on no -other account, Lady Euphrasia would have been regarded by them. Though -she had disappointed and displeased them by her recent act of -disobedience, and though they had deemed it essential to their -consequence to display that displeasure, yet they secretly resolved not -long to withhold forgiveness from her, and also to take immediate steps -for ennobling Freelove. - -For Lady Euphrasia they felt indeed a tenderness her heart for them was -totally a stranger to. It seemed, indeed, as if, cold and indifferent to -all mankind, their affections were stronger for being confined in one -channel. In the step she had taken, Lady Euphrasia only considered the -gratification of her revenge. Freelove, as the ward of Lord Cherbury, in -honor to him, had been invited to the nuptials. He accepted the -invitation, but, instead of accompanying, promised to follow the bridal -party to the castle. A day or two ere he intended setting out, by some -accidental chance, he got into company with the very person to whom Lord -Cherbury had lost so much, and on whose account he had committed an -action which had entailed the most excruciating remorse upon him. This -person was acquainted with the whole transaction. He had promised to -keep his knowledge a secret, but the promises of the worthless are of -little avail. A slight expression, which, in a moment of anxiety, had -involuntarily dropped from Lord Cherbury, had stung him to the soul, -because he knew too well its justice, and inspired him with the most -inveterate hatred and rancorous desire of revenge. His unexpectedly -meeting Freelove afforded him an opportunity of gratifying both these -propensities, and he scrupled not to avail himself of it. Freelove was -astonished, and, when the first violence of astonishment was over, -delighted. - -To triumph over the proud soul of Lord Cherbury and his son, was indeed -an idea which afforded rapture. Both he had ever disliked, the latter -particularly. He disliked him from the superiority which he saw in every -respect he possessed over himself. A stranger to noble emulation, he -sought not, by study or imitation, to aspire to any of those graces or -perfections he beheld in Lord Mortimer. He sought alone to depreciate -them, and, when he found that impossible, beheld him with greater envy -and malignity than ever. To wound Lord Mortimer through the bosom of his -father, to overwhelm him with confusion, by publicly displaying the -error of that father, were ideas of the most exquisite delight--ideas -which the wealth of worlds would scarcely have tempted him to -forego,--so sweet is any triumph, however accidental or imaginary, over -a noble object, to an envious mind, which ever hates that excellence it -cannot reach. No fear of self-interest being injured checked his -pleasure. The fortune of Lord Cherbury he knew sufficient to answer for -his violated trust. Thus had he another source of triumph in the -prospect of having those so long considered as the proud rivals of his -wealth and splendor, cast into the shade. His pleasure, however, from -this idea, was short lived, when he reflected that Lord Mortimer's union -with Lady Euphrasia would totally exempt him from feeling any -inconvenience from his father's conduct. But could not this union be -prevented? Freelove asked himself. He still wanted a short period of -being of age, consequently had no right, at present, to demand a -settlement of his affairs from Lord Cherbury. He might, however, -privately inform Lady Euphrasia of the affair so recently communicated -to him. No sooner did he conceive this scheme, than he glowed with -impatience to put it into execution. He hastened to the marquis's, -whither, indeed, the extravagant and foppish preparations he had made -for the projected nuptials had before prevented his going, and took the -first opportunity which offered of revealing to Lady Euphrasia, as if -from the purest friendship, the conduct of Lord Cherbury, and the -derangement of his affairs. - -Lady Euphrasia was at once surprised and incensed. The reason for a -union between her and his son being so ardently desired by Lord -Cherbury, was now fully explained, and she beheld herself as an object -addressed merely from a view of repairing a ruined fortune; but this -view she resolved to disappoint. Such was the implacable nature of her -disposition, that had this disappointment occasioned the destruction of -her own peace, it would not have made her relinquish it. But this was -not the case. In sacrificing all ideas of a union with Lord Mortimer to -her offended pride she sacrificed no wish or inclination of her soul. -Lord Mortimer, though the object of her admiration, had never been the -object of her love. She was, indeed, incapable of feeling that passion. -Her admiration had, however, long since given place to resentment, at -the cool indifference with which he regarded her. She would have opposed -a marriage with him, but for fear that he might, thus freed, attach -himself to Amanda. The moment, however, she knew a union with her was -necessary for the establishment of his fortune, fear, with every -consideration which could oppose it, vanished before the idea of -disappointing his views, and retaliating upon him that uneasiness he -had, from wounded pride, made her experience by his cold and unalterable -behavior to her. - -She at first determined to acquaint the marquis of what she had heard, -but a little reflection made her drop this determination. He had always -professed a warm regard for Lord Cherbury, and she feared that regard -would still lead him to insist on the nuptials taking place. She was not -long in concerting a scheme to render such a measure impracticable, and -Freelove she resolved to make an instrument for forwarding, or rather -executing her revenge. She hesitated not to say she had always disliked -Lord Mortimer; that, in short, there was but one being she could ever -think, ever hope to be happy with. Her broken sentences, her looks, her -affected confusion, all revealed to Freelove that he was that object. -The rapture this discovery inspired he could not conceal. The flattering -expressions of Lady Euphrasia were repaid by the most extravagant -compliments, the warmest professions, the strongest assurances of -never-dying love. This soon led to what she desired, and, in a short -space, an elopement was agreed to, and everything relative to it -settled. Freelove's own servants and equipage were at the Castle, and -consequently but little difficulty attended the arrangement of their -plan. In Lady Euphrasia's eyes Freelove had no other value than what he -now merely derived from being an instrument in gratifying the haughty -and revengeful passions of her nature. She regarded him, indeed, with -sovereign contempt; his fortune, however, she knew would give him -consequence in the world, and she was convinced she should find him -quite that easy, convenient husband which a woman of fashion finds so -necessary; in short, she looked forward to being the uncontrolled -mistress of her own actions, and without a doubt but that she should -meet many objects as deserving of her admiration, and infinitely more -grateful for it, than ever Lord Mortimer had been. - -Flushed with such a pleasing prospect, she quitted the Castle--that -castle she was destined never more to see. At the moment, the very -moment, she smiled with joy and expectation, the shaft, the unerring -shaft, was raised against her breast. - -The marriage ceremony over, they hastened to the vicinity of the Castle, -in order to send an apologizing letter, as usual on such occasions. The -night was dark and dreary, the road rugged and dangerous; the postilions -ventured to say it would be better to halt for the night, but this was -opposed by Lady Euphrasia. They were within a few miles of the destined -termination of their journey, and, pursuant to her commands, they -proceeded. In a few minutes after this, the horses, startled by a sudden -light which gleamed across the path, began plunging in the most alarming -manner. A frightful precipice lay on one side, and the horses, in spite -of all the efforts of the postilions, continued to approach it. -Freelove, in this dreadful moment, lost all consideration but for -himself; he burst open the chariot door, and leaped into the road. His -companion was unable to follow his example; she had fainted at the first -intimation of danger. The postilions with difficulty dismounted. The -other servants came to their assistance, and endeavored to restrain the -horses; every effort was useless, they broke from their hold, and -plunged down the precipice. The servants had heard the chariot-door -open; they therefore concluded, for it was too dark to see, that both -their master and Lady Euphrasia were safe. But who can describe their -horror, when a loud shriek from him declared her situation? Some of them -immediately hastened, as fast as their trembling limbs could carry them, -to the house adjoining the road, from whence the fatal light had gleamed -which caused the sad catastrophe. They revealed it in a few words, and -implored immediate assistance. The master of the house was a man of the -greatest humanity. He was inexpressibly shocked at what he had heard, -and joined himself in giving the assistance that was desired. With -lanterns they proceeded down a winding path cut in the precipice, and -soon discovered the objects of their search. The horses were already -dead--the chariot was shattered to pieces. They took up some of the -fragments, and discovered beneath them the lifeless body of the -unfortunate Lady Euphrasia. The stranger burst into tears at the sight -of so much horror; and, in a voice scarcely audible, gave orders for her -being conveyed to his house. But when a better light gave a more perfect -view of the mangled remains, all acknowledged that, since so fatal an -accident had befallen her, Heaven was merciful in taking a life whose -continuance would have made her endure the most excruciating tortures. - -Freelove was now inquired for. He had fainted on the road, but in a few -minutes after he was brought in, recovered his senses, and the first use -he made of them was to inquire whether he was dead or alive. Upon -receiving the comfortable assurance of the latter, he congratulated -himself, in a manner so warm, upon his escape, as plainly proved self -was his whole and sole consideration. No great preparations, on account -of his feelings, were requisite to inform him of the fate of Lady -Euphrasia. He shook his head on hearing it; said it was what he already -guessed, from the devilish plunge of the horses; declared it was a most -unfortunate affair, and expressed a kind of terror at what the marquis -might say to it, as if he could have been accused of being accessory to -it. - -Mr. Murray, the gentleman whose house had received him, offered to -undertake the distressing task of breaking the affair to Lady -Euphrasia's family, an offer Freelove gladly accepted, declaring he felt -himself too much disordered in mind and body to be able to give any -directions relative to what was necessary to be done. - -How Mr. Murray executed his task is already known; but it was long ere -the emotions of the marquis would suffer him to say he wished the -remains of Lady Euphrasia to be brought to the Castle, that all the -honors due to her birth should be paid them. This was accordingly done; -and the Castle, so lately ornamented for her nuptials, was hung with -black, and all the pageantries of death. - -The marquis and marchioness confined themselves, in the deepest anguish, -to their apartments; their domestics, filled with terror and amazement, -glided about like pale spectres, and all was a scene of solemnity and -sadness. Every moment Lord Mortimer could spare from his father he -devoted to the marquis. Lady Euphrasia had ever been an object of -indifference, nay, of dislike to him; but the manner of her death, -notwithstanding, shocked him to the soul: his dislike was forgotten; he -thought of her only with pity and compassion, and the tears he mingled -with the marquis were the tears of unfeigned sympathy and regret. - -Lady Martha and Lady Araminta were equally attentive to the marchioness; -the time not spent with Lord Cherbury was devoted to her. They used not -unavailing arguments to conquer a grief which nature, as her rightful -tribute, demands; but they soothed that grief by showing they sincerely -mourned its source. - -Lord Cherbury had but short intervals of reason; those intervals were -employed by Lord Mortimer in trying to compose his mind; and by him in -blessing his son for those endeavors, and congratulating himself on the -prospect of approaching dissolution. His words unutterably affected Lord -Mortimer; he had reason to believe they were dictated by a prophetic -spirit; and the dismal peal which rung from morning till night for Lady -Euphrasia sounded in his ear as the knell of his expiring father. - -Things were in this situation in the Castle when Oscar and his friend -Sir Charles Bingley arrived at it, and, without sending in their names, -requested immediate permission to the marquis's presence, upon business -of importance. Their request was complied with, from an idea that they -came from Freelove, to whom the marquis and marchioness, from respect -and affection to the memory of their daughter, had determined to pay -every attention. - -The marquis knew, and was personally known to Sir Charles; he was -infinitely surprised by his appearance, but how much was that surprise -increased when Sir Charles, taking Oscar by the hand, presented him to -the marquis as the son of Lady Fitzalan, the rightful heir of the Earl -of Dunreath! The marquis was confounded; he trembled at these words; and -his confusion, had such a testimony been wanting, would have been -sufficient to prove his guilt. He at last, though with a faltering -voice, desired to know by what means Sir Charles could justify or -support his assertion. - -Sir Charles, for Oscar was too much agitated to speak, as briefly as -possible related all the particulars which had led to the discovery of -the earl's will; and his friend, he added, with the generosity of a -noble mind, wished as much as possible to spare the feelings and save -the honor of those with whom he was connected; a wish, which nothing but -a hesitation in complying with his just and well-supported claim could -destroy. - -The marquis's agitation increased; already was he stripped Of happiness, -and he now saw himself on the point of being stripped of honor. An hour -before he had imagined his wretchedness could not be augmented; he was -now convinced human misery cannot be complete without the loss of -reputation. In the idea of being esteemed, of being thought undeserving -our misfortunes, there is a sweet, a secret balm, which meliorates the -greatest sorrow. Of riches, in his own right, the marquis ever possessed -more than sufficient for all his expenses: those expenses would now, -comparatively speaking, be reduced within very narrow bounds; for the -vain pride which had led him to delight in pomp and ostentation died -with Lady Euphrasia. Since, therefore, of his fortune such a -superabundance would remain, it was unnecessary as well as unjust to -detain what he had no pretensions to; but he feared tamely acquiescing -to this unexpected claim, would be to acknowledge himself a villain. -'Tis true, indeed, that his newly-felt remorse had inspired him with a -wish of making reparation for his past injustice, but false shame -starting up, hitherto opposed it; and even now, when an opportunity -offered of accomplishing his wish, still continued to oppose it, lest -the scorn and contempt he dreaded should at length be his portion for -his long injustice. - -Irresolute how to act, he sat for some time silent and embarrassed, till -at last, recollecting his manner was probably betraying what he wished -to conceal, namely, the knowledge of the will, he said, with some -sternness, "That, till he inspected into the affair so recently laid -before him, he could not, nor was it to be expected he should, say how -he would act; an inspection which, under present melancholy -circumstances, he could not possibly make for some time. Had Mr. -Fitzalan," he added, "possessed in reality that generosity Sir Charles's -partiality ascribed to him, he would not, at a period so distressing, -have appeared to make such a claim. To delicacy and sensibility the -privileges of grief were ever held sacred. Those privileges they had -both violated. They had intruded on his sorrows; they had even insulted -him by appearing on such a business before him, ere the last rites were -paid to his lamented child." Sir Charles and Oscar were inexpressibly -shocked. Both were totally ignorant of the recent event. - -Oscar, as he recovered from the surprise the marquis's words had given -him, declared, in the impassioned language of a noble mind, hurt by -being thought destitute of sensibility, "That the marquis had arraigned -him unjustly. Had he known of his sorrows," he said, "nothing should -have tempted him to intrude upon them. He mourned, he respected them; -he besought him to believe him sincere in what he uttered." A tear, an -involuntary tear, as he spoke, starting into his eye, and trickling down -his cheek, denoted his sincerity. The marquis's heart smote him as he -beheld this tear; it reproached him more than the keenest words could -have done, and operated more in Oscar's favor than any arguments, -however eloquent. "Had this young man," thought he, "been really -illiberal when I reproached him for want of sensibility, how well might -he have retaliated upon me my more flagrant want of justice and -humanity; but no, he sees I am a son of sorrow, and he will not break -the reed which Heaven has already smitten." Tears gushed from his eyes. -He involuntarily extended his hand to Oscar. "I see," said he, "I see, -indeed, I have unjustly arraigned you; but I will endeavor to atone for -my error. At present, rest satisfied with an assurance, that whatever is -equitable shall be done; and that, let events turn out as they may, I -shall ever feel myself your friend." Oscar again expressed his regret -for having waited on him at such a period, and requested he would -dismiss for the present the subject they had been talking of from his -mind. The marquis, still more pleased with his manner, desired his -direction, and assured him he should hear from him sooner than he -expected. - -As soon as they retired, his agitation decreased, and, of course, he was -better qualified to consider how he should act. That restitution his -conscience prompted, but his false ideas of shame had prevented, he now -found he should be compelled to make; how to make it, therefore, so as -to avoid total disgrace, was what he considered. At last he adopted a -scheme, which the sensibility of Oscar, he flattered himself, would -enable him to accomplish. This was to declare, that by the Earl of -Dunreath's will, Mr. Fitzalan was heir to his estates, in case of the -death of Lady Euphrasia; that in consequence, therefore, of this event, -he had come to take possession of them; that Lady Dunreath (whose -residence at Dunreath Abbey he could not now hope to conceal) was but -lately returned from a convent in France, where for many years she had -resided. To Oscar he intended saying, from her ill conduct he and the -marchioness had been tempted to sequester her from the world, in order -to save her from open shame and derision; and that her declaration of a -will they had always believed the mere fabrication of her brain, in -order, as he supposed, to give them uneasiness. This scheme once formed, -his heart felt a little relieved of the heavy burden of fear and -inquietude. He repaired to the marchioness's apartment, and broke the -affair gently to her, adding, at the same time, that, sensible as they -must now be of the vanities and pursuits of human life, it was time for -them to endeavor to make their peace with Heaven. Affliction had taught -penitence to the marchioness, as well as her husband. She approved of -his scheme, and thought, with him, that the sooner their intention of -making restitution was known the greater would be the probability of its -being accomplished. Oscar, therefore, the next day received a letter -from the marquis, specifying at once his wishes. With those wishes Oscar -generously complied. His noble soul was superior to a triumph over a -fallen enemy; and he had always wished rather to save from, than expose -the marquis to disgrace. He hastened as soon as possible to the castle, -agreeably to a request contained in the letter, to assure the marquis -his conduct throughout the whole affair would be regulated according to -his desire. - -Perhaps, at this moment, public contempt could not have humbled the -marquis more than such generosity, when he drew a comparison between -himself and the person he had so long injured. The striking contrast -wounded his very soul, and he groaned at the degradation he suffered in -his own eyes. He told Oscar, as soon as the last sad duties were -performed to his daughter, he would settle everything with him, and then -perhaps be able to introduce him to the marchioness. He desired he might -take up his residence in the Castle, and expressed a wish that he would -attend the funeral of Lady Euphrasia as one of the chief mourners. Oscar -declined the former, but promised, with a faltering voice, to comply -with the latter request. He then retired, and the marquis, who had been -roused from the indulgence of his grief by a wish of preserving his -character, again relapsed into its wretchedness. He desired Oscar to -make no secret of his now being heir to the Earl of Dunreath, and said -he would mention it himself in his family. Through this medium, -therefore, did this surprising intelligence reach Lord Mortimer, and his -heart dilated with sudden joy at the idea of his Amanda and her brother -at last enjoying independence and prosperity. - -In a few hours after this the sufferings of Lord Cherbury were -terminated. His last faltering accents pronounced blessings on his son. -Oh! how sweet were those blessings! How different were the feelings of -Lord Mortimer from the callous sons of dissipation, who seem to watch -with impatience the last struggles of a parent, that they may have more -extensive means of gratifying their inordinate desires. The feelings of -Lord Mortimer were soothed by reflecting he had done everything in his -power for restoring the tranquillity of his father, and his regret was -lessened by the conviction that Lord Cherbury, after the discovery of -his conduct, could never more in this life have experienced happiness. -He therefore, with tender piety, resigned him to his God; humbly -trusting that his penitence had atoned for his frailties, and insured -him felicity. - -He now bade adieu to the Castle and its wretched owners, and accompanied -Lady Martha and his sister to Thornbury, at which the burying-place of -the family lay. Here he continued till the remains of his father -arrived, and were interred. He then proceeded to London to put into -execution the plan he had projected for his father. He immediately -advertised the Tudor estate. A step of this kind could not be concealed -from Lady Martha; but the mortgages on the other estates he resolved -carefully to guard from her knowledge, lest suspicions prejudicial to -the memory of his father should arise in her mind. But, during this -period, the idea of Amanda was not absent from his soul. Neither grief -nor business could banish it a moment; and, again, a thousand fond and -flattering hopes concerning her had revived, when a sudden blow -dispersed them all, and plunged him, if possible, into greater -wretchedness than he had ever before experienced. He heard it -confidently reported that the Earl of Dunreath's sister (for Oscar by -this time had claimed, and been allowed to take the title of his -grandfather) was to be married to Sir Charles Bingley. The friendship -which he knew subsisted between the earl and Sir Charles rendered this -too probable. But if a doubt concerning it still lingered in his mind, -it was destroyed when Sir Charles waited on him to treat about the -purchase of Tudor Hall; it instantly occurred to him that this purchase -was made by the desire of Amanda. Unable to command his feelings, he -referred Sir Charles to his agent, and abruptly retired. He called her -cruel and ungrateful. After all his sufferings on her account, did he -deserve so soon to be banished from her remembrance--so soon supplanted -in her affections by another--by one, too, who never had, who never -would have, an opportunity of giving such proofs as he had done of -constancy and love. She is lost, then he sighed; she is lost forever! -Oh! what avails the vindication of her fame? Is it not an augmentation -of my misery? Oh! my father, of what a treasure did you despoil me! But -let me not disturb the sacred ashes of the dead--rest, rest in peace, -thou venerable author of my being! and may the involuntary expression -of heart-rending anguish be forgiven! Amanda, then, he continued, after -a pause, will indeed be mistress of Tudor Hall; but never will a sigh -for him who once was its owner heave her bosom. She will wander beneath -those shades where so often she has heard my vows of unalterable -love--vows which, alas! my heart has too fully observed--and listen to -similar ones from Sir Charles: well, this is the last stroke fate can -level at my peace. - -Lord Mortimer (or, as in future we must style him, Lord Cherbury) had -indeed imagined that the affections of Amanda, like his own, were -unalterable; he had therefore indulged the rapturous idea, that, by -again seeking an union with her, she should promote the happiness of -both. It is true he knew she would possess a fortune infinitely superior -to what he had now a right to expect; but after the proofs he had given -of disinterested attachment, not only she, but the world, he was -convinced, would acquit him of any selfish motives in the renewal of his -addresses. His hopes destroyed--his prospect blasted by what he had -heard, he resolved, as soon as affairs were settled, to go abroad. The -death of his father had rendered his entering the army unnecessary, and -his spirits were too much broken, his health too much impaired, for him -voluntarily now to embrace that destiny. - -On the purchase of Tudor Hall being completed by Sir Charles, it was -necessary for Lord Cherbury to see his steward. He preferred going to -sending for him, prompted indeed by a melancholy wish of paying a last -visit to Tudor Hall, endeared to his heart by a thousand fond -remembrances. On his arrival he took up his abode at the steward's for a -day or two. After a strict injunction to him of concealing his being -there, it was after a ramble through every spot about the demesne which -he had ever trodden with Amanda, that he repaired to the library and -discovered her. He was ignorant of her being in the country. Oh! then, -how great was her surprise--how exquisite his emotions, at seeing her in -such unexpected circumstances! - -I shall not attempt to go over the scene I have already tried to -describe; suffice it to say, that the desire she betrayed of hastening -from him he imputed to the alteration of her sentiments with respect to -him and Sir Charles. When undeceived in this respect, his rapture was as -great as ever it had before been at the idea of her love, and, like -Amanda, he declared his suffering was now amply rewarded. - - - - -CHAPTER LVII. - - "No, never from this hour to part, - We'll live and love so true; - The sigh that rends thy constant heart, - Shall break thy lover's too." - - -"But, my love," cried Lord Cherbury, as he wiped away the tears which -pity and horror at the fate of Lady Euphrasia had caused Amanda to shed, -"will your brother, think you, sanction our happiness? Will he, who -might aspire so high for a sister thus at once possessed of beauty and -fortune, bestow her on one whose title may now almost be considered an -empty one?" "Oh! do not wrong his noble nature by such a doubt," -exclaimed Amanda. "Yes, with pride, with pleasure, with delight, will he -bestow his sister upon the esteemed, the beloved of her heart; upon him, -who, unwarped by narrow prejudice or selfish interest, sought her in the -low shade of obscurity, to lay, all friendless and forlorn as she was, -his fortune at her feet. Could he indeed be ungrateful to such kindness, -could he attempt to influence me to another choice, my heart would at -once repulse the effort, and avow its fixed determination; but he is -incapable of such conduct; my Oscar is all that is generous and feeling: -need I say more, than that a spirit congenial to yours animates his -breast." - -Lord Cherbury clasped her to his heart. "Dearest, loveliest of human -beings," he exclaimed, "shall I at length call you mine? After all my -sorrows, my difficulties, shall I indeed receive so precious a reward? -Oh! wonder not, my Amanda, if I doubt the reality of so sudden a reverse -of situation; I feel as if under the influence of a happy dream; but, -good Heaven! a dream from which I never wish to be awakened." - -Amanda now recollected that if she stayed much longer from the cottage -she would have some one coming in quest of her. She informed Lord -Cherbury of this, and rose to depart; but he would not suffer her to -depart alone, neither did she desire it. The nurse and her daughter -Betsey were in the cottage at her return to it. To describe the surprise -of the former at the appearance of Lord Cherbury is impossible--a -surprise mingled with indignation, at the idea of his falsehood to her -darling child; but when undeceived in that respect, her transports were -of the most extravagant nature. - -"Well, she thanked Heaven," she said, "she should now see her dear child -hold up her head again, and look as handsome as ever. Ay, she had always -doubted," she said, "that his lortship was not one of the false-hearted -men she had so often heard her old grandmother talk of." "My good -nurse," said Lord Cherbury, smiling, "you will then give me your dear -child with all your heart?" "Ay, that I will, my lort," she replied, -"and this very moment too, if I could." "Well," cried Amanda, "his -lordship will be satisfied at present with getting his dinner from you." -She then desired the things to be brought to the little arbor, already -described at the beginning of this book, and proceeded to it with Lord -Cherbury. The mention of dinner threw nurse and her daughter into -universal commotion. - -"Good lack! how unfortunate it was she had nothing hot or nice to lay -pefore his lortship! How could she think he could dine upon cold lamb -and salad! Well, this was all Miss Amanda's fault, who would never let -her do as she wished." With the utmost difficulty she was persuaded he -could dine upon these things. The cloth was laid upon the flowery turf, -beneath the spreading branches of the arbor. The delicacies of the dairy -were added to their repast, and Betsey provided a dessert of new -filberts. - -Never had Lord Cherbury partaken of so delicious a meal--never had he -and Amanda experienced such happiness. The pleasure, the tenderness of -their souls, beamed in expressive glances from their eyes, and they were -now more convinced than ever that the humble scenes of life were best -calculated for the promotion of felicity. Lord Cherbury felt more -reconciled than he had been before to the diminution of his fortune; he -yet retained sufficient for the comforts, and many of the elegancies of -life. The splendor he lost was insignificant in his eyes; his present -situation proved happiness could be enjoyed without it, and he knew it -was equally disregarded by Amanda. He asked himself, - - "------What was the world to them-- - Its pomps, its pleasures, and its nonsense all, - Who in each other clasp, whatever fair - High fancy forms, or lavish hearts can wish?" - -All nature looked gay and smiling around him. He inhaled the balmy -breath of opening flowers, and through the verdant canopy be sat -beneath, he saw the bright azure of the heavens, and felt the benignant -influence of the sun, whose potent beams heightened to glowing -luxuriance the beauties of the surrounding landscape. He expressed his -feelings to Amanda; he heard her declare the similarity of hers; heard -her with all the sweet enthusiasm of a refined and animated mind, -expatiate on the lovely scene around them. Oh! what tender remembrances -did it awaken, and what delightful plans of felicity did they sketch! -Lord Cherbury would hear from Amanda all she had suffered since their -separation; and could his love and esteem have been increased, her -patient endurance of the sorrows she related would have increased them. -They did not leave the garden till a dusky hue had overspread the -landscape. Oh! with what emotions did Amanda watch the setting sun, -whose rising beams she had beheld with eyes obscured by tears of sorrow! -As they sat at tea in the room, she could not avoid noticing the -alteration in the nurse's dress who attended. She had put on all her -holiday finery; and, to evince her wish of amusing her guests, had sent -for the blind harper, whom she stationed outside the cottage. His music -drew a number of the neighboring cottagers about him, and they would -soon have led up a dance in the vale, had not the nurse prevented them, -lest they should disturb her guests. Lord Cherbury, however, insisted on -their being gratified, and, sending for his servant, ordered him to -provide refreshments for them, and to reward the harper. He would not -leave Amanda till he had her permission to come early next morning, as -soon as he could hope to see her. Accordingly the first voice she heard -on rising was his chatting to the nurse. We may believe she did not -spend many minutes at her toilet. The neat simplicity of her dress never -required she should do so, and in a very short time she joined him. They -walked out till breakfast was ready. - - "Together trod the morning dews, and gathered - In their prime fresh blooming sweets." - -Amanda, in hourly expectation of her brother's arrival, wished, ere he -came, to inform the inhabitants of the cottage of the alteration of his -fortune. This, with the assistance of Lord Cherbury, she took an -opportunity of doing in the course of the day to the nurse. Had she been -sole relator, she feared she should have been overwhelmed with -questions. Joy and wonder were excited in an extreme degree by this -relation, and nothing but the nurse's hurry and impatience to -communicate it to her family, could have prevented her from asking again -and again a repetition of it. - -Lord Cherbury now, as on the foregoing day, dined with Amanda. Her -expectations relative to the speedy arrival of her brother were not -disappointed. While sitting after dinner with Lord Cherbury in the -garden, the nurse, half breathless, came running to tell them that a -superb coach and four, which to be sure must be my Lort Dunreath's, was -coming down the road. - -Lord Cherbury colored with emotion. Amanda did not wish he and her -brother should meet, till she had explained everything relative to him. -By her desire he retired to the valley, to which a winding path from the -garden descended, whilst she hurried to the cottage to receive and -welcome her beloved brother. Their meeting was at once tender and -affecting. The faithful Edwins surrounded Oscar with delight and -rapture, pouring forth, in their simple style, congratulations on his -happy fortune, and their wishes for his long enjoying it. He thanked -them with a starting tear of sensibility. He assured them that their -attentions to his dear sister, his lamented parents, his infant years, -entitled them to a lasting gratitude. As soon as he and Amanda could -disengage themselves from the good creatures, without wounding their -feelings, they retired to her room, where Oscar related, as we have -already done, all that passed between him and the Marquis of Roslin. - -As soon as the funeral of Lady Euphrasia was over, the marquis settled -everything with him, and put him into formal possession of Dunreath -Abbey. By the marquis's desire, he then waited upon Lady Dunreath, to -inform her she was at liberty, and to request she would not contradict -the assertion of having been abroad. Mrs. Bruce had previously informed -her of the revolution of affairs. "I own," continued Oscar, "from the -cruelty to my mother, and the depravity of her conduct, I was strongly -prejudiced against her, attributing, I acknowledge, her doing justice to -us, in some degree, to her resentment against the marquis; but the -moment I entered her apartment this prejudice vanished, giving place to -the softer emotions of pity and tenderness, while a thorough conviction -of her sincere repentance broke upon my soul. Though prepared to see a -form reduced by affliction and confinement, I was not by any means -prepared to see a form so emaciated, so death-like--a faint motion of -her head, as I entered, alone proved her existence. Had the world been -given me to do so, I think I could not have broken a silence so awful. -At length she spoke, and in language that pierced my heart, implored my -forgiveness for the sufferings she had caused me to endure. Repeatedly I -assured her of it; but this rather heightened than diminished her -agitation, and tears and sobs spoke the anguish of her soul. 'I have -lived,' she cried, 'to justify the ways of Providence to men, and prove -that, however calamity may oppress the virtuous, they or their -descendants shall at last flourish. I have lived to see my contrite wish -accomplished, and the last summons will now be a welcome release.' She -expressed an ardent desire to see her daughter. 'The pitying tears of a -mother,' she exclaimed, 'may be as balm to her wounded heart. Oh! my -prophetic words, how often have I prayed that the punishment I then -denounced against her might be averted!' - -"I signified her desire," continued Oscar, "to the marquis. I found the -marchioness at first reluctant to it, from a secret dread, I suppose, of -seeing an object so injured; but she at last consented, and I was -requested to bring Lady Dunreath from the Abbey, and conduct her to the -marchioness's room. I will not attempt to describe the scene which -passed between affection on the one hand, and penitence on the other. -The marchioness indeed seemed truly penitent: remorse and horror were -visible in her countenance, as she gazed upon her injured parent. I -begged Lady Dunreath, if agreeable to her, still to consider the Abbey -as her residence. This, however, she declined, and it was determined she -should continue with her daughter. Her last moments may, perhaps, be -soothed by closing in the presence of her child; but till then, I think, -her wretchedness must be aggravated by beholding that of the marquis and -his wife. Theirs is that situation where comfort can neither be offered -nor suggested--hopeless and incurable is their sorrow--for, to use the -beautiful and emphatic words of a late celebrated writer, 'The gates of -death are shut upon their prospects.'" - -Amanda now, after a little hesitation, proceeded to inform Oscar of her -real situation, and entreated him to believe that she never would have -had a concealment from him, but for the fear of giving him uneasiness. -He folded her to his bosom as she ceased speaking, declaring he rejoiced -and congratulated her on having found an object so well qualified to -make her happy. - -"But where is this dear creature?" cried Oscar, with some gayety; "am I -to search for him, like a favorite sylph, in your bouquet; or, with more -probability of success, seek him amongst the shades of the garden? -Come," said he, "your looks confess our search will not be troublesome." -He led her to the garden. Lord Cherbury, who had lingered near it, saw -them approaching. Amanda motioned him to meet them. He sprang forward, -and was instantly introduced by her to Lord Dunreath. The reception he -met was the most flattering proof he could receive of his Amanda's -affections; for what but the most animated expressions in his favor -could have made Lord Dunreath, at the first introduction, address him -with all the fervency of friendship? Extremes of joy and sorrow are -difficult to describe. I shall, therefore, as perfectly conscious of my -inability to do justice to the scene which followed this introduction, -pass it over in silence. Lord Dunreath had ordered his equipage and -attendants to the village inn, where he himself intended to lodge. But -this was prevented by Lord Cherbury, who informed him he could be -accommodated at his steward's. It was here, when they had retired for -the night, that, Lord Cherbury having intimated his wishes for an -immediate union with Amanda, all the necessary preliminaries were talked -over and adjusted; and it was agreed that the marriage should take place -at the cottage, from whence they should immediately proceed to Lady -Martha's, and that to procure a license, they should both depart the -next morning. At breakfast, therefore, Amanda was apprised of their -plan, and though the glow of modesty overspread her face, she did not -with affectation object to it. - -With greater expedition than Amanda expected, the travellers returned -from the journey they had been obliged to take, and at their earnest and -united request, without any affectation of modesty, though with its real -feelings, Amanda consented that the marriage should take place the day -but one after their return. Howel was sent for, and informed of the hour -his services would be required. His mild eyes evinced to Amanda his -sincere joy at the termination of her sorrows. - -On the destined morning, Lord Dunreath and his friend went over to the -cottage, and in a few minutes were joined by Amanda, the perfect model -of innocence and beauty. She looked, indeed, the child of sweet -simplicity, arrayed with the unstudied elegance of a village maid; she -had no ornaments but those which could never decay, namely, modesty and -meekness. - -Language was inadequate to express the feelings of Lord Cherbury. His -fine eyes alone could do them justice--alone reveal what might be the -sacred triumph of his soul at gaining such a woman. A soft shade of -melancholy stole over the fine features of Lord Dunreath, as he -witnessed the happiness of Lord Cherbury; for as his happiness, so might -his own have been, but for the blackest perfidy. - -As Lord Cherbury took the trembling hand of Amanda, to lead her from -the cottage, she gave a farewell sigh to a place where, it might be -said, her happiness had commenced and was completed. They walked to the -church, followed by the nurse and her family. Some kind hand had strewed -Lady Malvina's grave with the gayest flowers, and when Amanda reached it -she paused involuntarily for a moment, to invoke the spirits of her -parents to bless her union. - -Howel was already in the church, waiting to receive them, and the -ceremony was begun without delay. With the truest pleasure did Lord -Dunreath give his lovely sister to Lord Cherbury, and with the liveliest -transport did he receive her as the choicest gift Heaven could bestow. -Tears of sweet sensibility fell from Amanda, as Lord Cherbury folded her -to his bosom as his own Amanda. Nor was he less affected; joy of the -most rapturous kind agitated his whole soul at the completion of an -event so earnestly desired, but so long despaired of. He wiped away her -tears, and, when she had received the congratulations of her brother, -presented her to the rest of the little group. Their delight, -particularly the nurse's, was almost too great for expression. - -"Well," she said, sobbing, "thank Cot her wish was fulfilled. It had -been her prayer, night, noon, and morn, to see the taughter of her tear, -tear Captain Fitzalan greatly married." Poor Ellen wept--"Well, now she -should be happy," she said, "since she knew her tear young laty was so." -Amanda, affected by the artless testimonies of affection she received, -could only smile upon the faithful creatures. - -Lord Cherbury, seeing her unable to speak, took her hand, and -said--"Lord Cherbury never would forget the obligations conferred upon -Miss Fitzalan." Bridal favors and presents had already been distributed -among the Edwins. Howel was handsomely complimented on the occasion, and -received some valuable presents from Lord Cherbury, as proofs of his -sincere friendship; also money to distribute among the indigent -villagers. His lordship then handed Amanda into his coach, already -prepared for its journey to Thornbury, and the little bridal party were -followed by the most ardent blessings. After proceeding a quarter of a -mile, they reached Tudor Hall. - -"I wish, my lord," cried Oscar, as they were driving round the wood, -"you would permit me to stop and view the Hall, and also accompany me to -it." Lord Cherbury looked a little embarrassed. He felt a strong -reluctance to visit it, when no longer his, yet he could not think of -refusing the earl. Amanda knew his feelings, and wished her brother had -not made such a request. No opposition, however, being shown to it, -they stopped at the great gate which opened into the avenue, and -alighted. This was a long, beautiful walk, cut through the wood, and in -a direct line with the house. On either side were little grassy banks, -now covered with a profusion of gay flowers, and a thick row of trees, -which, waving their old fantastic branches on high, formed a most -delightful shade. Honey-suckles twined around many of the trunks, -forming in some places luxuriant canopies, and with a variety of -aromatic shrubs quite perfumed the air. It was yet an early hour; the -dew, therefore, still sparkled upon the grass, and everything looked in -the highest verdure. Through vistas in the wood, a fine clear river was -seen, along whose sides beautiful green slopes were stretched, scattered -over with flocks, that spread their swelling treasures to the sun. The -birds sung sweetly in the embowering recesses of the woods, and so calm, -so lovely did the place appear, that Lord Cherbury could not refrain a -sigh for its loss. "How delighted," cried he, casting his fine eyes -around, "should I have been still to have cherished those old trees, -beneath whose shades some of my happiest hours were passed." They -entered the hall, whose folding door they found open. It was large and -gothic; a row of arched windows were on either side, whose recesses were -filled with myrtles, roses, and geraniums, which emitted a delicious -perfume, and, contrasted with the white walls, gave an appearance of the -greatest gayety to the place. - -Oscar led the way to a spacious parlor at the end of the hall. But how -impossible to describe the surprise and pleasure of Lord and Lady -Cherbury, on entering it, at beholding Lady Martha and Lady Araminta -Dormer! Lord Cherbury stood transfixed like a statue. The caresses of -his aunt and his sister, which were shared between him and his bride, -restored him to animation; but while he returned them, he cast his eyes -upon Oscar, and demanded an explanation of the scene. "I shall give no -explanation, my lord," cried Oscar, "till you welcome your friends to -your house." - -"My house!" repeated Lord Cherbury, staring at him. Lord Dunreath -approached. Never had he appeared so engaging. The benignant expression -his countenance assumed was such as we may suppose an angel sent from -heaven, on benevolent purposes to man, would wear. - -"Excuse me, my dear Cherbury," said he, "for suffering you to feel any -uneasiness which I could remove. I only did so from an idea of -increasing your pleasure hereafter. In Scotland I was informed of your -predilection for my sister by Lady Greystock, whom, I fancy, you have -both some reason to remember, in consequence of which, on seeing Tudor -Hall advertised, I begged Sir Charles Bingley to purchase it for me, in -his own name, from a presentiment I had, that the event I now rejoice at -would take place; and from my wish of having a nuptial present for my -sister worthy of her acceptance. Let me," continued he, taking a hand of -each and joining them together, "let me, in this respected mansion, and -in the dear presence of those you love, again wish you a continuance of -every blessing. May this seat, as heretofore, be the scene of domestic -happiness; may it ever be a pleasing abode to the prosperous, and an -asylum of comfort to the afflicted." - -Lord Cherbury's heart was too full for words. He turned aside to wipe -away his starting tears. At last, though in a broken voice, he said, "I -cannot speak my feelings." "Pain me not," cried Oscar, "by attempting to -do so. From this moment forget that Tudor Hall was ever out of your -possession; or, if you must remember it, think it restored to you with -an encumbrance, which half the fashionable men in England would give an -estate to get rid of, and this will conquer your too refined feelings." - -Lord Cherbury smiled as he looked at the lovely encumbrance which Oscar -alluded to. "And what shall I say to my brother?" cried Amanda, throwing -herself into his arms. "Why, that you will compose your spirits, and -endeavor to give a proper welcome to your friends." He presented her to -Lady Martha and Lady Araminta, who again embraced and congratulated her. -He then led her to the head of the breakfast table, which was elegantly -laid out. The timid bride was assisted in doing the honors by her -brother and Lord Cherbury. Lady Martha beheld the youthful pair with the -truest delight. Never had she before seen two, from equal merit and -loveliness, so justly formed to make each other happy; never had she -seen either to such advantage. The beautiful coloring of health and -modesty tinged the soft cheeks of Amanda, and her eyes, through their -long lashes, emitted mild beams of pleasure; its brightest glow mantled -the cheeks of Lord Cherbury, and his eyes were again illumined with all -their wonted radiancy. - -Oscar was requested to tell particularly how he had arranged his plan; -which he accordingly did. He had written to the ladies at Thornbury, -informing them of his scheme, and requesting their presence, and on the -preceding night they had arrived at the Hall. Lord Dunreath also added, -that from a certainty of its being agreeable to Lord Cherbury, he had -directed the steward to reinstate the old servants in their former -stations, and also to invite the tenants to a nuptial feast. Lord -Cherbury assured him he had done what was truly grateful to his -feelings. A ramble about the garden and shrubberies was proposed, and -agreed to, after breakfast. In the hall and avenue the servants and -tenants were already assembled. Lord Cherbury went among them all, and -the grateful joy they expressed at having him again for a master and a -landlord deeply affected his feelings. He thanked them for their regard, -and received their congratulations on his present happiness with that -sweetness and affability which ever distinguished his manners. The -ramble was delightful. When the sun had attained its meridian, they -sought the cool shade, and retired to little romantic arbors, -over-canopied with woodbines, where, as if by the hand of enchantment, -they found refreshments laid out. They did not return to the house till -they received a summons to dinner, and had then the pleasure of seeing -the tenants seated at long tables in the wood, enjoying with unbounded -mirth the profusion with which they were covered, and Lord Cherbury -begged Amanda to observe her nurse seated at the head of one of these -tables, with an air of the greatest self-importance. The pride and -vanity of this good woman (and she always possessed a large share of -both) had been considerably increased from the time her cottage was -honored with such noble guests. When she received an invitation from the -steward to accompany the rest of the tenants to the Hall to celebrate -its restoration to Lord Cherbury, her joy and exultation knew no bounds; -she took care to walk with the wives of some of the most respectable -tenants, describing to them all that had passed at the ceremony, and how -the earl had first fallen in love with his bride at her cottage, and -what trials they had undergone, no doubt, to prove their constancy. "Cot -pless their hearts," she said to her eager auditors; "she could tell -them of such tangers and tifficulties, and tribulations, as would -surprise the very souls in their poties. Well, well, it is now her tear -child's turn to hold up her head with the highest in the land, and to pe -sure she might now say, without telling a lie, that her tear latyship -would now make somepoty of herself, and, please Cot, she hoped and -pelieved, she would not tisgrace or tisparage a petter situation." When -she came near the countess, she took care to press forward for a -gracious look; but this was not all; she had always envied the -consequence of Mrs. Abergwilly in having so great a house as the Hall -entirely under her management, and she now determined, upon the -strength of her favor with Lady Cherbury, to having something to say to -it, and, of course, increase her consequence among her neighbors. There -was nothing on earth she so much delighted in as bustle, and the present -scene was quite adapted to her taste, for all within and without the -house was joyous confusion. The first specimen she gave of her intention -was, in helping to distribute refreshments among the tenants; she then -proceeded to the dinner-parlor, to give her opinion, and assistance, and -direction about laying out the table. Mrs. Abergwilly, like the -generality of those accustomed to absolute power, could not tamely -submit to any innovation on it. She curbed her resentment, however, and -civilly told Mrs. Edwin she wanted no assistance; "thank Cot," she said, -"she was not come to this time of tay without peing able give proper -tirections about laying out a table." Mrs. Edwin said, "To be sure Mrs. -Abergwilly might have a very pretty taste, but then another person might -have as good a one." The day was intensely hot; she pinned back her -gown, which was a rich silk that had belonged to Lady Malvina, and, -without further ceremony, began altering the dishes, saying, she knew -the taste of her tear laty, the countess, better that any one else, and -that she would take an early opportunity of going through the -apartments, and telling Mrs. Abergwilly how to arrange the furniture. - -The Welsh blood of the housekeeper could bear no more, and she began -abusing Mrs. Edwin, though in terms scarcely articulate, to which she -replied with interest. In the midst of this fracas, old Edwin entered. -"For the love of Cot," he asked, "and the mercy of Heaven, could they -choose no other time or tay than the present to pegin to fight, and -scold, and abuse each other like a couple of Welsh witches? What would -the noble earl and the countess say? Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! he felt himself -blushing all over for their misdemeanors." His remonstrance had an -immediate effect; they were both ashamed of their conduct; their rage -abated; they became friends, and Mrs. Edwin resigned the direction of -the dinner-table to Mrs. Abergwilly, satisfied with being allowed to -preside among the tenants. - -The bridal party found Howel in the dining parlor, and his company -increased their pleasure. After dinner the rustics commenced dancing in -the avenue, to the strains of the harp, and afforded a delightful scene -of innocent gayety to their benevolent entertainers, who smiled to see - - "The dancing pair that simply sought renown - By holding out to tire each other down: - The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love, - The matron's glance that would those looks reprove." - -After tea the party went out amongst them, and the gentlemen, for a -short time, mingled in the dance. Long it could not detain Lord Cherbury -from his Amanda. Oh! with what ecstasy did he listen to the soft accents -of her voice, while his fond heart assured him she was now his! The -remembrance of past difficulties but increased his present felicity. In -the course of the week all the neighboring families came to pay their -congratulations at Tudor Hall; invitations were given and received, and -it again became the seat of pleasure and hospitality; but Amanda did not -suffer the possession of happiness to obliterate one grateful -remembrance from her mind. She was not one of those selfish beings, who, -on being what is termed settled for life, immediately contract -themselves within the narrow sphere of their own enjoyments; still was -her heart as sensible as ever to the glow of friendship and compassion. -She wrote to all the friends she had ever received kindness from, in -terms of the warmest gratitude, and her letters were accompanied by -presents sufficiently valuable to prove her sincerity. She sent an -invitation to Emily Rushbrook, which was immediately accepted. And now a -discovery took place which infinitely surprised and pleased Amanda, -namely, that Howel was the young clergyman Emily was attached to. He had -gone to London on a visit to the gentleman who patronized him. Her -youth, her simplicity, above all, her distress, affected his heart; and -in the hope of mitigating that distress (which he was shocked to see had -been aggravated by the ladies she came to), he had followed her. To -soothe the wretched, to relieve the distressed, was not considered more -a duty than a pleasure by Howel. And the little favors he conferred upon -the Rushbrooks afforded, if possible, more pleasure to him than they did -to them; so sweet are the feelings of benevolence and virtue. But -compassion was not long the sole motive of his interest in their -affairs--the amiable manners, the gentle conversation of Emily, -completely subdued his unfortunate passion for Amanda, and, in stealing -her image from his heart she implanted her own in its place. He -described, in a romantic manner, the little rural cottage he invited her -to share; he anticipated the happy period when it should become an -asylum to her parents; when he, like a second father, should assist -their children through the devious paths of life. These fond hopes and -expectations vanished the moment he received Mrs. Connel's letter. He -could not think of sacrificing the interest of Rushbrook to the -consideration of his own happiness, and therefore generously, but with -the most agonizing conflicts, resigned his Emily to a more prosperous -rival. His joy at finding her disengaged, still his own unaltered Emily, -can better be conceived than described. He pointed out the little -sheltered cottage which again he hoped she would share, and blessed, -with her, the hand that had opened her father's prison gates. Lord and -Lady Cherbury were delighted to think they could contribute to the -felicity of two such amiable beings; and the latter wrote to Captain and -Mrs. Rushbrook on the subject, who immediately replied to her letter, -declaring that their fondest wish would be gratified in bestowing their -daughter on Howel. They were accordingly invited to the Hall, and in the -same spot where a month before he ratified the vows of Lord Cherbury and -Amanda, did Howel plight his own to Emily, who from the hand of Lady -Cherbury received a nuptial present sufficient to procure every -enjoyment her humble and unassuming spirit aspired to. Her parents, -after passing a few days in her cottage, departed, rejoicing at the -happiness of their beloved child, and truly grateful to those who had -contributed to it. - -And now did the grateful children of Fitzalan amply reward the Edwins -for their past kindnesses to their parents and themselves. An annual -stipend was settled on Edwin by Lord Dunreath, and the possessions of -Ellen were enlarged by Amanda. Now was realized every scheme of domestic -happiness she had ever formed; but even that happiness could not -alleviate her feelings on Oscar's account, whose faded cheek, whose -languid eye, whose total abstraction in the midst of company, evidently -proved the state of his heart; and the tear of regret, which had so -often fallen for her own sorrows, was now shed for his. He had written -to Mrs. Marlowe a particular account of everything which had befallen -him since their separation. She answered his letter immediately, and, -after congratulating him in the warmest terms on the change in his -situation, informed him that Adela was then at one of Belgrave's seats -in England, and that he was gone to the continent. Her style was -melancholy, and she concluded her letter in these words: "No longer, my -dear Oscar, is my fireside enlivened by gayety or friendship; sad and -solitary I sit within my cottage till my heart sickens at the -remembrance of past scenes, and if I wander from it, the objects -without, if possible, add to the bitterness of that remembrance. The -closed windows, the grass-grown paths, the dejected servants of -Woodlawn, all recall to my mind those hours when it was the mansion of -hospitality and pleasure. I often linger by the grave of the general; my -tears fall upon it, and I think of that period when, like him, I shall -drop into it. But my last hours will not close like his; no tender child -will bend over my pillow, to catch my last sigh; to soothe my last pang. -In vain my closing eyes will look for the pious drops of nature, or of -friendship. Unfriended I shall die, with the sad consciousness of doing -so through my own means; but I shall not be quite unmourned. You, and my -Adela, the sweet daughter of my care, will regret the being whose -affection, whose sympathy for you both, can only be obliterated with -life." - - - - -CHAPTER LVIII. - - "The modest virtues mingled in her eyes, - Still on the ground dejected, darting all - Their humid beams into the opening flowers. - Or when she thought-- - Of what her faithless fortune promised once, - They, like the dewy star - Of evening, shone in tears."--THOMSON. - - -Adela, on the death of her father, was taken by Belgrave to England, -though the only pleasure he experienced in removing her was derived from -the idea of wounding her feelings, by separating her from Mrs. Marlowe, -whom he knew she was tenderly attached to. From his connections in -London, she was compelled to mix in society--compelled, I say, for the -natural gayety of her soul was quite gone, and that solitude, which -permitted her to brood over the remembrance of past days, was the only -happiness she was capable of enjoying. When the terrors of Belgrave -drove him from the kingdom, he had her removed to Woodhouse, to which, -it may be remembered, he had once brought Amanda, and from which the -imperious woman who then ruled was removed; but the principal domestic -was equally harsh and insolent in her manner, and to her care the -unfortunate Adela was consigned, with strict orders that she should not -be allowed to receive any company, or correspond with any being. -Accustomed from her earliest youth to the greatest tenderness, this -severity plunged her in the deepest despondency, and life was a burden -she would gladly have resigned. Her melancholy, or rather her patient -sweetness, at least softened the flinty nature of her governante, and -she was permitted to extend her walks beyond the gardens, to which they -had hitherto been confined; but she availed herself of this permission -only to visit the church-yard belonging to the hamlet, whose old -yew-trees she had often seen waving from the windows. Beneath their -solemn gloom she loved to sit, while evening closed around her; and in a -spot sequestered from every human eye, weep over the recollection of -that father she had lost, that friend she was separated from. She -remained in the church-yard one night beyond her usual hour. The soft -beams of the moon alone prevented her from being involved in darkness, -and the plaintive breathings of a flute from the hamlet just stole upon -her ear. Lost in sadness, her head resting upon her hand, she forgot the -progress of time, when suddenly she beheld a form rising from a -neighboring grave. She started up, screamed, but had no power to move. -The form advanced to her. It was the figure of a venerable man, who -gently exclaimed, "Be not afraid!" His voice dissipated the involuntary -fears of Adela: but still she trembled so much she could not move. "I -thought," cried he, gazing on her, "this place had been alone the haunt -of wretchedness and me." "If sacred to sorrow," exclaimed Adela, "I well -may claim the privilege of entering it." She spoke involuntarily, and -her words seemed to affect the stranger deeply. "So young," said he; "it -is melancholy, indeed; but still the sorrows of youth are more bearable -than those of age, because, like age it has not outlived the fond ties, -the sweet connections of life." "Alas!" cried Adela unable to repress -her feelings, "I am separated from all I regarded." The stranger leaned -pensively against a tree for a few minutes, and then again addressed -her: "'Tis a late hour," said he; "suffer me to conduct you home, and -also permit me to ask if I may see you here to-morrow night? Your youth, -your manner, your dejection, all interest me deeply. The sorrows of -youth are often increased by imagination. You will say that nothing can -exceed its pains; 'tis true, but it is a weakness to yield to them--a -weakness which, from a sensible mind, will be eradicated the moment it -hears of the real calamities of life. Such a relation I can give you if -you meet me to-morrow night in this sad, this solitary spot--a spot I -have visited every closing evening, without ever before meeting a being -in it." - -His venerable looks, his gentle, his pathetic manner, affected Adela -inexpressibly. She gazed on him with emotions somewhat similar to those -with which she used to contemplate the mild features of her father. "I -will meet you," cried she, "but my sorrows are not imaginary." She -refused to let him attend her home; and in this incident there was -something affecting and romantic, which soothed and engrossed the mind. -She was punctual the next evening to the appointed hour. The stranger -was already in the church-yard. He seated her at the head of the grave -from which she had seen him rise the preceeding night, and which was -only distinguished from the others by a few flowering shrubs planted -round it, and began his promised narrative. He had not proceeded far ere -Adela began to tremble with emotion--as he continued it increased. At -last, suddenly catching his hand with wildness, she exclaimed, "She -lives--the wife so bitterly lamented still lives, a solitary mourner for -your sake. Oh, never! never did she injure you as you suppose. Oh, dear, -inestimable Mrs. Marlowe, what happiness to the child of your care, to -think that through her means you will regain the being you have so -tenderly regretted--regain him with a heart open to receive you." The -deep convulsive sobs of her companion now pierced her ear. For many -minutes he was unable to speak--at last, raising his eyes, "Oh, -Providence! I thank Thee," he exclaimed; "again shall my arms fold to my -heart its best beloved object. Oh, my Fanny, how have I injured thee! -Learn from me," he continued, turning to Adela, "oh! learn from me never -to yield to rashness. Had I allowed myself time to inquire into the -particulars of my wife's conduct; had I resisted, instead of obeying, -the violence of passion, what years of lingering misery should I have -saved us both! But tell me where I shall find my solitary mourner, as -you call her?" Adela gave him the desired information, and also told him -her own situation. "The wife of Belgrave!" he repeated; "then I wonder -not," continued he, as if involuntarily, "at your sorrows." It was, -indeed, to Howel, the unfortunate father of Juliana, the regretted -husband of Mrs. Marlowe, that Adela had been addressing herself. He -checked himself, however, and told her that the being, by whose grave -they sat, had been hurried, through the villany of Belgrave, to that -grave. Adela told him of the prohibition against her writing; but at the -same time assured him, ere the following night, she would find an -opportunity of writing a letter, which he should bring to Mrs. Marlowe, -who by its contents would be prepared for his appearance, as it was to -be sent in to her. But Adela was prevented from putting her intention -into execution by an event as solemn as unexpected. - -The ensuing morning she was disturbed from her sleep by a violent noise -in the house, as of people running backwards and forwards in confusion -and distress. She was hurrying on her clothes to go and inquire into the -occasion of it, when a servant rushed into the room, and in a hasty -manner told her that Colonel Belgrave was dead. Struck with horror and -amazement, Adela stood petrified, gazing on her. The maid repeated her -words, and added that he had died abroad, and his remains were brought -over to Woodhouse for interment, attended by a French gentleman, who -looked like a priest. The various emotions which assailed the heart of -Adela at this moment were too much for her weak frame, and she would -have fallen to the floor but for the maid. It was some time ere she -recovered her sensibility, and when she did regain it, she was still so -agitated as to be unable to give those directions, which the domestics, -who now looked up to her in a light very different from they had -hitherto done, demanded from her. All she could desire was that the -steward should pay every respect and attention to the gentleman who had -attended the remains of his master, and have every honor that was due -shown to those remains. To suppose she regretted Belgrave would be -unnatural; but she felt horror, mingled with a degree of pity, for his -untimely fate at the idea of his dying abroad, without one connection, -one friend near him. His last moments were indeed more wretched than she -could conceive. Overwhelmed with terror and grief, he had quitted -England--terror at the supposition of a crime which in reality he had -not committed, and grief for the fate of Amanda. He sought to lose his -horrors in inebriety; but this, joined to the agitations of his mind, -brought on a violent fever by the time he had landed at Calais, in the -paroxysms of which, had the attendants understood his language, they -would have been shocked at the crimes he revealed. His senses were -restored a short time before he died: but what excruciating anguish, as -well as horror, did he suffer from their restoration! He knew from his -own feelings, as well as from the looks of his attendants, that his last -moments were approaching: and the recollection of past actions made him -shudder at those moments. Oh, Howel! now were you amply avenged for all -the pangs he made you suffer. Now did the pale image of your shrouded -Juliana seem to stand beside his bed reproaching his barbarity. Every -treacherous action now rose to view, and, trembling, he groaned with -terror at the spectres which a guilty conscience raised around him. -Death would have been a release, could he have considered it an -annihilation of all existence; but that future world he had always -derided, that world was opening in all its awful horrors to his view. -Already he saw himself before its sacred Judge, surrounded by the -accusing spirits of those he had injured. He desired a clergyman to be -brought to him. A priest was sent for. Their faiths were different, but -still, as a man of God, Belgrave applied to him for an alleviation of -his tortures. The priest was superstitious, and ere he tried to comfort -he wished to convert; but scarcely had he commenced the attempt ere the -wretched being before him clasped his hands together, in a strong -convulsion, and expired. The English servant who attended Belgrave -informed the people of the hotel of his rank and fortune, and the priest -offered to accompany his remains to England. He was, by the direction of -Adela, who had not resolution to see him, amply rewarded for his -attention: and in two days after their arrival at Woodhouse, the remains -of Belgrave were consigned to their kindred earth. From a sequestered -corner of the church-yard Howel witnessed his interment. When all had -departed, he approached the grave of his daughter--"He is gone!" he -exclaimed; "my Juliana, your betrayer is gone; at the tribunal of his -God he now answers for his cruelty to you. But, oh! may he find mercy -from that God; may He pardon him, as in this solemn moment I have -done--my enmity lives not beyond the grave." - -Adela now sent for Howel; and, after their first emotions had subsided, -informed him she meant immediately to return to Ireland. The expectation -of her doing so had alone prevented his going before. They accordingly -commenced their journey the ensuing day, and in less than a week reached -the dear and destined spot so interesting to both. They had previously -settled on the manner in which the discovery should be revealed to Mrs. -Marlowe, and Adela went alone into her cottage. Sad and solitary, as -Mrs. Marlowe said in her letter to Oscar, did Adela find her in her -parlor; but it was a sadness which vanished the moment she beheld her. -With all the tenderness of a mother she clasped Adela to her breast, -and, in the sudden transports of joy and surprise, for many minutes did -not notice her dress; but when she did observe it, what powerful -emotions did it excite in her breast! Adela, scarcely less agitated than -she was, could not for many minutes relate all that had happened. At -last the idea of the state in which she had left Howel made her endeavor -to compose herself. Mrs. Marlowe wept while she related her sufferings; -but when she mentioned Howel, surprise suspended her tears--a surprise, -increased when she began the story; but when she came to that part where -she herself had betrayed such emotion while listening to Howel, Mrs. -Marlowe started and turned pale. "Your feelings are similar to mine," -said Adela; "at this period I became agitated. Yes," she continued, "it -was at this period I laid my trembling hand on his, and exclaimed, she -lives!" "Merciful Heaven!" cried Mrs. Marlowe, "what do you mean?" "Oh, -let me now," cried Adela, clasping her arms round her, "repeat to you -the same expression. He lives! that husband, so beloved and regretted, -lives!" "Oh, bring him to me!" said Mrs. Marlowe, in a faint voice; "let -me behold him while I have reason myself to enjoy the blessing." Adela -flew from the room. Howel was near the door. He approached, he entered -the room, he tottered forward, and in one moment was at the feet and in -the arms of his wife, who, transfixed to the chair, could only open her -arms to receive him. The mingled pain and pleasure of such a reunion, -cannot be described. Both, with tears of grateful transport, blessed the -Power which had given such comfort to their closing days. "But, my -children," exclaimed Mrs. Marlowe, suddenly, "ah! when shall I behold my -children? Why did not they accompany you? Ah! did they deem me then -unworthy of bestowing a mother's blessing?" Howel trembled and turned -pale. "I see," said Mrs. Marlowe, interpreting his emotion, "I am a -wife, but not a mother." Howel, recovering his fortitude, took her hand -and pressed it to his bosom. "Yes," he replied, "you are a mother; one -dear, one amiable child remains, Heaven be praised!" He paused, and a -tear fell to the memory of Juliana. "But Heaven," he resumed, "has taken -the other to its eternal rest. Inquire not concerning her at present, I -entreat; soon will I conduct you to the grave; there will I relate her -fate, and together will we mourn it. Then shall the tears that never yet -bedewed her grave, the precious tears of a mother, embalm her sacred -dust." Mrs. Marlowe wept, but she complied with her husband's request. -She inquired, in a broken voice, about her son, and the knowledge of his -happiness gradually cheered her mind. - -Adela consented to stay that night in the cottage; but the next day she -determined on going to Woodlawn. To think she should again wander -through it, again linger in the walks she had trodden with those she -loved, gave to her mind a melancholy pleasure. The next morning, -attended by her friend, she repaired to it, and was inexpressibly -affected by reviewing scenes endeared by the tender remembrance of -happier hours. The house, from its closed windows, appeared quite -neglected and melancholy, as if pleasure had forsaken it with the poor -departed general. Standard, his favorite horse, grazed in the lawn; and -beside him, as if a secret sympathy endeared them to each other, stood -the dog that had always attended the general in his walks. It instantly -recollected Adela, and running to her licked her hand, and evinced the -utmost joy. She patted him on the head, while her tears burst forth at -the idea of him who had been his master. The transports of the old -domestics, particularly of the gray-headed butler, at her unexpected -return, increased her tears. But when she entered the parlor, in which -her father usually sat, she was quite overcome, and motioning with her -hand for her friends not to mind her, she retired to the garden. There -was a little romantic root-house at the termination of it, where she and -Oscar had passed many happy hours together. Thither she repaired, and -his idea, thus revived in her mind, did not lessen its dejection. While -she sat within it indulging her sorrow, her eye caught some lines -inscribed on one of its windows. She hastily arose, and examining them, -instantly recollected the hand of Oscar. They were as follows:-- - - "Adieu, sweet girl, a last adieu! - We part to meet no more; - Adieu to peace, to hope, to you, - And to my native shore. - - "If fortune had propitious smiled, - My love had made me blest; - But she, like me, is Sorrow's child, - By sadness dire opprest. - - "I go to India's sultry clime, - Oh! never to return; - Beneath some lone embowering lime - Will be thy soldier's urn. - - "No kindred spirit there shall weep, - Or, pensive musing stray; - My image thou alone wilt keep, - And Grief's soft tribute pay." - -Oscar, previous to his going to England, with the expectation of being -sent to the West Indies, had paid a secret visit to, Woodlawn, to review -and bid adieu to every well-known and beloved spot, and had, one morning -at early day, inscribed these lines on a window in the root-house, -prompted by a tender melancholy he could not resist. - -"His love is then unfortunate," said Adela, pensively, leaning her head -upon her hand. "Oh, Oscar! how sad a similtude is there between your -fate and mine!" She returned to the house. Mr. and Mrs. Howel (for so we -shall in future call Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe, that name being only assumed -while her husband had a prospect of inheriting his uncle's fortune) had -consented to stay some time with her. Oscar's lines ran in her head the -whole day; and in the evening she again stole out to read them. - -She had been absent some time, when Mrs. Howel came out to her. Adela -blushed and started at being caught at the window. "'Tis a long time, my -dear Adela," said Mrs. Howel, "since we had a ramble in this delightful -garden together. Indulge me in taking one, and let us talk of past -times." "Past times," cried Adela, with a faint smile, "are not always -the pleasantest to talk about." "There are some, at least one friend," -cried Mrs. Howel, "whom you have not yet inquired after." Adela's heart -suddenly palpitated; she guessed who that one friend was. "Oscar -Fitzalan, surely," continued Mrs. Howel, "merits an inquiry. I have good -news to tell you of him; therefore, without chiding you for any seeming -neglect, I will reveal it." She accordingly related his late reverse of -situation. Adela heard her with deep attention. "Since fortune, then, is -propitious at last," cried she, "his love will no longer be -unfortunate." "'Tis time, indeed," said Mrs. Howel, looking at her with -pleasure, "that love, so pure, so constant as his, should be rewarded. -Oh! Adela," she continued, suddenly taking her hand, "sweet daughter of -my care, how great is my happiness at this moment, to think of that -about to be your portion." "My happiness!" exclaimed Adela in a dejected -voice. "Yes," replied Mrs. Howel, "in your union with a man every way -worthy of possessing you; a man who, from the first moment he beheld -you, has never ceased to love--in short, with Oscar Fitzalan himself." -"Impossible!" cried Adela, trembling with emotion as she spoke. "Did -not--how humiliating is the remembrance--did not Oscar Fitzalan reject -me, when the too generous and romantic spirit of my beloved father -offered my hand to his acceptance?" "For once," said Mrs. Howel, "I must -disturb the sacred ashes of the dead to prevent the innocent from being -unhappy. Oh! Adela, you were cruelly deceived: and the moment which gave -you to Belgrave, rendered Oscar the most wretched of mankind. My heart -was the repository of all his griefs, and how many are the bitter tears -I have shed over them! Be composed," continued she, seeing Adela's -agitation, "and a few moments will explain everything to you." She then -led her back to the root-house, and in a most explicit manner informed -her of Belgrave's treachery. Adela burst into tears as she concluded. -She wept on Mrs. Howel's bosom, and acknowledged she had removed a -weight of uneasiness from her mind. "Poor Oscar!" she continued, "how -much would the knowledge of his misery have aggravated mine!" "He acted -nobly," said Mrs. Howel, "in concealing it; and amply will he be -rewarded for such conduct." She then proceeded to inform Adela that she -soon expected a visit from him. There was something in her look and -manner which instantly excited the suspicion of Adela, who, blushing, -starting, trembling, exclaimed--"He is already come!" Mrs. Howel smiled, -and a tear fell from her upon the soft hand of Adela. "He is already -come," she repeated, "and he waits, oh! how impatiently, to behold his -Adela." - -We may believe his patience was not put to a much longer test. But when -Adela in reality beheld him as she entered the parlor where she had left -Mr. Howel, and where he waited for the reappearance of her friend, she -sunk beneath her emotion, upon that faithful bosom which had so long -suffered the most excruciating pangs on her account; and it was many -minutes ere she was sensible of the soft voice of Oscar. Oh! who shall -paint his transports, after all his sufferings, to be thus rewarded! But -in the midst of his happiness, the idea of the poor general, who had so -generously planned it, struck upon his heart with a pang of sorrow. "Oh, -my Adela!" he cried, clasping her to his heart, as if doubly endeared by -the remembrance, "is Oscar at last permitted to pour forth the fulness -of his soul before you, to reveal its tenderness, to indulge the hope of -calling you his--a hope which affords the delightful prospect of being -able to contribute to your felicity?" "Yes, most generous of friends!" -he exclaimed, raising his eyes to a picture of the general, "I will -endeavor to evince my gratitude to you by my conduct to your child." Oh! -how did the tear he shed to the memory of her father interest the heart -of Adela! her own fell with it, and she felt that the presence of that -being to whom they were consecrated was alone wanting to complete their -happiness. It was long ere she was sufficiently composed to inquire the -reason of Oscar's sudden appearance, and still longer ere he could -inform her. Mrs. Marlowe's melancholy letter, he at last said, had -brought him over, with the hope of being able to cheer her solitude, and -also, he acknowledged, his own dejection, by mutual sympathy; from her -cottage he had been directed to Woodlawn, and at Woodlawn received -particulars, not only of her happiness, but his own. Adela, who had -never yet deviated from propriety, would not now infringe it, and -resolutely determined, till the expiration of her mourning, not to -bestow her hand on Oscar; but permitted him to hope, that in the -intervening space, most of his time might be devoted to her. It was -necessary, however, to sanction that hope by having proper society. She -could not flatter herself with much longer retaining Mr. and Mrs. Howel, -as the latter particularly was impatient to behold her son. Oscar -therefore requested, and obtained permission from Adela, to write in her -name to Lord and Lady Cherbury, and entreat their company at Woodlawn, -promising she would then accompany them to Castle Carberry, and from -thence to Dunreath Abbey, a tour which, previous to Oscar's leaving -Wales, had been agreed on. The invitation was accepted, and in a few -days Oscar beheld the two beings most valued by him in the world -introduced to each other. Tears of rapture started to his eyes, as he -saw his Adela folded to the bosom of his lovely sister, who called her -the sweet restorer of her brother's happiness! Lord Cherbury was already -acquainted with her, and, next to his Amanda, considered her the -loveliest of human beings; and Lady Martha and Lady Araminta, who were -also invited to Woodlawn, regarded her in the same light. A few days -after their arrival Mrs. Howel prepared for her departure. Adela, who -considered her as a second mother, could not behold those preparations -without tears of real regret. "Oh, my Adela!" she exclaimed, "these -tears flatter, yet distress me. I am pleased to think the child of my -care regards me with such affection, but I am hurt to think she should -consider my loss such an affliction. Oh, my child! may the endearments -of the friends who surround you steal from you all painful remembrances! -nature calls me from you; I sigh to behold my child; I sigh," she -continued, with eyes suffused in tears, "to behold the precious earth -which holds another." - -About three weeks after her departure the whole party proceeded to -Castle Carberry. Amanda could not re-enter it without emotions of the -most painful nature. She recollected the moment in which she had quitted -it, oppressed with sorrow and sickness, and to attend the closing period -of a father's life. She wept, sighed to think, that the happiness he had -prayed for he could not behold. Lord Cherbury saw her emotions, and -soothed them with the softest tenderness; it was due to that tenderness -to conquer her dejection, and in future the remembrance of her father -was only attended with a pleasing melancholy. She did not delay visiting -the convent. The good natured nuns crowded around her, and cried, -laughed, and wished her joy, almost in the same moment; particularly -Sister Mary. The prioress's pleasure was of a less violent, but more -affecting nature. An almost constant scene of gayety was kept up at the -Castle, a gayety, however, which did not prevent Lord and Lady Cherbury -from inspecting into the situation of their poor tenants, whose wants -they relieved, whose grievances they redressed, and whose hearts they -cheered, by a promise of spending some months in every year at the -Castle. After continuing at it six weeks, they crossed over to -Port-Patrick, and from thence proceeded to Dunreath Abbey, which had -been completely repaired, and furnished in a style equally modern and -elegant; and here it was determined they should remain till the -solemnization of Lord Dunreath's nuptials. The time which intervened -till the period appointed for them was agreeably diversified by parties -amongst the neighboring families, and excursions about the country; but -no hours were happier than those which the inhabitants of the Abbey -passed when free from company, so truly were they united to each other -by affection. Lord Dunreath, soon after his return, waited upon the -Marquis of Roslin, and, by his sister's desire, signified to him that if -a visit from her would be agreeable to the marquis she would pay it. -This, however, was declined; and about the same period Lady Dunreath -died. Mrs. Bruce, whom from long habit she was attached to, then retired -to another part of Scotland, ashamed to remain where her conduct was -known--a conduct which deeply affected her niece, whom Amanda visited -immediately after her arrival, and found settled in a neat house near -the town she had lodged in. She received Lady Cherbury with every -demonstration of real pleasure, and both she and her little girls spent -some time with her at the Abbey. - -The happy period for completing the felicity of Oscar at last arrived. -In the chapel where his parents were united, he received from the hand -of Lord Cherbury the lovely object of his long-tried affections. The -ceremony was only witnessed by his own particular friends; but at dinner -all the neighboring families were assembled, and the tenants were -entertained in the great hall, where dancing commenced at an early and -was continued till a late hour. - -And now having (to use the words of Adam) brought our story to the sum -of earthly bliss, we shall conclude, first giving a brief account of the -characters connected with it. - -Lady Greystock, as one of the most distinguished, we shall first -mention. After the death of Lady Euphrasia, she found her company no -longer desired at the marquis's, and accordingly repaired to Bath. Here -she had not been long ere she became acquainted with a set of female -Puritans, who soon wrought a total change (I will not say a reformation) -in her ladyship's sentiments; and to give a convincing proof of this -change, she was prevailed on to give her hand to one of their spruce -young preachers, who shortly taught her, what indeed she had long wanted -to learn, the doctrine of repentance; for most sincerely did she repent -putting herself into his power. Vexation, disappointment, and grief, -brought on a lingering illness, from which she never recovered. When -convinced she was dying, she sent for Rushbrook, and made a full -confession of her treachery and injustice to him, in consequence of -which he took immediate possession of his uncle's fortune; and thus, in -the evening of his life, enjoyed a full recompense for the trials of its -early period. Lady Greystock died with some degree of satisfaction at -the idea of disappointing her husband of the fortune she was convinced -he had married her for. - -Mrs. Howel, after visiting her son, retired to her husband's cottage, -where their days glide on in a kind of pleasing melancholy. The -happiness of that son, and his Emily, is as perfect as happiness can be -in this sublunary state. - -Sir Charles Bingley, after studiously avoiding Lord and Lady Cherbury -for above two years, at last, by chance, was thrown in their way, and -then had the pleasure of finding he was not so agitated by the sight of -Amanda as he had dreaded. He did not refuse the invitations of Lord -Cherbury. The domestic happiness he saw him enjoying, rendered his own -unconnected and wandering life more unpleasant than ever to him. Lady -Araminta Dormer was almost constantly in his company. No longer -fascinated by Amanda, he could now see and admire her perfections. He -soon made known his admiration. The declaration was not ungraciously -received, and he offered his hand, and was accepted--an acceptance which -put him in possession of happiness fully equal to Lord Cherbury's. - -The Marquis and Marchioness of Roslin pass their days in gloomy -retirement, regretful of the past and hopeless of the future. Freelove -flutters about every public place, boasts of having carried off a Scotch -heiress, and thinks, from that circumstance, he may now lay siege to any -female heart with a certainty of being successful. - -To return once more to the sweet descendants of the Dunreath family. The -goodness of heart, the simplicity of manners which ever distinguished -them, they still retain. From having been children of sorrow themselves, -they feel for all who come under that denomination, and their charity is -at once bestowed as a tribute from gratitude to Heaven, and from -humanity to want; from gratitude to that Being who watched their -unsheltered youth, who guarded them through innumerable perils, who -placed them on the summit of prosperity, from whence, by dispensing his -gifts around, they trust to be translated to a still greater height of -happiness. Lady Dunreath's wish is fulfilled. To use her words, their -past sorrows are only remembered to teach them pity for the woes of -others. Their virtues have added to the renown of their ancestors, and -entailed peace upon their own souls. Their children, by all connected -with them, are considered as blessings. Gratitude has already -consecrated their names, and their example inspires others with -emulation to pursue their courses. - - -THE END - - * * * * * - -TRANSCRIBER NOTES: - - Printing errors have been corrected as noted below. Punctuation - errors have been corrected without note. - - Page 47: persued => perused (to her great surprise, perused the - following lines). - - Page 67: assurdly => assuredly ("Most assuredly, my lord,"). - - Page 83: iradiated => irradiated (it irradiated the gloomy - morning of care). - - Page 112: siezed => seized (an universal tremor seized her). - - Page 127: doated => doted (on whom he doted with all the - enthusiasm of tenderness.) - - Page 147: Parnel => Parnell in quote reference at beginning of - chapter. - - Page 163: pelieved => believed (They were all, for her part, she - believed, alike). - - Page 195: window => widow (A good jointure devolved to his - widow,) - - Page 204: desirious => desirous (which she was desirous of - concealing) - - Page 209: malignaney => malignancy (and Lady Euphrasia regarded - her with peculiar malignancy) - - Page 219: predeilction => predilection (without any longer - appearing anxious to conceal his predilection for her.) - - Page 219: suid => said ("Ah, you young people," said Lady - Greystock) - - Page 222: suspicionof => suspicion of (and confusion of her face - gave at least a suspicion of the language) - - Page 253: re-remove => remove (in hopes the amusement would - remove her dejection.) - - Page 263: Fitzallan => Fitzalan ("I do declare, Miss Fitzalan,") - - Page 274: not => nor (Neither the world nor I am so credulous as - you imagine.) - - Page 278: Mortitimer => Mortimer ("You pitied her, then," said - Lord Mortimer). - - Page 295: acknowledgements => acknowledgments (while her soft - voice uttered her grateful acknowledgments). - - Page 298: rerevive => revive (and called upon her to revive, - that heart whispered me it was cruelty to wish she should) - - Page 310: flutered => fluttered (and the birds, as they - fluttered from spray to spray). - - Page 327: far => for (she related the incident, and took much - merit to herself for acting so prudently.) - - Page 338: behoves => behooves (it behooves me to exert the - utmost circumspection in my conduct). - - Page 341: tittle => title (surely I may be esteemed as a friend, - and with such a title I will be contented). - - Page 341: chid => chide (The prioress chide her in a laughing - manner for her curiosity). - - Page 357: tête-à-tête => tete-à-tete for consistency (to be - indulged in a _tete-à-tete_ in Lady Martha's dressing-room.) - - Page 358: everwhelm => overwhelm (thrown back upon her, perhaps, - to overwhelm me also by its weight.) - - Page 362: he => be (because I know I should not be pardoned by a - certain person). - - Page 378: perfidous => perfidious (the creuel, perfidious - Cherbury). - - Page 381: required => require (a place of secrecy and security - as she should require.) - - Page 387: thev => they (and may they never again meet with such - interruptions as they have received). - - Page 395: replyed => replied (She replied she would attend her - directly). - - Page 402: be => he (as if there was something on his mind he - wanted courage to say.) - - Page 404: assseveration => asseveration (She was well convinced - he would believe no asseveration of her innocence.) - - Page 415: stoped => stopped (She suddenly stopped before one.) - - Page 441: own => renown (May your virtues add to the renown of - your ancestors). - - Page 467: biassed => biased (it was probable she might be - biased.) - - Page 497: as => at (Amanda soon found herself at the end of her - little journey.) - - Page 513: ... he has languished many months." "Oh, my brother!" - exclaimed Amanda, while for tears gushed from her. => ... he has - languished for many months." "Oh, my brother!" exclaimed Amanda, - while tears gushed from her. - - Page 546: delighful => delightful (no delightful idea of being - able to make reparation for my injustice). - - Page 557: Morimer => Mortimer (The feelings of Lord Mortimer - were soothed). - - Page 557: to to => to (He desired Oscar to make no secret of his - now being heir). - - Page 558: not = nor (Neither grief nor business could banish it - a moment). - - Page 558: augumentation => augmentation (Is it not an - augmentation of my misery?) - - Page 569: toubt => doubt (and what trials they had undergone, no - doubt, to prove their constancy). - - Page 574: behold => beheld (when suddenly she beheld a form - rising from a neighboring grave.) - - Page 583: proceeeded => proceeded (they crossed over to - Port-Patrick, and from thence proceeded to Dunreath Abbey). - - Page 584: aud => and (rendered his own unconnected and wandering - life more unpleasant than ever to him.) - - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Children of the Abbey, by Regina Maria Roche - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY *** - -***** This file should be named 60174-0.txt or 60174-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/1/7/60174/ - -Produced by David T. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Children of the Abbey - A Tale - -Author: Regina Maria Roche - -Release Date: August 26, 2019 [EBook #60174] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY *** - - - - -Produced by David T. Jones, Pat McCoy & the online -Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 511px;"> -<img src="images/illo_001.png" width="511" height="650" alt="" /> -<span class="caption">“But, gracious Heavens! Who can describe the emotions of her soul, when the -original of the picture so fondly sketched, so hastily obliterated, met her eye.” <a href="#Page_532">Page 532.</a></span> -</div> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - -<h1><small>THE</small><br /> -<br /> -CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY.<br /> -<br /> -<small>A TALE.</small><br /> -<br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -REGINA MARIA ROCHE.</h1> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i10">A matchless pair;</span> -<span class="i0">With equal virtue formed, and equal grace,</span> -<span class="i0">The same, distinguished by their sex alone:</span> -<span class="i0">Hers the mild lustre of the blooming morn,</span> -<span class="i0">And his the radiance of the risen day.—<span class="smcap">Thomson.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="p6">NEW YORK:<br /> -ALBERT COGSWELL, PUBLISHER,<br /> -<span class="smcap">No. 24 Bond Street</span>.<br /> -1880</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - -<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> - -<p class="center"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LIV">CHAPTER LIV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LV">CHAPTER LV.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LVI">CHAPTER LVI.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LVII">CHAPTER LVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_LVIII">CHAPTER LVIII.</a></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2>THE<br /> -<br /> -CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY.</h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Yellow sheafs from rich Ceres the cottage had crowned,</span> -<span class="i1">Green rustles were strewed on the floor;</span> -<span class="i0">The casements sweet woodbine crept wantonly round,</span> -<span class="i1">And decked the sod seats at the door.”—<span class="smcap">Cunningham.</span></span> -</div></div> - - -<p>Hail, sweet asylum of my infancy! Content and innocence -reside beneath your humble roof, and charity unboastful of the -good it renders. Hail, ye venerable trees! my happiest hours -of childish gayety were passed beneath your shelter—then, careless -as the birds that sung upon your boughs, I laughed the -hours away, nor knew of evil.</p> - -<p>Here surely I shall be guarded from duplicity; and if not -happy, at least in some degree tranquil. Here unmolested may -I wait, till the rude storm of sorrow is overblown, and my -father’ s arms are again expanded to receive me.</p> - -<p>Such were the words of Amanda, as the chaise (which she -had hired at a neighboring village on quitting the mail) turned -down a little verdant lane, almost darkened by old trees, whose -interwoven branches allowed her scarcely a glimpse of her -nurse’ s cottage, till she had reached the door.</p> - -<p>A number of tender recollections rushing upon her mind, rendered -her almost unable to alight; but the nurse and her -husband, who had been impatiently watching for the arrival of -their fondling, assisted her, and the former, obeying the dictates -of nature and affection, half stifled her with caresses; the latter -respectfully kissed her hand, and dropped a tear of unutterable -joy upon it. Lort, he said, he was surprised, to be sure, at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> -alteration a few years had made in her person—why, it seemed -to him as if it was only the other day since he had carried her -about in his arms, quite a little fairy. Then he begged to -know how his tear old captain was, and Mr. Oscar—and -whether the latter was not grown a very fine youth. Amanda, -smiling through her tears, endeavored to answer his inquiries; -but she was so much affected by her feelings, as to be scarcely -able to speak; and when, by her desire, he went out to discharge -the chaise, and assist the young man (who had travelled with -her from London) to bring in her luggage, her head sunk upon -her nurse’ s bosom, whose arms encircled her waist. “My dear -faithful nurse,” she sobbed, “your poor child is again returned -to seek an asylum from you.” “And she is heartily welcome,” -replied the good creature, crying herself, “and I have taken -care to have everything so nice, and so tidy, and so comfortable, -that I warrant you the greatest laty in the land need not -disdain your apartments; and here are two little girls, as well -as myself, that will always be ready to attend, serve and obey -you. This is Ellen, your own foster-sister; and this is Betsey, -the little thing I had in the cradle when you went away—and I -have besides, though I say it myself that should not say it, two -as fine lads as you could wish to see; they are now at work at -a farmer’s hard by; but they will be here presently. Thank -Cot, we are all happy, though obliged to earn our own bread; -but ’tis sweeter for that reason, since labor gives us health to -enjoy it, and contentment blesses us all.” Amanda affectionately -embraced the two girls, who were the pictures of health -and cheerfulness, and was then conducted into a little parlor, -which, with a small bedchamber adjoining it, was appropriated -to her use. The neatness of the room was truly pleasing; the -floor was nicely sanded; the hearth was dressed with “flowers -and fennel gay;” and the chimney-piece adorned with a range -of broken teacups, “wisely kept for show;” a clock ticked -behind the door; and an ebony cupboard displayed a profusion -of the showiest ware the country could produce. And now the -nurse, on “hospitable thought intent,” hurried from Amanda -to prepare her dinner. The chicken, as she said herself, was -ready to pop down in a minute; Ellen tied the asparagus; and -Betsey laid the cloth; Edwin drew his best cider, and, having -brought it in himself, retired to entertain his guest in the -kitchen (Amanda’s travelling companion), before whom he had -already set some of his most substantial fare.</p> - -<p>Dinner, in the opinion of Amanda, was served in a moment; -but her heart was too full to eat, though pressed to do so with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> -the utmost tenderness, a tenderness which, in truth, was the -means of overcoming her.</p> - -<p>When insulted by malice, or oppressed by cruelty, the heart -can assume a stern fortitude foreign to its nature; but this seeming -apathy vanishes at the voice of kindness, as the rigid frost -of winter melts before the gentle influence of the sun, and tears, -gushing tears of gratitude and sensibility, express its yielding -feelings. Sacred are such tears; they flow from the sweet -source of social affection: the good alone can shed them.</p> - -<p>Her nurse’s sons soon returned from their labor; two fine -nut-brown youths. They had been the companions of her -infant sports, and she spoke to them with the most engaging -affability.</p> - -<p>Domestic bliss and rural felicity Amanda had always been -accustomed to, till within a short period; her attachment to -them was still as strong as ever, and had her father been with -her, she would have been happy.</p> - -<p>It was now about the middle of June, and the whole country -was glowing with luxuriant beauty. The cottage was in reality -a comfortable, commodious farm-house; it was situated in -North Wales, and the romantic scenery surrounding it was -highly pleasing to a disposition like Amanda’s, which delighted -equally in the sublime and beautiful. The front of the cottage -was almost covered with woodbine, intermingled with vines; -and the lane already mentioned formed a shady avenue up to the -very door; one side overlooked a deep valley, winding amongst -hills clad in the liveliest verdure; a clear stream running -through it turned a mill in its course, and afforded a salutary -coolness to the herds which ruminated on its banks; the other -side commanded a view of rich pastures, terminated by a thick -grove, whose natural vistas gave a view of cultivated farms, a -small irregular village, the spire of its church, and a fine old -castle, whose stately turrets rose above the trees surrounding -them.</p> - -<p>The farm-yard, at the back of the cottage, was stocked with -poultry and all the implements of rural industry; the garden -was divided from it by a rude paling, interwoven with honeysuckles -and wild roses; the part appropriated for vegetables -divided from the part sacred to Flora by rows of fruit-trees; a -craggy precipice hung over it, covered with purple and yellow -flowers, thyme, and other odoriferous herbs, which afforded -browsage to three or four goats that skipped about in playful -gambols; a silver stream trickled down the precipice, and -winding round a plantation of shrubs, fell with a gentle murmur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> -into the valley. Beneath a projecting fragment of the rock a -natural recess was formed, thickly lined with moss, and planted -round with a succession of beautiful flowers.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Here, scattered wild, the lily of the vale</span> -<span class="i0">Its balmy essence breathes; here cowslips hang</span> -<span class="i0">The dewy head, and purple violets lurk—</span> -<span class="i0">With all the lowly children of the shade.”—<span class="smcap">Thomson</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Of those scenes Amanda had but an imperfect recollection; -such a faint idea as we retain of a confused but agreeable dream, -which, though we cannot explain, leaves a pleasing impression -behind.</p> - -<p>Peculiar circumstances had driven her from the shelter of a -parent’s arms, to seek security in retirement at this abode of -simplicity and peace. Here the perturbation of fear subsided; -but the soft melancholy of her soul at times was heightened, -when she reflected, that in this very place an unfortunate -mother had expired almost at the moment of giving her birth.</p> - -<p>Amanda was now about nineteen; a description of her face -and person would not do her justice, as it never could convey a -full idea of the ineffable sweetness and sensibility of the former, -or the striking elegance and beautiful proportion of the latter.</p> - -<p>Sorrow had faded her vivid bloom; for the distresses of her -father weighed heavy on her heart, and the blossom drooped -with the tree which supported it. Her agonized parent witnessing -this sudden change, sent her into Wales, as much for health -as for security; she was ordered goat’s whey and gentle exercise; -but she firmly believed that consolation on her father’s -account could alone effect a cure.</p> - -<p>Though the rose upon her cheek was pale, and the lustre of -her eyes was fled, she was from those circumstances (if less -dazzling to the eye) more affecting to the heart. Cold and unfeeling -indeed must that one have been, which could see -her unmoved; for hers was that interesting face and figure -which had power to fix the wandering eye and change the gaze -of admiration into the throb of sensibility: nor was her mind -inferior to the form that enshrined it.</p> - -<p>She now exerted her spirits in gratitude to her humble but -benevolent friends. Her arrival had occasioned a little festival -at the cottage: the tea things, which were kept more for show -than use in the ebony cupboard, were now taken out and carried -by her desire to the recess in the garden; whither Mrs. Edwin -followed the family with a hot cake, Amanda thought large -enough to serve half the principality.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>The scene was delightful, and well calculated to banish all -sadness but despair; Amanda was therefore cheered; for she -was too much the child of piety ever to have felt its baneful -influence. In the midst of her troubles she still looked up with -confidence to that Power who has promised never to forsake -the righteous.</p> - -<p>The harmless jest, the jocund laugh went round, and -Amanda enjoyed the innocent gayety; for a benevolent mind -will ever derive pleasure from the happiness of others. The -declining sun now gave softer beauties to the extensive scenery; -the lowing of the cattle was faintly echoed by the neighboring -hills; the cheerful carol of the peasant floated on the evening -gale, that stole perfumes from the beds of flowers and wafted -them around; the busy bees had now completed the delicious -labor of the day, and with incessant hummings sought their -various hives, while—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i8">“Every copse</span> -<span class="i0">Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush</span> -<span class="i0">Were prodigal of harmony.”—<span class="smcap">Thomson</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>To complete the concert, a blind harper, who supported -himself by summer rambles through the country, strolled into -the garden; and after a plentiful repast of bread and cheese, -and nut-brown ale, began playing.</p> - -<p>The venerable appearance of the musician, the simple -melody of his harp, recalled to Amanda’s recollection the tales -of other times, in which she had so often delighted: it sent her -soul back to the ages of old, to the days of other years, when -bards rehearsed the exploits of heroes, and sung the praises of -the dead. “While the ghosts of those they sung, came in their -rustling winds, and were seen to bend with joy towards the -sound of their praise.” To proceed, in the beautiful language -of Ossian, “The sound was mournful and low, like the song of -the tomb;” such as Fingal heard, when the crowded sighs of -his bosom rose; and, “some of my heroes are low,” said the -gray-haired King of Morven: “I hear the sound of death on -the harp. Ossian, touch the trembling string. Bid the sorrow -rise, that their spirits may fly with joy to Morven’s woody hills. -He touched the harp before the king: the sound was mournful -and low. Bend forwards from your clouds,” he said, “ghosts -of my fathers, bend. Lay by the red terror of your course. -Receive the falling chief; whether he comes from a distant -land, or rises from the rolling sea, let his robe of mist be near; -his spear, that is formed of a cloud; place an half-extinguished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> -meteor by his side, in the form of the hero’s sword. And, oh! -let his countenance be lovely, that his friends may delight in -his presence. Bend from your clouds,” he said, “ghosts of my -fathers, bend.”</p> - -<p>The sweet enthusiasm which arose in Amanda’s mind, from -her present situation, her careful nurse soon put an end to, by -reminding her of the heavy dew then falling. Amanda could -have stayed for hours in the garden; but resigning her inclination -to her nurse’s, she immediately accompanied her into -the house. She soon felt inclined to retire to rest; and, after -a slight supper of strawberries and cream (which was all they -could prevail on her to touch), she withdrew to her chamber, -attended by the nurse and her two daughters, who all thought -their services requisite; and it was not without much difficulty -Amanda persuaded them to the contrary.</p> - -<p>Left to solitude, a tender awe stole upon the mind of -Amanda, when she reflected that in this very room her mother -had expired. The recollection of her sufferings—the sorrows -her father and self had experienced since the period of her -death—the distresses they still felt and might yet go through—all -raised a sudden agony in her soul, and tears burst forth. -She went to the bed, and knelt beside it; “Oh! my mother,” -she cried, “if thy departed spirit be permitted to look down -upon this world, hear and regard the supplications of thy child, -for thy protection amidst the snares which may be spread for -her. Yet,” continued she, after a pause, “that Being, who has -taken thee to himself, will, if I continue innocent, extend his -guardian care: to Him, therefore, to Him be raised the fervent -prayer for rendering abortive every scheme of treachery.”</p> - -<p>She prayed with all the fervency of devotion; her wandering -thoughts were all restrained, and her passions gradually -subsided into a calm.</p> - -<p>Warmed by a pure and ardent piety, that sacred power -which comes with healing on its wings to the afflicted children -of humanity, she felt a placid hope spring in her heart, that -whispered to it, all would yet be well.</p> - -<p>She arose tranquil and animated. The inhabitants of the -cottage had retired to repose; and she heard no sound save -the ticking of the clock from the outside room. She went to -the window, and raising the white calico curtain, looked down -the valley; it was illumined by the beams of the moon, which -tipped the trees with a shadowy silver, and threw a line of -radiance on the clear rivulet. All was still, as if creation slept -upon the bosom of serenity. Here, while contemplating the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> -scene, a sudden flutter at the window startled her; and she -saw in a moment after a bird flit across, and perch upon a tree -whose boughs shaded the casement; a soft serenade was -immediately begun by the sweet and plaintive bird of night.</p> - -<p>Amanda at length dropped the curtain, and sought repose; -it soon blessed her eyelids, and shed a sweet oblivion over all -her cares.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i4">“Sleep on, sweet innocent!</span> -<span class="i0">And when a soul is found sincerely so,</span> -<span class="i0">A thousand liveried angels lacquey it,</span> -<span class="i0">Driving far off all thought of harm or sin.”—<span class="smcap">Milton</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Canst thou bear cold and hunger? Can these limbs,</span> -<span class="i0">Framed for the tender offices of love,</span> -<span class="i0">Endure the bitter gripes of smarting poverty?</span> -<span class="i0">When in a bed of straw we shrink together,</span> -<span class="i0">And the bleak winds shall whistle round our heads,</span> -<span class="i0">Wilt thou talk to me thus,</span> -<span class="i0">Thus hush my cares, and shelter me with love?”—<span class="smcap">Otway</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Fitzalan, the father of Amanda, was the descendant of an -ancient Irish family, which had, however, unfortunately attained -the summit of its prosperity long before his entrance into life; -so that little more than a name, once dignified by illustrious -actions, was left to its posterity. The parents of Fitzalan were -supported by an employment under government, which enabled -them to save a small sum for their son and only child, who at -an early period became its sole master, by their dying within a -short period of each other. As soon as he had in some degree -recovered the shock of such calamities, he laid out his little -pittance in the purchase of a commission, as a profession best -suiting his inclinations and finances.</p> - -<p>The war between America and France had then just commenced; -and Fitzalan’s regiment was amongst the first forces -sent to the aid of the former. The scenes of war, though dreadfully -affecting to a soul of exquisite sensibility, such as he -possessed, had not power to damp the ardor of his spirit; for, -with the name, he inherited the hardy resolution of his progenitors.</p> - -<p>He had once the good fortune to save the life of a British -soldier; he was one of a small party, who, by the treachery -of their guides, were suddenly surprised in a wood, through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> -which they were obliged to pass to join another detachment of -the army. Their only way in this alarming exigence was to -retreat to the fort from whence they had but lately issued: -encompassed as they were by the enemy, this was not achieved -without the greatest difficulty. Just as they had reached it, -Fitzalan saw far behind them, a poor soldier, who had been -wounded at the first onset, just overtaken by two Indians. -Yielding to the impulse of compassion in which all idea of self -was lost, Fitzalan hastily turned to his assistance, and flinging -himself between the pursued and the pursuers, he kept them at -bay till the poor creature had reached a place of safety. This -action, performed at the imminent hazard of his life, secured -him the lasting gratitude of the soldier, whose name was Edwin; -the same that now afforded an asylum to his daughter.</p> - -<p>Edwin had committed some juvenile indiscretions, which -highly incensed his parents; in despair at incurring their resentment, -he enlisted with a recruiting party in their neighborhood: -but, accustomed all his life to peace and plenty, he did -not by any means relish his new situation. His gratitude to -Fitzalan was unbounded; he considered him as the preserver -of his life; and, on the man’s being dismissed, who had hitherto -attended him as a servant, entreated he might be taken in his -place. This entreaty Fitzalan complied with; he was pleased -with Edwin’s manner; and, having heard the little history of -his misfortunes, promised, on their return to Europe, to intercede -with his friends for him.</p> - -<p>During his stay abroad, Fitzalan was promoted to a captain-lieutenancy; -his pay was his only support, which, of necessity, -checked the benevolence of a spirit “open as day to melting -charity.”</p> - -<p>On the regiment’s return to Europe, he obtained Edwin’s -discharge, who longed to re-enter upon his former mode of life. -He accompanied the penitent himself into Wales, where he was -received with the truest rapture.</p> - -<p>In grief for his loss, his parents had forgotten all resentment -for his errors, which, indeed, had never been very great: -they had lost their two remaining children during his absence, -and now received him as the sole comfort and hope of their -age.</p> - -<p>His youthful protector was blest with the warmest gratitude: -tears filled his fine eyes, as he beheld the pleasure of his -parents, and the contrition of the son; and he departed with -that heartfelt pleasure, which ever attends and rewards an action -of humanity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -He now accompanied his regiment into Scotland; they were -quartered at a fort in a remote part of that kingdom.</p> - -<p>Near the fort was a fine old abbey, belonging to the family -of Dunreath; the high hills which nearly encompassed it, were -almost all covered with trees, whose dark shades gave an appearance -of gloomy solitude to the building.</p> - -<p>The present possessor, the Earl of Dunreath, was now far -advanced in life; twice had he married, in expectation of a -male heir to his large estates, and twice he had been disappointed. -His first lady had expired immediately after the birth of a -daughter. She had taken under her protection a young female, -who, by unexpected vicissitudes in her family, was left destitute -of support. On the demise of her patroness, she retired from -the Abbey to the house of a kinswoman in its vicinity; the Earl -of Dunreath, accustomed to her society, felt his solitude doubly -augmented by her absence. He had ever followed the dictates -of inclination, and would not disobey them now: ere the term -of mourning was expired, he offered her his hand, and was -accepted.</p> - -<p>The fair orphan, now triumphant mistress of the Abbey, -found there was no longer occasion to check her natural propensities. -Her soul was vain, unfeeling, and ambitious; and -her sudden elevation broke down all the barriers which prudence -had hitherto opposed to her passions.</p> - -<p>She soon gained an absolute ascendancy over her lord—she -knew how to assume the smile of complacency, and the accent -of sensibility.</p> - -<p>Forgetful of the kindness of her late patroness, she treated -the infant she had left with the most cruel neglect; a neglect -which was, if possible, increased, on the birth of her own daughter, -as she could not bear that Augusta (instead of possessing the -whole) should only share the affection and estates of her father. -She contrived by degrees to alienate the former from the innocent -Malvina; and she trusted, she should find means to deprive -her of the latter.</p> - -<p>Terrified by violence, and depressed by severity, the child -looked dejected and unhappy; and this appearance, Lady -Dunreath made the Earl believe, proceeded from sulkiness and -natural ill-humor. Her own child, unrestrained in any wish -of her heart, was, from her playful gayety, a constant source -of amusement to the Earl; her mother had taken care to -instruct her in all the little endearments which, when united -with infantine sweetness, allure almost imperceptibly the affections.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> -Malvina, ere she knew the meaning of sorrow, thus became -its prey; but in spite of envy or ill treatment, she grew up with -all the graces of mind and form that had distinguished her -mother; her air was at once elegant and commanding; her -face replete with sweetness; and her fine eyes had a mixture -of sensibility and languor in them, which spoke to the feeling -soul.</p> - -<p>Augusta was also a fine figure; but unpossessed of the -winning graces of elegance and modesty which adorned her -sister, her form always appeared decorated with the most -studied art, and her large eyes had a confident assurance in -them, that seemed to expect and demand universal homage.</p> - -<p>The warriors of the fort were welcome visitants at the Abbey, -which Lady Dunreath contrived to render a scene of almost -constant gayety, by keeping up a continual intercourse with all -the adjacent families, and entertaining all the strangers who -came into its neighborhood.</p> - -<p>Lord Dunreath had long been a prey to infirmities, which -at this period generally confined him to his room; but though -his body was debilitated, his mind retained all its active powers.</p> - -<p>The first appearance of the officers at the Abbey was at a -ball given by Lady Dunreath, in consequence of their arrival -near it; the gothic apartments were decorated, and lighted up -with a splendor that at once displayed taste and magnificence; -the lights, the music, the brilliancy, and unusual gayety of the -company, all gave to the spirits of Malvina an agreeable flutter -they had never before experienced; and a brighter bloom than -usual stole over her lovely cheek.</p> - -<p>The young co-heiresses were extremely admired by the military -heroes. Malvina, as the eldest, opened the ball with the -colonel; her form had attracted the eyes of Fitzalan, and vainly -he attempted to withdraw them, till the lively conversation of -Augusta, who honored him with her hand, forced him to restrain -his glances, and pay her the sprightly attentions so generally -expected—when he came to turn Malvina, he involuntarily -detained her hand for a moment: she blushed, and the timid -beam that stole from her half-averted eyes, agitated his whole -soul.</p> - -<p>Partners were changed in the course of the evening, and -he seized the first opportunity that offered for engaging her; -the softness of her voice, the simplicity yet elegance of her -language, now captivated his heart, as much as her form had -charmed his eyes.</p> - -<p>Never had he before seen an object he thought half so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> -lovely or engaging; with her he could not support that lively -strain of conversation he had done with her sister. Where the -heart is much interested, it will not admit of trifling.</p> - -<p>Fitzalan was now in the meridian of manhood; his stature -was above the common size, and elegance and dignity were -conspicuous in it; his features were regularly handsome, and -the fairness of his forehead proved what his complexion had -been, till change of climate and hardship had embrowned it; -the expression of his countenance was somewhat plaintive: his -eyes had a sweetness in them that spoke a soul of the tenderest -feelings; and the smile that played around his mouth, would -have adorned a face of female beauty.</p> - -<p>When the dance with Lady Malvina was over, Lady Augusta -took care for the remainder of the evening to engross all his -attention. She thought him by far the handsomest man in the -room, and gave him no opportunity of avoiding her; gallantry -obliged him to return her assiduities, and he was by his brother -officers set down in the list of her adorers. This mistake he -encouraged: he could bear raillery on an indifferent subject; -and joined in the mirth, which the idea of his laying siege to -the young heiress occasioned.</p> - -<p>He deluded himself with no false hopes relative to the real -object of his passion; he knew the obstacles between them were -insuperable; but his heart was too proud to complain of fate; -he shook off all appearance of melancholy, and seemed more -animated than ever.</p> - -<p>His visits at the Abbey became constant; Lady Augusta -took them to herself, and encouraged his attentions: as her -mother rendered her perfect mistress of her own actions, she -had generally a levee of redcoats every morning in her dressing-room. -Lady Malvina seldom appeared; she was at those times -almost always employed in reading to her father; when that -was not the case, her own favorite avocations often detained -her in her room; or else she wandered out, about the romantic -rocks on the sea-shore; she delighted in solitary rambles, and -loved to visit the old peasants, who told her tales of her -departed mother’s goodness, drawing tears of sorrow from her -eyes, at the irreparable loss she had sustained by her death.</p> - -<p>Fitzalan went one morning as usual to the Abbey to pay his -customary visit; as he went through the gallery which led to -Lady Augusta’s dressing-room, his eyes were caught by two -beautiful portraits of the Earl’s daughters; an artist, by his -express desire, had come to the Abbey to draw them; they -were but just finished, and that morning placed in the gallery.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> -Lady Augusta appeared negligently reclined upon a sofa, in -a verdant alcove; the flowing drapery of the loose robe in -which she was habited, set off her fine figure; little Cupids -were seen fanning aside her dark-brown hair, and strewing -roses on her pillow.</p> - -<p>Lady Malvina was represented in the simple attire of a -peasant girl, leaning on a little grassy hillock, whose foot was -washed by a clear stream, while her flocks browsed around, -and her dog rested beneath the shade of an old tree, that -waved its branches over her head, and seemed sheltering her -from the beams of a meridian sun.</p> - -<p>“Beautiful portrait!” cried Fitzalan, “sweet resemblance -of a seraphic form!”</p> - -<p>He heard a soft sigh behind him; he started, turned, and -perceived Lady Malvina; in the utmost confusion he faltered -out his admiration of the pictures; and not knowing what he -did, fixed his eyes on Lady Augusta’s, exclaiming, “How -beautiful!” “’Tis very handsome indeed,” said Malvina, -with a more pensive voice than usual, and led the way to her -sister’s drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Lady Augusta was spangling some ribbon; but at Fitzalan’s -entrance she threw it aside, and asked him if he had been -admiring her picture?—“Yes,” he said, “’twas that alone had -prevented his before paying his homage to the original.” He -proceeded in a strain of compliments, which had more gallantry -than sincerity in them. In the course of their trifling -he snatched a knot of the spangled ribbon, and pinning it -next his heart, declared it should remain there as a talisman -against all future impressions.</p> - -<p>He stole a glance at Lady Malvina; she held a book in -her hand; but her eyes were turned towards him, and a deadly -paleness overspread her countenance.</p> - -<p>Fitzalan’s spirits vanished; he started up, and declared he -must be gone immediately. The dejection of Lady Malvina -dwelt upon his heart; it flattered his fondness, but pained its -sensibility. He left the fort in the evening, immediately after -he had retired from the mess; he strolled to the sea-side, and -rambled a considerable way among the rocks. The scene was -wild and solemn; the shadows of evening were beginning to -descend; the waves stole with low murmurs upon the shore, -and a soft breeze gently agitated the marine plants that grew -amongst the crevices of the rocks; already were the sea-fowl, -with harsh and melancholy cries, flocking to their nests, some -lightly skimming over the water, while others were seen, like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> -dark clouds arising from the long heath on the neighboring -hills. Fitzalan pursued his way in deep and melancholy -meditation, from which a plaintive Scotch air, sung by the -melting voice of harmony itself, roused him. He looked towards -the spot from whence the sound proceeded, and beheld Lady -Malvina standing on a low rock, a projection of it affording -her support. Nothing could be more picturesque than her -appearance: she looked like one of the beautiful forms which -Ossian so often describes: her white dress fluttered in the -wind, and her dark hair hung dishevelled around her. Fitzalan -moved softly, and stopped behind her; she wept as she sung, -and wiped away her tears as she ceased singing; she sighed -heavily. “Ah! my mother,” she exclaimed, “why was Malvina -left behind you?”—“To bless and improve mankind,” cried -Fitzalan. She screamed, and would have fallen, had he not -caught her in his arms; he prevailed on her to sit down upon -the rock, and allow him to support her till her agitation had -subsided. “And why,” cried he, “should Lady Malvina give -way to melancholy, blest as she is with all that can render life -desirable? Why seek its indulgence, by rambling about those -dreary rocks; fit haunts alone, he might have added, for -wretchedness and me? Can I help wondering at your dejection -(he continued), when to all appearance (at least) I see you -possessed of everything requisite to constitute felicity?”</p> - -<p>“Appearances are often deceitful,” said Malvina, forgetting -in that moment the caution she had hitherto inviolably observed, -of never hinting at the ill treatment she received from the -Countess of Dunreath and her daughter. “Appearances are -often deceitful,” she said, “as I, alas! too fatally experience. -The glare, the ostentation of wealth, a soul of sensibility would -willingly resign for privacy and plainness if they were to be -attended with real friendship and sympathy.”</p> - -<p>“And how few,” cried Fitzalan, turning his expressive eyes -upon her face, “can know Lady Malvina without feeling friendship -for her virtues, and sympathy for her sorrows!” As he -spoke, he pressed her hand against his heart, and she felt the -knot of ribbon he had snatched from her sister: she instantly -withdrew her hand, and darting a haughty glance at him, -“Captain Fitzalan,” said she, “you were going, I believe, to -Lady Augusta; let me not detain you.”</p> - -<p>Fitzalan’s passions were no longer under the dominion of -reason; he tore the ribbon from his breast and flung it into the -sea. “Going to Lady Augusta!” he exclaimed, “and is her -lovely sister then really deceived? Ah! Lady Malvina, I now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> -gaze on the dear attraction that drew me to the Abbey. The -feelings of a real, a hopeless passion could ill support raillery -or observation: I hid my passion within the recesses of my heart, -and gladly allowed my visits to be placed to the account of an -object truly indifferent, that I might have opportunities of -seeing an object I adored.” Malvina blushed and trembled: -“Fitzalan,” cried she after a pause, “I detest deceit.”</p> - -<p>“I abhor it too, Lady Malvina,” said he; “but why should -I now endeavor to prove my sincerity, when I know it is so -immaterial? Excuse me for what I have already uttered, and -believe that though susceptible, I am not aspiring.” He then -presented his hand to Malvina; she descended from her seat, -and they walked towards the Abbey. Lady Malvina’s pace -was slow, and her blushes, had Fitzalan looked at her, would -have expressed more pleasure than resentment: she seemed to -expect a still further declaration; but Fitzalan was too confused -to speak; nor indeed was it his intention again to indulge -himself on the dangerous subject. They proceeded in silence; -at the Abbey gate they stopped, and he wished her good-night. -“Shall we not soon see you at the Abbey?” exclaimed Lady -Malvina in a flurried voice, which seemed to say she thought -his adieu rather a hasty one. “No, my lovely friend,” cried -Fitzalan, pausing, while he looked upon her with the most -impassioned tenderness,—“in future I shall confine myself -chiefly to the fort.” “Do you dread an invasion?” asked she, -smiling, while a stolen glance of her eyes gave peculiar meaning -to her words. “I long dreaded that,” cried he in the same -strain, “and my fears were well founded; but I must now -muster all my powers to dislodge the enemy.” He kissed her -hand, and precipitately retired.</p> - -<p>Lady Malvina repaired to her chamber, in such a tumult of -pleasure as she had never before experienced. She admired -Fitzalan from the first evening she beheld him; though his -attentions were directed to her sister, the language of his eyes, -to her, contradicted any attachment these attentions might have -intimated; his gentleness and sensibility seemed congenial to her -own. Hitherto she had been the slave of tyranny and caprice; -and now, for the first time, experienced that soothing tenderness -her wounded feelings had so long sighed for. She was -agitated and delighted; she overlooked every obstacle to her -wishes; and waited impatiently a further explanation of Fitzalan’s -sentiments.</p> - -<p>Far different were his feelings from hers: to know he was -beloved, could scarcely yield him pleasure, when he reflected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -on his hopeless situation, which forbad his availing himself of -any advantage that knowledge might have afforded. Of a -union indeed he did not dare to think, since its consequences, -he knew, must be destruction; for rigid and austere as the -Earl was represented, he could not flatter himself he would -ever pardon such a step; and the means of supporting Lady -Malvina, in any degree of comfort, he did not possess himself. -He determined, as much as possible, to avoid her presence, -and regretted continually having yielded to the impulse of his -heart and revealed his love, since he believed it had augmented -hers.</p> - -<p>By degrees he discontinued his visits at the Abbey; but he -often met Lady Malvina at parties in the neighborhood: caution, -however, always sealed his lips, and every appearance of particularity -was avoided. The time now approached for the -departure of the regiment from Scotland, and Lady Malvina, -instead of the explanation she so fondly expected, so ardently -desired, saw Fitzalan studious to avoid her.</p> - -<p>The disappointment this conduct gave rise to, was too much -for the tender and romantic heart of Malvina to bear without -secretly repining. Society grew irksome; she became more -than ever attached to solitary rambles, which gave opportunities -of indulging her sorrows without restraint: sorrows, pride -often reproached her for experiencing.</p> - -<p>It was within a week of the change of garrison, when Malvina -repaired one evening to the rock where Fitzalan had disclosed -his tenderness; a similarity of feeling had led him -thither; he saw his danger, but he had no power to retreat; -he sat down by Malvina, and they conversed for some time -on indifferent subjects; at last, after a pause of a minute, -Malvina exclaimed, “You go then, Fitzalan, never, never, I -suppose, to return here again!” “’Tis probable I may not -indeed,” said he. “Then we shall never meet again,” cried -she, while a trickling tear stole down her lovely cheek, which, -tinged as it was with the flush of agitation, looked now like -a half-blown rose moistened with the dews of early morning.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lovely friend,” said he, “we shall meet again—we -shall meet in a better place; in that heaven,” continued he, -sighing, and laying his cold, trembling hand upon hers, “which -will recompense all our sufferings.” “You are melancholy -to-night, Fitzalan,” cried Lady Malvina, in a voice scarcely -articulate.</p> - -<p>“Oh! can you wonder at it?” exclaimed he, overcome by -her emotion, and forgetting in a moment all his resolutions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>—“Oh! -can you wonder at my melancholy, when I know not but -that this is the last time I shall see the only woman I ever -loved—when I know, that in bidding her adieu I resign all the -pleasure, the happiness of my life.”</p> - -<p>Malvina could no longer restrain her feelings; she sunk -upon his shoulder and wept. “Good heavens!” cried Fitzalan, -almost trembling beneath the lovely burden he supported—“What -a cruel situation is mine! But, Malvina, I will not, cannot -plunge you in destruction. Led by necessity, as well as choice, -to embrace the profession of a soldier, I have no income but -what is derived from that profession; though my own distresses -I could bear with fortitude, yours would totally unman me; nor -would my honor be less injured than my peace, were you involved -in difficulties on my account. Our separation is therefore, -alas! inevitable.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! no,” exclaimed Malvina, “the difficulties you have -mentioned will vanish. My father’s affections were early alienated -from me; and my fate is of little consequence to him—nay, -I have reason to believe he will be glad of an excuse for -leaving his large possessions to Augusta; and oh! how little -shall I envy her those possessions, if the happy destiny I now -look forward to is mine.” As she spoke, her mild eyes rested on -the face of Fitzalan, who clasped her to his bosom in a sudden -transport of tenderness. “But though my father is partial to -Augusta,” she continued, “I am sure he will not be unnatural -to me; and though he may withhold affluence, he will, I am -confident, allow me a competence; nay, Lady Dunreath, I believe, -in pleasure at my removal from the Abbey, would, if he -hesitated in that respect, become my intercessor.”</p> - -<p>The energy with which Malvina spoke convinced Fitzalan -of the strength of her affection. An ecstasy never before felt -pervaded his soul at the idea of being so beloved; vainly did -prudence whisper, that Malvina might be deluding herself with -false hopes, the suggestions of love triumphed over every consideration; -and again folding the fair being he held in his arms -to his heart, he softly asked, would she, at all events, unite her -destiny with his.</p> - -<p>Lady Malvina, who firmly believed what she had said to him -would really happen, and who deemed a separation from him -the greatest misfortune which could possibly befall her, blushed, -and faltering yielded a willing consent.</p> - -<p>The means of accomplishing their wishes now occupied -their thoughts. Fitzalan’s imagination was too fertile not soon -to suggest a scheme which had a probability of success; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -resolved to intrust the chaplain of the regiment with the affair, -and request his attendance the ensuing night in the chapel of -the Abbey, where Lady Malvina promised to meet them with -her maid, on whose secrecy she thought she could rely.</p> - -<p>It was settled that Fitzalan should pay a visit the next -morning at the Abbey, and give Malvina a certain sign, if he -succeeded with the chaplain.</p> - -<p>The increasing darkness at length reminded them of the -lateness of the hour. Fitzalan conducted Malvina to the Abbey -gate, where they separated, each involved in a tumult of -hopes, fears, and wishes.</p> - -<p>The next morning Lady Malvina brought her work into her -sister’s dressing-room; at last Fitzalan entered; he was attacked -by Augusta for his long absence, which he excused by -pleading regimental business. After trifling some time with -her, he prevailed on her to sit down to the harpsichord; and -then glancing to Malvina, he gave her the promised signal.</p> - -<p>Her conscious eyes were instantly bent to the ground; a -crimson glow was suddenly succeeded by a deadly paleness; -her head sunk upon her bosom; and her agitation must have -excited suspicions had it been perceived; but Fitzalan purposely -bent over her sister, and thus gave her an opportunity -of retiring unnoticed from the room. As soon as she had regained -a little composure, she called her maid, and, after receiving -many promises of secrecy, unfolded to her the whole -affair. It was long past the midnight hour ere Malvina would -attempt repairing to the chapel; when she at last rose for that -purpose she trembled universally; a kind of horror chilled her -heart; she began to fear she was about doing wrong, and hesitated; -but when she reflected on the noble generosity of -Fitzalan, and that she herself had precipitated him into the -measure they were about taking, her hesitation was over; and -leaning on her maid, she stole through the winding galleries, and -lightly descending the stairs, entered the long hall, which terminated -in a dark arched passage, that opened into the chapel.</p> - -<p>This was a wild and gloomy structure, retaining everywhere -vestiges of that monkish superstition which had erected it; beneath -were the vaults which contained the ancestors of the Earl -of Dunreath, whose deeds and titles were enumerated on gothic -monuments; their dust-covered banners waving around in sullen -dignity to the rude gale, which found admittance through the -broken windows.</p> - -<p>The light, which the maid held, produced deep shadows, -that heightened the solemnity of the place.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> -“They are not here,” said Malvina, casting her fearful eyes -around. She went to the door, which opened into a thick -wood; but here she only heard the breeze rustling amongst the -trees; she turned from it, and sinking upon the steps of the -altar, gave way to an agony of tears and lamentations. A low -murmur reached her ear; she started up; the chapel door was -gently pushed open, and Fitzalan entered with the chaplain; -they had been watching in the wood for the appearance of -light. Malvina was supported to the altar, and a few minutes -made her the wife of Fitzalan.</p> - -<p>She had not the courage, till within a day or two previous -to the regiment’s departure from Scotland, to acquaint the Earl -with her marriage; the Countess already knew it, through the -means of Malvina’s woman, who was a creature of her own. -Lady Dunreath exulted at the prospect of Malvina’s ruin; it -at once gratified the malevolence of her soul, and the avaricious -desire she had of increasing her own daughter’s fortune; -she had, besides, another reason to rejoice at it; this was, the -attachment Lady Augusta had formed for Fitzalan, which, her -mother feared, would have precipitated her into a step as imprudent -as her sister’s, had she not been beforehand with her.</p> - -<p>This fear the impetuous passions of Lady Augusta naturally -excited. She really loved Fitzalan; a degree of frantic -rage possessed her at his marriage; she cursed her sister in -the bitterness of her heart, and joined with Lady Dunreath in -working up the Earl’s naturally austere and violent passions -into such a paroxysm of fury and resentment, that he at last -solemnly refused forgiveness to Malvina, and bid her never -more appear in his presence.</p> - -<p>She now began to tread the thorny path of life; and though -her guide was tender and affectionate, nothing could allay her -anguish for having involved him in difficulties, which his noble -spirit could ill brook or struggle against. The first year of -their union she had a son, who was called after her father, Oscar -Dunreath; the four years that succeeded his birth were passed -in wretchedness that baffles description. At the expiration of -this period their debts were so increased, Fitzalan was compelled -to sell out on half-pay. Lady Malvina now expected an -addition to her family; her situation, she hoped, would move -her father’s heart, and resolved to essay everything, which afforded -the smallest prospect of obtaining comfort for her husband -and his babes; she prevailed on him, therefore, to carry -her to Scotland.</p> - -<p>They lodged at a peasant’s in the neighborhood of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> -Abbey; he informed them the Earl’s infirmities were daily increasing; -and that Lady Dunreath had just celebrated her -daughter’s marriage with the Marquis of Roseline. This nobleman -had passionately admired Lady Malvina; an admiration -the Countess always wished transferred to her daughter. -On the marriage of Malvina he went abroad; his passion was -conquered ere he returned to Scotland, and he disdained not -the overtures made for his alliance from the Abbey. His -favorite propensities, avarice and pride, were indeed gratified -by the possession of the Earl of Dunreath’s sole heiress.</p> - -<p>The day after her arrival Lady Malvina sent little Oscar, -with the old peasant, to the Abbey; Oscar was a perfect cherubim—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“The bloom of opening flowers, unsullied beauty,</span> -<span class="i0">Softness and sweetest innocence he wore,</span> -<span class="i0">And looked like nature in the world’s first spring.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Lady Malvina gave him a letter for the Earl, in which, after -pathetically describing her situation, she besought him to let -the uplifted hands of innocence plead her cause. The peasant -watched till the hour came for Lady Dunreath to go out in her -carriage, as was her daily custom: he then desired to be conducted -to the Earl, and was accordingly ushered into his presence: -he found him alone, and briefly informed him of his -errand. The Earl frowned and looked agitated; but did not -by any means express that displeasure which the peasant had -expected; feeling for himself, indeed, had lately softened his -heart; he was unhappy; his wife and daughter had attained -the completion of their wishes, and no longer paid him the attention -his age required. He refused, however, to accept the -letter: little Oscar, who had been gazing on him from the -moment he entered the apartment, now ran forward; gently -stroking his hand, he smiled in his face, and exclaimed, “Ah! -do pray take poor mamma’s letter.” The Earl involuntarily -took it; as he read, the muscles of his face began to work, -and a tear dropped from him. “Poor mamma cries too,” said -Oscar, upon whose hand the tear fell. “Why did your mamma -send you to me?” said the Earl. “Because she said,” cried. -Oscar, “that you were my grandpapa—and she bids me love -you, and teaches me every day to pray for you.” “Heaven -bless you, my lovely prattler!” exclaimed the Earl, with sudden -emotion, patting his head as he spoke. At this moment -Lady Dunreath rushed into the apartment: one of her favorites -had followed her, to relate the scene that was going forward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> -within it: and she had returned, with all possible expedition, -to counteract any dangerous impression that might be made -upon the Earl’s mind. Rage inflamed her countenance: the -Earl knew the violence of her temper; he was unequal to contention, -and hastily motioned for the peasant to retire with the -child. The account of his reception excited the most flattering -hopes in the bosom of his mother: she counted the tedious -hours, in expectation of a kind summons to the Abbey; but no -such summons came. The next morning the child was sent to -it; but the porter refused him admittance, by the express command -of the Earl, he said. Frightened at his rudeness, the -child returned weeping to his mother, whose blasted expectations -wrung her heart with agony, and tears and lamentations broke -from her. The evening was far advanced, when suddenly her -features brightened: “I will go,” cried she, starting up—“I -will again try to melt his obduracy. Oh! with what lowliness -should a child bend before an offended parent! Oh! with -what fortitude, what patience, should a wife, a mother, try to -overcome difficulties which she is conscious of having precipitated -the objects of her tenderest affections into!”</p> - -<p>The night was dark and tempestuous; she would not suffer -Fitzalan to attend her; but proceeded to the Abbey, leaning on -the peasant’s arm. She would not be repulsed at the door, but -forced her way into the hall: here Lady Dunreath met her, -and with mingled pride and cruelty, refused her access to her -father, declaring it was by his desire she did so. “Let me see -him but for a moment,” said the lovely suppliant, clasping her -white and emaciated hands together—“by all that is tender in -humanity, I beseech you to grant my request.”</p> - -<p>“Turn this frantic woman from the Abbey,” said the implacable -Lady Dunreath, trembling with passion—“at your -peril suffer her to continue here. The peace of your lord is too -precious to be disturbed by her exclamations.”</p> - -<p>The imperious order was instantly obeyed, though, as Cordelia -says, “it was a night when one would not have turned an -enemy’s dog from the door.” The rain poured in torrents; -the sea roared with awful violence; and the wind roared through -the wood, as if it would tear up the trees by their roots. The -peasant charitably flung his plaid over Malvina: she moved -mechanically along; her senses appeared quite stupefied. Fitzalan -watched for her at the door: she rushed into his extended -arms, and fainted; it was long ere she showed any symptoms -of returning life. Fitzalan wept over her in the anguish and -distraction of his soul; and scarcely could he forbear execra<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>ting -the being who had so grievously afflicted her gentle spirit: -by degrees she revived; and, as she pressed him feebly to her -breast, exclaimed, “The final stroke is given—I have been -turned from my father’s door.”</p> - -<p>The cottage in which they lodged afforded but few of the -necessaries, and none of the comforts of life; such, at least, as -they had been accustomed to. In Malvina’s present situation, -Fitzalan dreaded the loss of her life, should they continue in -their present abode; but whither could he take her wanderer, -as he was upon the face of the earth? At length the faithful -Edwin occurred to his recollection: his house, he was confident, -would afford them a comfortable asylum, where Lady -Malvina would experience all that tenderness and care her -situation demanded.</p> - -<p>He immediately set about procuring a conveyance, and the -following morning Malvina bid a last adieu to Scotland.</p> - -<p>Lady Dunreath, in the mean time, suffered torture: after -she had seen Malvina turned from the Abbey, she returned to -her apartment: it was furnished with the most luxurious elegance, -yet could she not rest within it. Conscience already -told her, if Malvina died, she must consider herself her murderer; -her pale and woe-worn image seemed still before her; -a cold terror oppressed her heart, which the horrors of the night -augmented; the tempest shook the battlements of the Abbey; -and the winds, which howled through the galleries, seemed like -the last moans of some wandering spirit of the pile, bewailing -the fate of one of its fairest daughters. To cruelty and ingratitude -Lady Dunreath had added deceit: her lord was yielding -to the solicitations of his child, when she counteracted his intentions -by a tale of falsehood. The visions of the night were -also dreadful; Malvina appeared expiring before her, and the -late Lady Dunreath, by her bedside, reproaching her barbarity. -“Oh cruel!” the ghastly figure seemed to say, “is it you, whom -I fostered in my bosom, that have done this deed—driven -forth my child, a forlorn and wretched wanderer?”</p> - -<p>Oh, conscience, how awful are thy terrors! thou art the -vicegerent of Heaven, and dost anticipate its vengeance, ere -the final hour of retribution arrives. Guilt may be triumphant, -but never, never can be happy: it finds no shield against thy -stings and arrows. The heart thou smitest bleeds in every -pore, and sighs amidst gayety and splendor.</p> - -<p>The unfortunate travellers were welcomed with the truest -hospitality by the grateful Edwin; he had married, soon after -his return from America, a young girl, to whom, from his ear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>liest -youth, he was attached. His parents died soon after his -union, and the whole of their little patrimony devolved to him. -Soothed and attended with the utmost tenderness and respect, -Fitzalan hoped Lady Malvina would here regain her health and -peace: he intended, after her recovery, to endeavor to be put -on full pay; and trusted he should prevail on her to continue -at the farm.</p> - -<p>At length the hour came, in which she gave a daughter to -his arms. From the beginning of her illness the people about -her were alarmed; too soon was it proved their alarms were -well founded: she lived after the birth of her infant but a few -minutes, and died embracing her husband, and blessing his -children.</p> - -<p>Fitzalan’s feelings cannot well be described: they were at -first too much for reason, and he continued some time in perfect -stupefaction. When he regained his sensibility, his grief -was not outrageous; it was that deep, still sorrow, which fastens -on the heart, and cannot vent itself in tears or lamentations: -he sat with calmness by the bed, where the beautiful -remains of Malvina lay; he gazed without shrinking on her -pale face, which death, as if in pity to his feelings, had not disfigured; -he kissed her cold lips, continually exclaiming, “Oh! -had we never met, she might still have been living.” His language -was something like that of a poet of her own country:—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Wee, modest crimson-tipped flower,</span> -<span class="i0">I met thee in a luckless hour.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>It was when he saw them about removing her that all the -tempest of his grief broke forth. Oh! how impossible to describe -the anguish of the poor widower’s heart, when he returned -from seeing his Malvina laid in her last receptacle: he -shut himself up in the room where she had expired, and ordered -no one to approach him; he threw himself upon the bed; -he laid his cheek upon her pillow, he grasped it to his bosom, -he wetted it with tears, because she had breathed upon it. -Oh, how still, how dreary, how desolate, did all appear around -him! “And shall this desolation never more be enlightened,” he -exclaimed, “by the soft music of Malvina’s voice? Shall these -eyes never more be cheered by beholding her angelic face?” -Exhausted by his feelings, he sunk into a slumber: he dreamt -of Malvina, and thought she lay beside him: he awoke with -sudden ecstasy, and under the strong impression of the dream, -stretched out his arms to enfold her. Alas! all was empty -void: he started up—he groaned in the bitterness of his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>soul he -traversed the room with a distracted pace—he sat him -down in a little window, from whence he could view the spire -of the church (now glistening in the moonbeams) by which -she was interred. “Deep, still, and profound,” cried he, -“is now the sleep of my Malvina—the voice of love cannot -awake her from it; nor does she now dream of her midnight -mourner.”</p> - -<p>The cold breeze of night blew upon his forehead, but he -heeded it not; his whole soul was full of Malvina, whom torturing -fancy presented to his view, in the habiliments of the grave. -“And is this emaciated form, this pale face,” he exclaimed, as -if he had really seen her, “all that remain of elegance and -beauty, once unequalled!”</p> - -<p>A native sense of religion alone checked the transports of -his grief; that sweet, that sacred power, which pours balm -upon the wounds of sorrow, and saves its children from despair; -that power whispered to his heart, a patient submission to the -will of heaven was the surest means he could attain of again -rejoining his Malvina.</p> - -<p>She was interred in the village church-yard: at the head of -her grave a stone was placed, on which was rudely cut,</p> - -<p class="p2"><big>MALVINA FITZALAN,</big><br /> -ALIKE LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE.</p> - -<p>Fitzalan would not permit her empty title to be on it: “She -is buried,” he said, “as the wife of a wretched soldier, not as -the daughter of a wealthy peer.”</p> - -<p>She had requested her infant might be called after her own -mother; her request was sacred to Fitzalan, and it was baptized -by the united names of Amanda Malvina. Mrs. Edwin was -then nursing her first girl; but she sent it out, and took the -infant of Fitzalan in its place to her bosom.</p> - -<p>The money, which Fitzalan had procured by disposing of -his commission, was now nearly exhausted; but his mind was -too enervated to allow him to think of any project for future -support. Lady Malvina was deceased two months, when a -nobleman came into the neighborhood, with whom Fitzalan had -once been intimately acquainted: the acquaintance was now -renewed; and Fitzalan’s appearance, with the little history of -his misfortunes, so much affected and interested his friend, that, -without solicitation, he procured him a company in a regiment, -then stationed in England. Thus did Fitzalan again enter into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -active life; but his spirits were broken, and his constitution -injured. Four years he continued in the army; when, pining -to have his children (all that now remained of a woman he -adored) under his own care, he obtained, through the interest -of his friend, leave to sell out. Oscar was then eight, and -Amanda four; the delighted father, as he held them to his -heart, wept over them tears of mingled pain and pleasure.</p> - -<p>He had seen in Devonshire, where he was quartered for -some time, a little romantic solitude, quite adapted to his taste -and finances; he proposed for it, and soon became its proprietor. -Hither he carried his children, much against the inclinations -of the Edwins, who loved them as their own: two excellent -schools in the neighborhood gave them the usual advantages -of genteel education; but as they were only day scholars, the -improvement, or rather forming of their morals, was the pleasing -task of their father. To his assiduous care too they were -indebted for the rapid progress they made in their studies, and -for the graceful simplicity of their manners: they rewarded his -care, and grew up as amiable and lovely as his fondest wishes -could desire. As Oscar advanced in life, his father began to -experience new cares; for he had not the power of putting him -in the way of making any provision for himself. A military -life was what Oscar appeared anxious for: he had early conceived -a predilection for it, from hearing his father speak of the -services he had seen; but though he possessed quite the spirit -of a hero, he had the truest tenderness, the most engaging softness -of disposition; his temper was, indeed, at once mild, -artless, and affectionate. He was about eighteen, when the -proprietor of the estate, on which his father held his farm, -died, and his heir, a colonel in the army, immediately came -down from London to take formal possession: he soon became -acquainted with Fitzalan, who, in the course of conversation, -one day expressed the anxiety he suffered on his -son’s account. The Colonel said he was a fine youth, and it -was a pity he was not provided for. He left Devonshire, however, -shortly after this, without appearing in the least interested -about him.</p> - -<p>Fitzalan’s heart was oppressed with anxiety; he could not -purchase for his son, without depriving himself of support. -With the nobleman who had formerly served him so essentially, -he had kept up no intercourse, since he quitted the army; but -he frequently heard of him, and was told he had become quite -a man of the world, which was an implication of his having lost -all feeling: an application to him, therefore, he feared, would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -be unavailing, and he felt too proud to subject himself to a -repulse.</p> - -<p>From this disquietude he was unexpectedly relieved by a -letter from the Earl of Cherbury, his yet kind friend, informing -him he had procured an ensigncy for Oscar, in Colonel Belgrave’s -regiment, which he considered a very fortunate circumstance, -as the colonel, he was confident, from personally -knowing the young gentleman, would render him every service -in his power. The Earl chided Fitzalan for never having kept -up a correspondence with him, assured him he had never forgotten -the friendship of their earlier years; and that he had -gladly seized the first opportunity which offered, of serving him -in the person of his son; which opportunity he was indebted to -Colonel Belgrave for.</p> - -<p>Fitzalan’s soul was filled with gratitude and rapture; he -immediately wrote to the Earl, and the Colonel, in terms expressive -of his feelings. Colonel Belgrave received his thanks -as if he had really deserved them; but this was not by any -means the case: he was a man devoid of sensibility, and had -never once thought of serving Fitzalan or his son; his mentioning -them was merely accidental.</p> - -<p>In a large company, of which the Earl of Cherbury was one, -the discourse happened to turn on the Dunreath family, and by -degrees led to Fitzalan, who was severally blamed and pitied -for his connection with it; the subject was, in the opinion of -Colonel Belgrave, so apropos, he could not forbear describing -his present situation, and inquietude about his son, who, he said -he fancied, must, like a second Cincinnatus, take the plough-share -instead of the sword.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury lost no part of his discourse; though immersed -in politics, and other intricate concerns, he yet retained, -and was ready to obey, the dictates of humanity, particularly -when they did not interfere with his own interests; he therefore -directly conceived the design of serving his old friend.</p> - -<p>Oscar soon quitted Devonshire after his appointment, and -brought a letter from his father to the Colonel, in which he was -strongly recommended to his protection, as one unskilled in the -ways of men.</p> - -<p>And now all Fitzalan’s care devolved upon Amanda; and -most amply did she recompense it. To the improvement of her -genius, the cultivation of her talents, the promotion of her -father’s happiness, seemed her first incentive; without him no -amusement was enjoyed, without him no study entered upon; -he was her friend, guardian, and protector; and no language<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> -can express, no heart (except a paternal one) conceive, the rapture -he felt, at seeing a creature grow under</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i9">his forming hand.</span> -<span class="i6">—————So fair</span> -<span class="i0">That what seemed fair in all the world, seemed now</span> -<span class="i0">Mean, or in her contained.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Some years had elapsed since Oscar’s departure, ere Colonel -Belgrave returned into their neighborhood; he came soon after -his nuptials had been celebrated in Ireland, with a lady of that -country, whom Oscar’s letters described as possessing every -mental and personal charm which could please or captivate the -heart. Colonel Belgrave came unaccompanied by his fair bride. -Fitzalan, who believed him his benefactor, and consequently regarded -him as a friend (still thinking it was through his means -Lord Cherbury had served him), immediately waited upon him, -and invited him to his house. The invitation, after some time, -was accepted; but had he imagined what an attraction the -house contained, he would not have long hesitated about entering -it: he was a man, indeed, of the most depraved principles; -and an object he admired, no tie or situation, however sacred, -could guard from his pursuit.</p> - -<p>Amanda was too much a child, when he was last in the country, -to attract his observation; he had, therefore, no idea that -the blossom he then so carelessly overlooked, had since expanded -into such beauty. How great, then, was his rapture -and surprise, when Fitzalan led into the room where he had received -him, a tall, elegantly-formed girl, whose rosy cheeks were -dimpled with the softest smile of complacence, and whose fine -blue eyes beamed with modesty and gratitude upon him! He -instantly marked her for his prey; and blessed his lucky stars -which had inspired Fitzalan with the idea of his being his benefactor, -since that would give him an easier access to the house -than he could otherwise have hoped for.</p> - -<p>From this time he became almost an inmate of it, except -when he chose to contrive little parties at his own for Amanda. -He took every opportunity that offered, without observation, to -try to ingratiate himself in her favor: those opportunities the -unsuspecting temper of Fitzalan allowed to be frequent—he -would as soon have trusted Amanda to the care of Belgrave, -as to that of her brother; and never, therefore, prevented her -walking out with him, when he desired it, or receiving him in -the morning, while he himself was absent about the affairs of -his farm—delighted to think the conversation or talents of his -daughter (for Amanda frequently sung and played for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> -Colonel) could contribute to the amusement of his friend. -Amanda innocently increased his flame, by the attention she -paid which she considered but a just tribute of gratitude for -his services: she delighted in talking to him of her dear Oscar, -and often mentioned his lady; but was surprised to find he -always waived the latter subject.</p> - -<p>Belgrave could not long restrain the impetuosity of his passions: -the situation of Fitzalan (which he knew to be a distressed -one) would, he fancied, forward his designs on his -daughter; and what those designs were, he, by degrees, in a -retired walk one day, unfolded to Amanda. At first she did -not perfectly understand him; but when, with increased audacity, -he explained himself more fully, horror, indignation, and -surprise took possession of her breast; and, yielding to their -feelings, she turned and fled to the house, as if from a monster. -Belgrave was provoked and mortified; the softness of her manners -had tempted him to believe he was not indifferent to her, -and that she would prove an easy conquest.</p> - -<p>Poor Amanda would not appear in the presence of her father, -till she had, in some degree, regained composure, as she feared -the smallest intimation of the affair might occasion fatal consequences. -As she sat with him, a letter was brought her; she -could not think Belgrave would have the effrontery to write, -and opened it, supposing it came from some acquaintance in -the neighborhood. How great was the shock she sustained, -on finding it from him! Having thrown off the mask, he determined -no longer to assume any disguise. Her paleness and -confusion alarmed her father, and he instantly demanded the -cause of her agitation. She found longer concealment was impossible; -and, throwing herself at her father’s feet, besought -him, as she put the letter into his hands, to restrain his passion. -When he perused it, he raised her up, and commanded her, as -she valued his love or happiness, to inform him of every particular -relative to the insult she had received. She obeyed, -though terrified to behold her father trembling with emotion. -When she concluded, he tenderly embraced her; and, bidding -her confine herself to the house, rose, and took down his hat. -It was easy to guess whither he was going; her terror increased; -and, in a voice scarcely articulate, she besought him not to risk -his safety. He commanded her silence, with a sternness never -before assumed. His manner awed her; but, when she saw -him leaving the room, her feelings could no longer be controlled—she -rushed after him, and flinging her arms round his neck, -fainted on it. In this situation the unhappy father was com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>pelled -to leave her to the care of a maid, lest her pathetic remonstrances -should delay the vengeance he resolved to take on -a wretch who had meditated a deed of such atrocity against his -peace; but Belgrave was not to be found.</p> - -<p>Scarcely, however, had Fitzalan returned to his half-distracted -daughter ere a letter was brought him from the wretch, -in which he made the most degrading proposals; and bade -Fitzalan beware how he answered them, as his situation had -put him entirely into his power. This was a fatal truth: Fitzalan -had been tempted to make a large addition to his farm, -from an idea of turning the little money he possessed to advantage: -but he was more ignorant of agriculture than he had -imagined; and this ignorance, joined to his own integrity of -heart, rendered him the dupe of some designing wretches in -his neighborhood: his whole stock dwindled away in unprofitable -experiments, and he was now considerably in arrears with -Belgrave. The ungenerous advantage he strove to take of his -situation, increased, if possible, his indignation; and again he -sought him, but still without success.</p> - -<p>Belgrave soon found no temptation of prosperity would prevail -on the father or daughter to accede to his wishes; he therefore -resolved to try whether the pressure of adversity would -render them more complying, and left the country, having first -ordered his steward to proceed directly against Fitzalan.</p> - -<p>The consequence of this order was an immediate execution -on his effects; and, but for the assistance of a good-natured -farmer, he would have been arrested. By his means, and under -favor of night, he and Amanda set out for London; they arrived -there in safety, and retired to obscure lodgings. In this -hour of distress, Fitzalan conquered all false pride, and wrote -to Lord Cherbury, entreating him to procure some employment -which would relieve his present distressing situation. He cautiously -concealed everything relative to Belgrave—he could not -bear that it should be known that he had ever been degraded -by his infamous proposals. Oscar’s safety, too, he knew depended -on his secrecy; as he was well convinced no idea of -danger, or elevation of rank, would secure the wretch from his -fury, who had meditated so great an injury against his sister.</p> - -<p>He had the mortification of having the letter he sent to -Lord Cherbury returned, as his lordship was then absent from -town; nor was he expected for some months, having gone on -an excursion of pleasure to France. Some of these months -had lingered away in all the horrors of anxiety and distress, -when Fitzalan formed the resolution of sending Amanda into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> -Wales, whose health had considerably suffered, from the complicated -uneasiness and terror she experienced on her own and -her father’s account.</p> - -<p>Belgrave had traced the fugitives; and though Fitzalan was -guarded against all the stratagems he used to have him arrested, -he found means to have letters conveyed to Amanda, full of -base solicitations and insolent declarations, that the rigor he -treated her father with was quite against his feelings, and should -instantly be withdrawn, if she acceded to the proposals he made -for her.</p> - -<p>But though Fitzalan had determined to send Amanda into -Wales, with whom could he trust his heart’s best treasure? At -last the son of the worthy farmer who had assisted him in his -journey to London, occurred to his remembrance; he came -often to town, and always called on Fitzalan. The young man, -the moment it was proposed, expressed the greatest readiness -to attend Miss Fitzalan. As every precaution was necessary, -her father made her take the name of Dunford, and travel in -the mail-coach, for the greater security. He divided the contents -of his purse with her; and recommending this lovely and -most beloved child to the protection of heaven, saw her depart, -with mingled pain and pleasure; promising to give her the earliest -intelligence of Lord Cherbury’s arrival in town, which, he supposed, -would fix his future destiny. Previous to her departure, -he wrote to the Edwins, informing them of her intended visit, -and also her change of name for the present. This latter circumstance, -which was not satisfactorily accounted for, excited -their warmest curiosity; and not thinking it proper to ask -Amanda to gratify it, they, to use their own words, sifted her -companion, who hesitated not to inform them of the indignities -she had suffered from Colonel Belgrave, which were well known -about his neighborhood.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“——Thy grave shall with fresh flowers be dressed,</span> -<span class="i0">And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast;</span> -<span class="i0">There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow,</span> -<span class="i0">There the first roses of the year shall blow.”—<span class="smcap">Pope</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>A gentle noise in her chamber roused Amanda from a light, -refreshing slumber, and she beheld her nurse standing by her -bedside with a bowl of goat’s whey. Amanda took the salubrious -draught with a smile, and instantly starting up, was -dressed in a few minutes. She felt more composed than she -had done for some time past; the transition from a narrow -dark street to a fine open country, would have excited a lively -transport in her mind, but for the idea of her father still remaining -in the gloomy situation she had quitted.</p> - -<p>On going out, she found the family all busily employed; -Edwin and his sons were mowing in a meadow near the house, -the nurse was churning, Ellen washing the milk-pails by the -stream in the valley, and Betsey turning a cake for her breakfast. -The tea-table was laid by a window, through which a -woodbine crept, diffusing a delightful fragrance; the bees -feasted on its sweetness, and the gaudy butterflies fluttered -around it; the refulgent sun gladdened the face of nature; the -morning breeze tempered its heat, and bore upon its dewy -wings the sweets of opening flowers; birds carolled their matins -almost on every spray; and scattered peasants, busied in their -various labors, enlivened the extensive prospect.</p> - -<p>Amanda was delighted with all she saw, and wrote to her -father that his presence was only wanting to complete her -pleasure. The young man who had attended her, on receiving -her letter, set out for the village, from whence he was to return -in a stage-coach to London.</p> - -<p>The morning was passed by Amanda in arranging her little -affairs, walking about the cottage, and conversing with the -nurse relative to past times and present avocations. When the -hour for dinner came, by her desire it was carried out into the -recess in the garden, where the balmy air, the lovely scene -which surrounded her, rendered it doubly delicious.</p> - -<p>In the evening she asked Ellen to take a walk with her, to -which she joyfully consented. “And pray, Miss,” said Ellen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> -after she had smartened herself up with a clean white apron, -her Sunday cap, and a hat loaded with poppy-colored ribbons, -smiling as she spoke, at the pretty image her glass reflected, -“where shall we go?” “To the church-yard,” replied Amanda. -“Oh, Lord, Miss won’t that be rather a dismal place to go -to?” “Indulge me, my dear Ellen,” said Amanda, “in showing -me the way thither; there is one spot in it my heart wants -to visit.”</p> - -<p>The church-yard lay at the entrance of the little village; the -church was a small structure, whose gothic appearance proclaimed -its ancient date; it was rendered more venerable by the -lofty elms and yews which surrounded it, apparently coeval with -itself, and which cast dark shades upon the spots where the -“rude forefathers of the hamlet slept,” which,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked,</span> -<span class="i0">Implored the passing tribute of a sigh.“</span> -</div></div> - -<p>And it was a tribute Amanda paid, as she proceeded to the -grave of Lady Malvina; which Ellen pointed out; it was over -grown with grass, and the flag, which bore her name, green -from time and damp. Amanda involuntarily sunk on her -knees, and kissed the hallowed earth; her eyes caught the -melancholy inscription. “Sweet spirit,” she said, “heaven now -rewards your sufferings. Oh, my mother! if departed spirits -are ever allowed to review this world, with love ineffable you -may now be regarding your child. Oh, if she is doomed to -tread a path as thorny as the one you trod, may the same -sweetness and patience that distinguished you, support her -through it! with the same pious awe, the same meek submission, -may she bow to the designations of her Creator!”</p> - -<p>The affecting apostrophe drew tears from the tender-hearted -Ellen, who besought her not to continue longer in such -a dismal place. Amanda now arose weeping—her spirits were -entirely overcome; the busy objects of day had amused her -mind, and prevented it from meditating on its sorrow; but, in -the calm solitude of the evening, they gradually revived in her -remembrance. Her father’s ill-health, she feared, would increase -for want of her tender attentions; and when she thought -of his distress, his confinement, his dejection, she felt agony at -their separation.</p> - -<p>Her melancholy was noticed at the cottage. Ellen informed -the nurse of the dismal walk they had taken, which at once -accounted for it; and the good woman exerted herself to enliven -her dear child, but Amanda, though she faintly smiled,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> -was not to be cheered, and soon retired to bed—pale, languid, -and unhappy.</p> - -<p>Returning light, in some degree, dispelled her melancholy; -she felt, however, for the first time, that her hours would hang -heavy on her hands, deprived as she was of those delightful resources -which had hitherto diversified them. To pass her time -in listless inaction, or idle saunters about the house, was insupportable; -and besides, she found her presence in the morning -was a restraint on her humble friends, who did not deem it -good manners to work before her; and to them, who, like the -bees, were obliged to lay up their wintry hoard in summer, the -loss of time was irreparable.</p> - -<p>In the distraction of her father’s affairs, she had lost her -books, implements for drawing, and musical instruments; and -in the cottage she could only find a Bible, a family prayer-book, -and a torn volume of old ballads.</p> - -<p>“Tear heart, now I think on’t,” said the nurse, “you may -go to the library at Tudor Hall, where there are books enough -to keep you a-going, if you lived to the age of Methusalem himself; -and very pretty reading to be sure amongst them, or our -Parson Howel would not have been going there as often as he -did to study, till he got a library of his own. The family are -all away; and as the door is open every fine day to air the room, -you will not be noticed by nopoty going into it; though, for that -matter, poor old Mrs. Abergwilly would make you welcome -enough, if you promised to take none of the books away with -you. But as I know you to be a little bashful or so, I will, if -you choose, step over and ask her leave for you to go.” “It -you please,” said Amanda; “I should not like to go without -it.” “Well, I sha’n’t be long,” continued the nurse, “and -Ellen shall show you the way to-day; it will be a pretty pit of a -walk for you to take every morning.”</p> - -<p>The nurse was as good as her word; she returned soon, -with Mrs. Abergwilly’s permission for Amanda to read in the -library whenever she pleased. In consequence of this, she -immediately proceeded to the Hall, whose white turrets were -seen from the cottage: it was a large and antique building, -embosomed in a grove; the library was on the ground-floor, -and entered by a spacious folding-door. As soon as she had -reached it, Ellen left her, and returned to the cottage; and -Amanda began with pleasure to examine the apartment, -whose elegance and simplicity struck her with immediate -admiration.</p> - -<p>On one side was a row of large windows, arched quite in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> -gothic style; opposite to them were corresponding arches, in -whose recesses the bookcases were placed; round these arches -were festoons of laurel, elegantly executed in stucco-work; and -above them medallions of some of the most celebrated poets: -the chimney-piece, of the finest Italian marble, was beautifully -inlaid and ornamented; the paintings on the ceiling were all -highly finished, and of the allegorical kind; and it was difficult -to determine whether the taste that designed, or the hand that -executed them, merited most praise; upon marble pedestals -stood a celestial and terrestrial globe, and one recess was -entirely hung with maps. It was a room, from its situation and -appearance, peculiarly adopted for study and contemplation; -all around was solitude and silence, save the rustling of -the trees, whose dark foliage cast a solemn shade upon the -windows.</p> - -<p>Opposite the entrance was another folding-door, which being -a little opened, Amanda could not resist the desire she felt of -seeing what was beyond it. She entered a large vaulted apartment, -whose airy lightness formed a pleasing contrast to the -gloomy one she had left. The manner in which it was fitted -up, and the musical instruments, declared this to be a music-room. -It was hung with pale green damask, spotted with silver, -and bordered with festoons of roses, intermingled with light -silver sprays; the seats corresponded to the hangings; the -tables were of fine inlaid wood; and superb lustres were -suspended from the ceiling, which represented, in a masterly -style, scenes from some of the pastoral poets; the orchestra, -about the centre of the room, was enclosed with a light balustrading -of white marble, elevated by a few steps.</p> - -<p>The windows of this room commanded a pleasing prospect -of a deep romantic dale; the hills through which it wound, -displaying a beautiful diversity of woody scenery, interspersed -with green pastures and barren points of rocks: a fine fall of -water fell from one of the highest of the hills, which, broken by -intervening roots and branches of trees, ran a hundred different -ways, sparkling in the sunbeams as they emerged from the -shade.</p> - -<p>Amanda stood long at a window, enjoying this delightful -prospect, and admiring the taste which had chosen this room -for amusement; thus at once gratifying the eye and ear. On -looking over the instruments, she saw a pianoforte unlocked; -she gently raised the lid, and touching the keys, found them in -tolerable order. Amanda adored music; her genius for it was -great, and had received every advantage her father could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> -possibly give it; in cultivating it he had laid up a fund of -delight for himself, for “his soul was a stream that flowed at -pleasant sounds.”</p> - -<p>Amanda could not resist the present opportunity of gratifying -her favorite inclination. “Harmony and I,” cried she, -“have long been strangers to each other.” She sat down and -played a little tender air: those her father loved, recurred to -her recollection, and she played a few of them with even more -than usual elegance. “Ah, dear and valued object,” she mournfully -sighed, “why are you not here to share, my pleasure?” -She wiped away a starting tear of tender remembrance, and -began a simple air—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah gentle Hope, shall I no more</span> -<span class="i1">Thy cheerful influence share?</span> -<span class="i0">Oh must I still thy loss deplore,</span> -<span class="i1">And be the slave of care?</span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The gloom which now obscures my days</span> -<span class="i1">At thy approach would fly,</span> -<span class="i0">And glowing fancy would display</span> -<span class="i1">A bright unclouded sky.</span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Night’s dreary shadows fleet away</span> -<span class="i1">Before the orient beam</span> -<span class="i0">So sorrow melts before thy sway,</span> -<span class="i1">Thou nymph of cheerful mien.</span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! seek again my lonely breast,</span> -<span class="i1">Dislodge each painful fear;</span> -<span class="i0">Be once again my heavenly guest,</span> -<span class="i1">And stay each falling tear.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Amanda saw a number of music-books lying about; she -examined a few, and found they contained compositions of -some of the most eminent masters. They tempted her to continue -a little longer at the instrument: when she rose from it, -she returned to the library, and began looking over the books, -which she found were a collection of the best that past or -present times had produced. She soon selected one for perusal, -and seated herself in the recess of a window, that she -might enjoy the cool breeze, which sighed amongst the trees. -Here, delighted with her employment, she forgot the progress -of time; nor thought of moving, till Ellen appeared with a request -from the nurse, for her immediate return, as her dinner -was ready, and she was uneasy at her fasting so long. Amanda -did not hesitate to comply with the request; but she resolved -henceforth to be a constant visitor to the hall, which contained -such pleasing sources of amusement: she also settled in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -own mind often to ramble amidst its shades, which were perfectly -adapted to her taste. These resolutions she put in -practice; and a week passed in this manner, during which she -heard from her father, who informed her, that, suspecting the -woman with whom he lodged to be in Colonel Belgrave’s interest, -he proposed changing his abode; he desired her therefore -not to write till she heard from him again, and added, “Lord -Cherbury was daily expected.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2> - -<blockquote><p>“Mine eyes were half closed in sleep. Soft music came to mine ear; it was like the -rising breeze, that whirls at first, the thistle’s beard, that flies, dark shadowy over the -grass.”—<span class="smcap">Ossian</span>.</p></blockquote> - - -<p>Amanda went every morning to the hall, where she alternately -played and read: in the evening she again returned to -it: but instead of staying in the library, generally took a book -from thence, and read at the foot of some old moss-covered -tree, delighted to hear its branches gently rustling over her -head, and myriads of summer flies buzzing in the sunny ray, -from which she was sheltered. When she could no longer see -to read, she deposited her book in the place she had taken it -from, and rambled to the deepest recesses of the grove: this -was the time she loved to saunter carelessly along, while all -the jarring passions that obtruding care excited were hushed -to peace by the solemnity and silence of the hour, and the soul -felt at once composed and elevated: this was the time she -loved to think on days departed, and sketch those scenes of -felicity which, she trusted, the days to come would realize. -Sometimes she gave way to all the enthusiasm of a young and -romantic fancy, and pictured to herself the time when the -shades she wandered beneath were</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i3">——the haunts of meditation,</span> -<span class="i0">The scenes, where ancient bards the inspiring breath</span> -<span class="i0">Ecstatic felt, and, from this world retired,</span> -<span class="i0">Conversed with angels, and immortal forms,</span> -<span class="i0">On gracious errands bent; to save the fall</span> -<span class="i0">Of Virtue struggling on the brink of Vice.—<span class="smcap">Thomson</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Her health gradually grew better, as the tranquillity of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -mind increased: a faint blush again began to tinge her cheek, -and her lovely eyes beamed a placid lustre, through their long -silken lashes.</p> - -<p>She returned one evening from her usual ramble, with one -of those unaccountable depressions on her spirits to which, in -a greater or lesser degree, almost every one is subject. When -she retired to bed, her sleeping thoughts took the tincture of -her waking ones, and images of the most affecting nature arose -in her mind: she went through the whole story of her mother’s -sufferings, and suddenly dreamt she beheld her expiring under -the greatest torture; and that while she wept her fate the -clouds opened, and discovered her adorned with seraphic -beauty, bending with a benignant look towards her child, as if -to assure her of her present happiness. From this dream -Amanda was roused by the softest, sweetest strains of music -she had ever heard: she started with amazement; she opened -her eyes, and saw a light around her, far exceeding that of -twilight. Her dream had made a deep impression on her, and -a solemn awe diffused itself over her mind; she trembled -universally; but soon did the emotion of awe give way to that -of surprise, when she heard on the outside of the window the -following lines from Cowley, sung in a manly and exquisitely -melodious voice, the music which awoke her being only a -symphony to them:—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i5">Awake, awake, my lyre,</span> -<span class="i0">And tell thy silent master’s humble tale</span> -<span class="i5">In sounds that may prevail;</span> -<span class="i0">Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire.</span> -<span class="i5">Though so exalted she,</span> -<span class="i5">And I so lowly be,</span> -<span class="i0">Tell her such different notes make all thy harmony.</span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i5">Hark, how the strings awake,</span> -<span class="i0">And though the moving hand approach not near</span> -<span class="i5">Themselves with awful fear,</span> -<span class="i0">A kind of numerous trembling make.</span> -<span class="i5">Now all thy forces try,</span> -<span class="i5">Now all thy charms apply,</span> -<span class="i0">Revenge upon her ear the conquest of her eye.</span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i5">Weak lyre, thy virtue sure</span> -<span class="i0">Is useless here, since thou art only found</span> -<span class="i5">To cure, but not to wound,</span> -<span class="i0">And she to wound, but not to cure.</span> -<span class="i5">Too weak, too, wilt thou prove</span> -<span class="i5">My passion to remove.</span> -<span class="i0">Physic to other ills, thou’rt nourishment to love.</span> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i5"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> -Sleep, sleep again, my lyre,</span> -<span class="i0">For thou canst never tell my humble tale,</span> -<span class="i5">In sounds that will prevail,</span> -<span class="i0">Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire.</span> -<span class="i5">All thy vain mirth lay by,</span> -<span class="i5">Bid thy strings silent lie,</span> -<span class="i0">Sleep, sleep again, my lyre, and let thy master die.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Ere the voice ceased, Amanda had quite shaken off the -effects of her dream; and when all again was silent, she drew -back the curtain, and saw it was the moon, then at the full, -which, beaming through the calico window-curtains, cast such -a light around her. The remainder of the night was passed in -ruminating on this strange incident; it was evident the serenade -was addressed to her; but she had not seen any one since her -arrival in the neighborhood from whom she could have expected -such a compliment, or, indeed, believed capable of paying it; -that the person who paid it was one of no mean accomplishments, -from his performance, she could not doubt. She resolved -to conceal the incident, but to make such inquiries the -next morning as might possibly lead to a discovery. From the -answers those inquiries received, the clergyman was the only -person whom, with any degree of probability, she could fix on. -She had never seen him, and was at a loss to conceive how he -knew anything of her, till it occurred he might have seen her -going to Tudor Hall, or rambling about it.</p> - -<p>From the moment this idea arose, Amanda deemed it imprudent -to go to the hall; yet, so great was the pleasure she -experienced there, she could not think of relinquishing it without -the greatest reluctance. She at last considered, if she had -a companion, it would remove any appearance of impropriety. -Ellen was generally employed at knitting; Amanda therefore -saw, that going to the hall could not interfere with her employment, -and accordingly asked her attendance thither, which the -other joyfully agreed to.</p> - -<p>“While you look over the books,” said Ellen, as they entered -the library, “I will just step away about a little business.” -“I beg you may not be long absent,” cried Amanda. Ellen -assured her that she would not, and flew off directly. She had -in truth seen, in an enclosure near the hall, Tim Chip, the -carpenter, at work, who was the rural Adonis of these shades. -He had long selected Ellen for the fair nymph of his affection, -which distinction excited not a little jealousy among the village -girls, and considerably increased the vanity of Ellen, who -triumphed in a conquest that at once gratified her love, and -exalted her above her companions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -Amanda entered the music-room. The melodious strains -she had heard the preceding night dwelt upon her memory, -and she sat down to the piano and attempted them; her ear -soon informed her the attempt was successful; and her voice -(as the words were familiar to her) then accompanied the instrument—“Heavenly -sounds!” exclaimed some one behind -her, as she concluded singing. Amanda started in terror and -confusion from the chair, and beheld a tall and elegant young -man standing by it. “Good heaven!” cried she, blushing and -hastily moving to the door, scarcely knowing what she said, -“where can Ellen be?” “And do you think,” said the -stranger, springing forward and intercepting her passage, “I -shall let you escape in this manner? No; really, my charming -girl, I should be the most insensible of beings if I did not avail -myself of the happy opportunity chance afforded of entreating -leave to be introduced to you.” As he spoke, he gently seized -her hand and carried it to his lips. “Be assured, sir,” said -Amanda, “the chance, as you call it, which brought us together, -is to me most unpleasant, as I fear it has exposed me to greater -freedom than I have been accustomed to.” “And is it possible,” -said he, “you really feel an emotion of anger? Well, I -will relinquish my lovely captive if she condescendingly promises -to continue here a few minutes longer, and grants me permission -to attend her home.” “I insist on being immediately -released,” exclaimed Amanda. “I obey,” cried he, softly pressing -her hand, and then resigning it—“you are free; would to -Heaven I could say the same!”</p> - -<p>Amanda hurried to the grove, but in her confusion took -the wrong path, and vainly cast her eyes around in search of -Ellen. The stranger followed, and his eyes wandered with hers -in every direction they took. “And why,” cried he, “so unpropitious -to my wish of introduction?—a wish it was impossible -not to feel from the moment you were seen.” Amanda made -no reply, but still hurried on, and her fatigue and agitation were -soon too much for her present weak state of health, and, quite -overpowered, she was at last compelled to stop, and lean against -a tree for support. Exercise had diffused its softest bloom -over her cheek; her hair fluttered in the breeze that played -around her, and her eyes, with the beautiful embarrassment of -modesty, were bent to the ground to avoid the stranger’s ardent -gaze. He watched her with looks of the most impassioned -admiration, and softly exclaimed, as if the involuntary exclamation -of rapture, “Good heavens, what an angel! Fatigue has -made you ill,” he said; “and ’tis your haste to avoid me has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> -occasioned this disorder. Could you look into my heart, you -would then find there was no reason to fly me; the emotions -that lovely face excites in a soul of sensibility could never be -inimical to your safety.”</p> - -<p>At this moment Amanda perceived Ellen leaping over a -style; she had at last left Mr. Chip, after promising to meet him -in the evening at the cottage, where the blind harper was to -attend to give them a dance. She ran forward, but, on seeing -the stranger, started back in the utmost amazement. “Bless -me!” said Amanda, “I thought you would never come.” -“You go, then,” said the stranger, “and give me no hope of a -second interview. Oh say,” taking her hand, “will you not -allow me to wait upon you?” “It is utterly impossible,” replied -Amanda, “and I shall be quite distressed if longer detained.” -“See, then,” said he, opening a gate which led from the grove -into the road, “how like a courteous knight I release you from -painful captivity. But think not, thou beautiful though cruel -fair one,” he continued gayly, “I shall resign my hopes of yet -conquering thy obduracy.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord!” cried Ellen, as they quitted the grove, “how -did you meet with Lord Mortimer?” “Lord Mortimer?” repeated -Amanda, “Yes, himself, inteed,” said Ellen; “and I -think in all my porn days I was never more surprised than -when I saw him with you, looking so soft and so sweet upon -you; to be sure he is a beautiful man, and besides that, the -young Lort of Tudor Hall.” Amanda’s spirits were greatly -flurried when she heard he was the master of the mansion, -where he had found her seated with as much composure as if -possessor of it.</p> - -<p>As they were entering the cottage, Ellen, twitching Amanda’s -sleeve, cried, “Look! look!” Amanda, hastily turning -round, perceived Lord Mortimer, who had slowly followed -them half way down the lane. On being observed, he smiled, -and kissing his hand, retired.</p> - -<p>Nurse was quite delighted at her child being seen by Lord -Mortimer (which Ellen informed her of): her beauty, she was -convinced, had excited his warmest admiration; and admiration -might lead (she did not doubt) to something more important. -Amanda’s heart fluttered with an agreeable sensation, -as Ellen described to her mother the tender looks with which -Lord Mortimer regarded her. She was at first inclined to believe, -that in his lordship she had found the person whose -melody so agreeably disturbed her slumbers; but a minute’s -reflection convinced her this belief must be erroneous: it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> -evident (or she would have heard of it) that Lord Mortimer -had only arrived that day at Tudor Hall: and even had he -seen her before, upon consideration she thought it improbable -that he should have taken the trouble of coming in such a manner -to a person in a station, to all appearance, so infinitely beneath -his own. Yes, it was plain, chance alone had led him to -the apartment where she sat; and the commonplace gallantry -fashionable men are accustomed to, had dictated the language he -addressed to her. She half sighed, as she settled the matter -thus in her mind, and again fixed on the curate as her serenader. -Well, she was determined, if ever he came in her way, -and dropped a hint of an attachment, she would immediately -crush any hope she might have the vanity to entertain!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“The blossoms opening to the day,</span> -<span class="i1">The dews of heaven refined,</span> -<span class="i0">Could nought of purity display</span> -<span class="i1">To emulate his mind.”—<span class="smcap">Goldsmith</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>After tea Amanda asked little Betsey to accompany her in -a walk; for Ellen (dressed in all her rural finery) had gone earlier -in the evening to the dance. But Amanda did not begin her -walk with her usual alacrity: her bonnet was so heavy, and then -it made her look so ill, that she could not go out till she had -made some alterations in it; still it would not do; a hat was -tried on; she liked it better, and at last set out; but not as -usual did she pause, whenever a new or lovely feature in the -landscape struck her view, to express her admiration: she was -often indeed so absorbed in thought, as to start when Betsey -addressed her, which was often the case: for little Betsey -delighted to have Miss Amanda to trace figures for her in the -clouds, and assist her in gathering wild flowers. Scarcely -knowing which way they went, Amanda rambled to the village; -and feeling herself fatigued, turned into the church-yard to rest -upon one of the raised flags.</p> - -<p>The graves were ornamented with garlands of cut paper, -interwoven with flowers: tributes of love from the village maids -to the memory of their departed friends.</p> - -<p>As Amanda rested herself, she twined a garland of the wild -flowers she had gathered with Betsey, and hung it over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> -grave of Lady Malvina: her fine eyes raised to heaven, as if -invoking at that moment the spirit of her mother, to regard the -vernal offering of her child; while her white hands were folded -on her heart, and she softly exclaimed, “Alas, is this the only -tribute for me to pay!”</p> - -<p>A low murmur, as if from voices near, startled her at the -instant; she turned with quickness, and saw Lord Mortimer, -with a young clergyman, half hid by some trees, attentively -observing her. Blushing and confused, she drew her hat over -her face, and catching Betsey’s hand, hastened to the cottage.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer had wandered about the skirts of the cottage, -in hopes of meeting her in the evening; on seeing the direction -she had taken from it, he followed her, and just as she entered -the church-yard, unexpectedly met the curate. His company, -at a moment so propitious for joining Amanda, he could well -have dispensed with; for he was more anxious than he chose -to acknowledge to himself, to become acquainted with her.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was now in the glowing prime of life: his -person was strikingly elegant, and his manners insinuatingly -pleasing; seducing sweetness dwelt in his smile, and, as he -pleased, his expressive eyes could sparkle with intelligence, or -beam with sensibility; and to the eloquence of his language, -the harmony of his voice imparted a charm that seldom failed -of being irresistible; his soul was naturally the seat of every -virtue; but an elevated rank, and splendid fortune, had placed -him in a situation somewhat inimical to their interests, for he -had not always strength to resist the strong temptations which -surrounded him; but though he sometimes wandered from the -boundaries of virtue, he had never yet entered upon the confines -of vice—never really injured innocence, or done a deed -which could wound the bosom of a friend: his heart was alive -to every noble propensity of nature; compassion was one of -its strongest feelings, and never did his hand refuse obedience -to the generous impulse. Among the various accomplishments -he possessed, was an exquisite taste for music, which, with -every other talent, had been cultivated to the highest degree of -possible perfection; his spending many years abroad had given -him every requisite advantage for improving it. The soft, melodious -voice of Amanda would of itself almost have made a conquest -of his heart; but aided by the charms of her face and -person, altogether were irresistible.</p> - -<p>He had come into Wales on purpose to pay a visit to an old -friend in the Isle of Anglesey: he did not mean to stop at -Tudor Hall; but within a few miles of it the phaeton, in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> -he travelled (from the fineness of the weather), was overturned, -and he severely hurt. He procured a hired carriage, and proceeded -to the hall, to put himself into the hands of the good -old housekeeper, Mrs. Abergwilly; who, possessing as great a -stock of medical knowledge as Lady Bountiful herself, he believed -would cure his bruises with as much, or rather more expedition, -than any country surgeon whatever. He gave strict -orders that his being at the hall should not be mentioned, as he -did not choose, the few days he hoped and believed he should -continue there, to be disturbed by visits which he knew would -be paid if an intimation of his being there was received. From -an apartment adjoining the music-room he had discovered -Amanda. Though scarcely able to move, at the first sound of -her voice he stole to the door, which being a little open, gave -him an opportunity of seeing her perfectly; and nothing but his -situation prevented his immediately appearing before her, and -expressing the admiration she had inspired him with. As soon -as she departed he sent for the housekeeper, to inquire who the -beautiful stranger was. Mrs. Abergwilly only knew she was a -young lady lately come from London, to lodge at David Edwin’s -cottage, whose wife had entreated permission for her to read in -the library, which, she added, she had given, seeing that his -lordship read in his dressing-room; but, if he pleased, she would -send Miss Dunford word not to come again—“By no means,” -his lordship said. Amanda therefore continued her visits as -usual, little thinking with what critical regard and fond admiration -she was observed. Lord Mortimer daily grew better; but -the purpose for which he had come into Wales seemed utterly -forgotten; he had a tincture of romance in his disposition, and -availed himself of his recovery to gratify it, by taking a lute -and serenading his lovely cottage girl. He could no longer -restrain his impatience to be known to her; and the next day, -stealing from his retirement, surprised her as already related.</p> - -<p>As he could not, without an utter violation of good manners, -shake off Howel, he contented himself with following Amanda -into the church-yard, where, shaded by trees, he and his companion -stood watching her unnoticed, till an involuntary exclamation -of rapture from his lordship discovered their situation. -When she departed, he read the inscription on the tombstone; -but, from the difference of names, this gave no insight into any -connection between her and the person it mentioned. Howel -could give no information of either; he was but a young man, -lately appointed to the parsonage, and had never seen Amanda -till that evening.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> -Lord Mortimer was solicitous, even to a degree of anxiety, -to learn the real situation of Amanda. As Howel, in his pastoral -function, had free access to the houses of his parishioners, it -occurred to him that he would be an excellent person to discover -it; he therefore, as if from curiosity alone, expressed his -wish of knowing who she was, and requested Howel, if convenient, -to follow her directly to Edwin’s cottage (where, he -said, by chance, he heard she lodged), and endeavor to find out -from the good people everything about her. This request Howel -readily complied with; the face, the figure, the melancholy, and, -above all, the employment of Amanda, had interested his sensibility -and excited his curiosity.</p> - -<p>He arrived soon after her at the cottage, and found her -laughing at her nurse, who was telling her she was certain she -should see her a great lady. Amanda rose to retire at his entrance; -but he, perceiving her intention, declared if he disturbed -her, he would immediately depart; she accordingly reseated -herself, secretly pleased at doing so, as she thought, either from -some look or word of the curate’s, she might discover if he -really was the person who had serenaded her; from this idea -she showed no aversion to enter into conversation with him.</p> - -<p>The whole family, nurse excepted, had followed Ellen to the -dance; and that good woman thought she could do no less, for -the honor of Howel’s visit, than prepare a little comfortable -supper for him. The benevolence of his disposition, and innocent -gayety of his temper, had rendered him a great favorite -amongst his rustic neighbors, whom he frequently amused with -simple ballads and pleasant tales. Amanda and he were left -<i>tete-��-tete</i> while the nurse was busied in preparing her entertainment; -and she was soon as much pleased with the elegance and -simplicity of his manners, as he was with the innocence and -sweetness of hers. The objects about them naturally led to -rural subjects, and from them to what might almost be termed -a dissertation on poetry: this was a theme peculiarly agreeable -to Howel, who wooed the pensive muse beneath the sylvan -shade; nor was it less so to Amanda—she was a zealous worshipper -of the muses, though diffidence made her conceal her -invocations to them. She was led to point out the beauties of -her favorite authors, and the soft sensibility of her voice raised -a kind of tender enthusiasm in Howel’s soul; he gazed and -listened, as if his eye could never be satisfied with seeing, or -his ear with hearing. At his particular request, Amanda recited -the pathetic description of the curate and his lovely daughter -from the “Deserted Village"—a tear stole down her cheek as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> -she proceeded. Howel softly laid his hand on hers, and exclaimed, -“Good heavens, what an angel!”</p> - -<p>“Come, come,” said Amanda, smiling at the energy with -which he spoke, “you, at least, should have nothing to do with -flattery.”</p> - -<p>“Flattery!” repeated he, emphatically; “Oh heavens! did -you but know my sincerity——”</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” cried she, wishing to change the subject, -“utter no expression in future which shall make me doubt it.”</p> - -<p>“To flatter you,” said he, “would be impossible, since the -highest eulogium must be inadequate to your merits.”</p> - -<p>“Again!” said Amanda.</p> - -<p>“Believe me,” he replied, “flattery is a meanness I abhor; -the expressions you denominate as such proceed from emotions -I should contemn myself for want of sensibility if I did not -experience.”</p> - -<p>The nurse’s duck and green peas were now set upon the -table, but in vain did she press Howel to eat; his eyes were too -well feasted to allow him to attend to his palate. Finding her -entreaties ineffectual in one respect, she tried them in another, -and begged he would sing a favorite old ballad; this he at first -hesitated to do, till Amanda (from a secret motive of her own) -joined in the entreaty; and the moment she heard his voice, -she was convinced he was not the person who had been at the -outside of her window. After his complaisance to her, she -could not refuse him one song. The melodious sounds sunk -into his heart; he seemed fascinated to the spot, nor thought of -moving till the nurse gave him a hint for that purpose, being -afraid of Amanda sitting up too late.</p> - -<p>He sighed as he entered his humble dwelling; it was perhaps -the first sigh he had ever heaved for the narrowness of his fortune. -“Yet,” cried he, casting his eyes around, “in this abode, -low and humble as it is, a soul like Amanda’s might enjoy -felicity.”</p> - -<p>The purpose for which Lord Mortimer sent him to the cottage, -and Lord Mortimer himself, were forgotten. His lordship -had engaged Howel to sup with him after the performance of -his embassy, and impatiently awaited his arrival: he felt displeased, -as the hours wore away without bringing him; and, -unable at last to restrain the impetuosity of his feelings, proceeded -to the parsonage; which he entered a few minutes after -Howel. He asked, with no great complacency, the reason he -had not fulfilled his engagement. Absorbed in one idea, Howel -felt confused, agitated, and unable to frame any excuse; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> -therefore simply said, what in reality was true, “that he had -utterly forgotten it.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose, then,” exclaimed Lord Mortimer, in a ruffled -voice, “you have been very agreeably entertained?”</p> - -<p>“Delightfully,” said Howel.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer grew more displeased, but his anger was now -levelled against himself as well as Howel. He repented and -regretted the folly which had thrown Howel in the way of such -temptation, and had perhaps raised a rival to himself.</p> - -<p>“Well,” cried he, after a few hasty paces about the room, -“and pray, what do you know about Miss Dunford?”</p> - -<p>“About her!” repeated Howel, as if starting from a reverie; -“why—nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing!” re-echoed his lordship.</p> - -<p>“No,” replied Howel, “except that she is an angel.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was now thoroughly convinced all was over -with the poor parson; and resolved, in consequence of this -conviction, to lose no time himself. He could not depart -without inquiring how the evening had been spent, and envied -Howel the happy minutes he had so eloquently described.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i4">“———— Hither turn</span> -<span class="i0">Thy graceful footsteps; hither, gentle maid,</span> -<span class="i0">Incline thy polished forehead. Let thy eyes</span> -<span class="i0">Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn;</span> -<span class="i0">And may the fanning breezes waft aside</span> -<span class="i0">Thy radiant locks, disclosing, as it bends</span> -<span class="i0">With airy softness from the marble neck,</span> -<span class="i0">The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lip,</span> -<span class="i0">Where winning smiles, and pleasure sweet as love</span> -<span class="i0">With sanctity and wisdom, tempering blend</span> -<span class="i0">Their soft allurements.”—<span class="smcap">Akenside</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>While Amanda was at breakfast the next morning, Betsey -brought a letter to her; expecting to hear from her father, she -eagerly opened it, and, to her great surprise, perused the following -lines:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS DUNFORD.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer begs leave to assure Miss Dunford he shall remain dissatisfied -with himself till he has an opportunity of personally apologizing -for his intrusion yesterday. If the sweetness of her disposition fulfils the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>promise her face has given of it, he flatters himself his pardon will speedily -be accorded: yet never shall he think himself entirely forgiven, if her visits -to the library are discontinued. Happy and honored shall Lord Mortimer -consider himself, if Tudor Hall contains anything which can amuse or merit -the attention of Miss Dunford.</p> - -<p>July 17th.</p></blockquote> - -<p>“From Lord Mortimer!” said Amanda, with involuntary -emotion. “Well, this really has astonished me.” “Oh Lort, -my tear!” cried the nurse in rapture.</p> - -<p>Amanda waved her hand to silence her, as the servant -stood in the outside room. She called Betsey: “Tell the servant,” -said she——</p> - -<p>“Lort!” cried the nurse softly, and twitching her sleeve, -“write his lortship a little pit of a note, just to let him see -what a pretty scribe you are.”</p> - -<p>Amanda could not refrain smiling; but disengaging herself -from the good woman, she arose, and going to the servant, -desired him to tell his lord, she thanked him for his polite -attention; but that in future it would not be in her power to -go to the library. When she returned to the room, the nurse -bitterly lamented her not writing. “Great matters,” she said, -“had often arisen from small beginnings.” She could not -conceive why his lortship should be treated in such a manner: -it was not the way she had ever served her Edwin. Lort, she -remembered if she got but the scrawl of a pen from him, she -used to sit up to answer it. Amanda tried to persuade her it -was neither necessary or proper for her to write. An hour -passed in arguments between them, when two servants came -from Tudor Hall to the cottage with a small bookcase, which -they sent in to Amanda, and their lord’s compliments, that in a -few minutes he would have the honor of paying his respects -to her.</p> - -<p>Amanda felt agitated by this message; but it was the -agitation of involuntary pleasure. Her room was always perfectly -neat, yet did the nurse and her two daughters now busy -themselves with trying, if possible, to put it into nicer order: -the garden was ransacked for the choicest flowers to ornament -it; nor would they depart till they saw Lord Mortimer approaching. -Amanda, who had opened the bookcase, then -snatched up a book, to avoid the appearance of sitting in -expectation of his coming.</p> - -<p>He entered with an air at once easy and respectful, and -taking her hand, besought forgiveness for his intrusion the preceding -day. Amanda blushed, and faltered out something of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -confusion she had experienced from being so surprised; he -reseated her, and drawing a chair close to hers, said he had -taken the liberty of sending her a few books to amuse her, till -she again condescended to visit the library, which he entreated -her to do; promising that, if she pleased, both it and the -music-room should be sacred to her alone. She thanked him -for his politeness; but declared she must be excused from -going. Lord Mortimer regarded her with a degree of tender -admiration; an admiration heightened by the contrast he drew -in his mind between her and the generality of fashionable -women he had seen, whom he often secretly censured for sacrificing -too largely at the shrine of art and fashion. The pale -and varied blush which mantled the cheek of Amanda at once -announced itself to be an involuntary suffusion; and her dress -was only remarkable for its simplicity; she wore a plain robe -of dimity, and an abbey cap of thin muslin, that shaded, without -concealing, her face, and gave to it the soft expression of -a Madonna; her beautiful hair fell in long ringlets down her -back, and curled upon her forehead.</p> - -<p>“Good heaven!” cried Mortimer, “how has your idea -dwelt upon my mind since last night: if in the morning I was -charmed, in the evening I was enraptured. Your looks, your -attitude, were then beyond all that imagination could conceive -of loveliness and grace; you appeared as a being on another -world mourning over a kindred spirit. I felt</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Awe-struck, and as I passed, I worshipped.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Confused by the energy of his words, and the ardent -glances he directed towards her, Amanda, scarcely knowing -what she did, turned over the leaves of the book she still held -in her hand; in doing so, she saw written on the title-page, -the Earl of Cherbury. “Cherbury?” repeated she, in astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Do you know him?” asked Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<p>“Not personally; but I revere, I esteem him; he is one of -the best, the truest friends, my father ever had.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, how happy,” exclaimed Lord Mortimer, “would his -son be, were he capable of inspiring you with such sentiments -as you avow for him.”</p> - -<p>“His son!” repeated Amanda, in a tone of surprise, and -looking at Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied he. “Is it then possible,” he continued, -“that you are really ignorant of his being my father?”</p> - -<p>Surprise kept her silent a few minutes; for her father had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> -never given her any account of the earl’s family, till about the -period he thought of applying to him; and her mind was so -distracted at that time on his own account, that she scarcely -understood a word he uttered. In the country she had never -heard Lord Cherbury mentioned; for Tudor Hall belonged -not to him, but to Lord Mortimer, to whom an uncle had bequeathed -it.</p> - -<p>“I thought, indeed, my lord,” said Amanda, as soon as she -recovered her voice, “that your lordship’s title was familiar to -me; though why, from the hurry and perplexity in which particular -circumstances involved me, I could not tell.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, suffer,” cried Lord Mortimer, with one of his most -insinuating smiles, “the friendship which our parents feel to -be continued to their children; let this,” taking her soft hand, -and pressing his lips to it, “be the pledge of amity between -us.” He now inquired when the intimacy between her father -and his had commenced, and where the former was. But from -those inquiries Amanda shrunk. She reflected, that, without -her father’s permission, she had no right to answer them; and -that, in a situation like his and hers, too much caution could -not be observed. Besides, both pride and delicacy made her -solicitous at present to conceal her father’s real situation from -Lord Mortimer: she could not bear to think it should be -known his sole dependence was on Lord Cherbury, uncertain -as it was, whether that nobleman would ever answer his expectations. -She repented having ever dropped a hint of the -intimacy subsisting between them, which surprise alone had -made her do, and tried to waive the subject. In this design -Lord Mortimer assisted her; for he had too much penetration -not instantly to perceive it confused and distressed her. He -requested permission to renew his visit, but Amanda, though -well inclined to grant his request, yielded to prudence instead -of inclination, and begged he would excuse her; the seeming -disparity (she could not help saying) in their situations, would -render it very imprudent in her to receive such visits; she -blushed, half sighed, and bent her eyes to the ground as she -spoke. Lord Mortimer continued to entreat, but she was -steady in refusing; he would not depart, however, till he had -obtained permission to attend her in the evening to a part of -Tudor Grove which she had never yet seen, and he described -as particularly beautiful. He wanted to call for her at the -appointed hour, but she would not suffer this, and he was compelled -to be contented with leave to meet her near the cottage -when it came.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -With a beating heart she kept her appointment, and found his -lordship not many yards distant from the cottage, impatiently -waiting her approach. A brighter bloom than usual glowed -upon her cheek as she listened to his ardent expressions of -admiration; yet not to such expressions, which would soon -have sated an ear of delicacy like Amanda’s, did Lord Mortimer -confine himself; he conversed on various subjects; and the -eloquence of his language, the liveliness of his imagination, and -the justness of his remarks, equally amused and interested his -fair companion. There was, indeed, in the disposition and -manners of Lord Mortimer that happy mixture of animation and -softness which at once amuses the fancy and attracts the heart; -and never had Amanda experienced such minutes as she now -passed with him, so delightful in their progress, so rapid in -their course. On entering the walk he had mentioned to her, -she saw he had not exaggerated its beauties. After passing -through many long and shaded alleys, they came to a smooth -green lawn, about which the trees rose in the form of an amphitheatre, -and their dark, luxuriant, and checkered shades -proclaimed that amongst them</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“The rude axe, with heaved stroke,</span> -<span class="i0">Was never heard, the nymphs to daunt,</span> -<span class="i0">Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.”—<span class="smcap">Milton</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The lawn gently sloped to a winding stream, so clear as perfectly -to reflect the beautiful scenery of heaven, now glowing -with the gold and purple of the setting sun; from the opposite -bank of the stream rose a stupendous mountain, diversified -with little verdant hills and dales, and skirted with a wild shrubbery, -whose blossoms perfumed the air with the most balmy -fragrance. Lord Mortimer prevailed on Amanda to sit down -upon a rustic bench, beneath the spreading branches of an oak, -enwreathed with ivy; here they had not sat long, ere the -silence, which reigned around, was suddenly interrupted by -strains, at once low, solemn, and melodious, that seemed to -creep along the water, till they had reached the place where -they sat; and then, as if a Naiad of the stream had left her -rushy couch to do them homage, they swelled by degrees into -full melody, which the mountain echoes alternately revived and -heightened. It appeared like enchantment to Amanda; and -her eyes, turned to Lord Mortimer, seemed to say, it was -to his magic it was owing. After enjoying her surprise some -minutes, he acknowledged the music proceeded from two -servants of his, who played on the clarinet and French horn,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> -and were stationed in a dell of the opposite mountain. Notwithstanding -all her former thoughts to the contrary, Amanda -now conceived a strong suspicion that Lord Mortimer was really -the person who had serenaded her; that she conceived pleasure -from the idea, is scarcely necessary to say; she had reason soon -to find she was not mistaken. Lord Mortimer solicited her for -the Lady’s song in Comus, saying the present situation was -peculiarly adapted to it; on her hesitating, he told her she had -no plea to offer for not complying, as he himself had heard her -enchanting powers in it. Amanda started, and eagerly inquired -when or by what means. It was too late for his lordship to -recede; and he not only confessed his concealment near the -music-room, but his visit to her window. A soft confusion, -intermingled with pleasure, pervaded the soul of Amanda at -this confession: and it was some time ere she was sufficiently -composed to comply with Lord Mortimer’s solicitations for her -to sing; she at last allowed him to lead her to the centre of a -little rustic bridge thrown over the stream, from whence her -voice could be sufficiently distinguished for the music to keep -time to it, as Lord Mortimer had directed. Her plaintive and -harmonious invocation, answered by the low breathing of the -clarinet, which appeared like the softest echo of the mountain, -had the finest effect imaginable, and “took the imprisoned -soul, and wrapped it in Elysium.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer, for the first time in his life, found himself -at a loss to express what he felt: he conducted her back to the -seat, where, to her astonishment, she beheld fruits, ices, and -creams, laid out, as if by the hand of magic, for no mortal -appeared near the spot. Dusky twilight now warned her to -return home; but Lord Mortimer would not suffer her to depart -till she had partaken of this collation.</p> - -<p>He was not by any means satisfied with the idea of only -beholding her for an hour or two of an evening; and when they -came near the cottage, desired to know whether it was to -chance alone he was in future to be indebted for seeing her. -Again he entreated permission to visit her sometimes of a -morning, promising he would never disturb her avocations, but -would be satisfied merely to sit and read to her, whenever she -chose to work, and felt herself inclined for that amusement: -Amanda’s refusals grew fainter; and at last she said, on the -above-mentioned conditions, he might sometimes come. That -he availed himself of this permission, is scarcely necessary to -say; and from this time few hours passed without their seeing -each other.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> -The cold reserve of Amanda by degrees wore away; from -her knowledge of his family she considered him as more than a -new or common acquaintance. The emotions she felt for him, -she thought sanctioned by that knowledge, and the gratitude -she felt for Lord Cherbury for his former conduct to her father, -which claimed, she thought, her respect and esteem for so near -and valuable a connection of his; the worth, too, she could not -avoid acknowledging to herself, of Lord Mortimer, would, of -itself alone, have authorized them. Her heart felt he was one -of the most amiable, most pleasing of men; she could scarcely -disguise, in any degree, the lively pleasure she experienced in -his society; nay, she scarcely thought it necessary to disguise -it, for it resulted as much from innocence as sensibility, and -was placed to the account of friendship. But Lord Mortimer -was too penetrating not soon to perceive he might ascribe it to -a softer impulse; with the most delicate attention, the most -tender regard, he daily, nay, hourly, insinuated himself into -her heart, and secured for himself an interest in it, ere she -was aware, which the efforts of subsequent resolution could -not overcome. He was the companion of her rambles, the -alleviator of her griefs; the care which so often saddened her -brow always vanished at his presence, and in conversing with -him she forgot every cause of sorrow.</p> - -<p>He once or twice delicately hinted at those circumstances -which at his first visit she had mentioned, as sufficiently distressing -to bewilder her recollection. Amanda, with blushes, always -shrunk from the subject, sickening at the idea of his knowing -that her father depended on his for future support. If he ever -addressed her seriously on the subject of the regard he professed -for her (which, from his attentions, she could not help sometimes -flattering herself would be the case), then, indeed, there -would be no longer room for concealment; but, except such a -circumstance took place, she could not bring herself to make -any humiliating discovery.</p> - -<p>Tudor Grove was the favorite scene of their rambles; sometimes -she allowed him to lead her to the music-room; but as -these visits were not frequent, a lute was brought from it to the -cottage, and in the recess in the garden she often sung and -played for the enraptured Mortimer; there, too, he frequently -read for her, always selecting some elegant and pathetic piece -of poetry, to which the harmony of his voice gave additional -charms; a voice, which sunk into the heart of Amanda, and -interested her sensibility even more than the subject he perused.</p> - -<p>Often straying to the valley’s verge, as they contemplated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> -the lovely prospect around, only bounded by distant and stupendous -mountains, Lord Mortimer, in strains of eloquence -would describe the beautiful scenes and extensive landscapes -beyond them; and, whenever Amanda expressed a wish (as she -sometimes would from thoughtless innocence) of viewing them, -he would softly sigh, and wish he was to be her guide to them; -as to point out beauties to a refined and cultivated mind like -hers, would be to him the greatest pleasure he could possibly -experience. Seated sometimes on the brow of a shrubby hill, -as they viewed the scattered hamlets beneath, he would expatiate -on the pleasure he conceived there must be in passing a -tranquil life with one lovely and beloved object: his insidious -eyes, turned towards Amanda, at these minutes, seemed to say, -she was the being who could realize all the ideas he entertained -of such a life; and when he asked her opinion of his sentiments, -her disordered blushes, and faltering accents, too plainly -betrayed her conscious feelings. Every delicacy which Tudor -Hall contained, was daily sent to the cottage, notwithstanding -Amanda’s prohibition to the contrary; and sometimes Lord -Mortimer was permitted to dine with her in the recess. Three -weeks spent in this familiar manner, endeared and attached -them to each other more than months would have done, passed -in situations liable to interruption.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“—————— She alone</span> -<span class="i0">Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought,</span> -<span class="i0">Fills every sense, and pants in every vein.</span> -<span class="i0">Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends,</span> -<span class="i0">And sad amid the social band he sits,</span> -<span class="i0">Lonely and unattentive. From his tongue</span> -<span class="i0">The unfinished period falls, while, bore away</span> -<span class="i0">On swelling thoughts his wafted spirit flies</span> -<span class="i0">To the vain bosom of his distant fair.”—<span class="smcap">Thomson</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Howel was no stranger to the manner in which hours rolled -away at the cottage; he hovered round it, and seized every interval -of Lord Mortimer’s absence to present himself before -Amanda; his emotions betrayed his feelings, and Amanda -effected reserve towards him, in hopes of suppressing his passion; -a passion, she now began to think, when hopeless, must -be dreadful.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> -Howel was a prey to melancholy; but not for himself alone -did he mourn; fears for the safety and happiness of Amanda -added to his dejection; he dreaded that Lord Mortimer, perhaps, -like too many of the fashionable men, might make no -scruple of availing himself of any advantage which could be -derived from a predilection in his favor.</p> - -<p>He knew him, it is true, to be amiable; but in opposition to -that, he knew him to be volatile, and sometimes wild, and -trembled for the unsuspecting credulity of Amanda. “Though -lost to me,” exclaimed the unhappy young man, “oh never, -sweetest Amanda, mayest thou be lost to thyself!”</p> - -<p>He had received many proofs of esteem and friendship from -Lord Mortimer; he therefore studied how he might admonish -without offending, and save Amanda without injuring himself. -It at last occurred to him that the pulpit would be the surest -way of effecting his wishes, where the subject, addressed to all, -might particularly strike one for whom it was intended, without -appearing as if designed for that purpose; and timely convince -him, if, indeed, he meditated any injurious design against -Amanda, of its flagrance.</p> - -<p>On the following Sunday, as he expected, Lord Mortimer -and Amanda attended service; his lordship’s pew was opposite -the one she sat in, and we fear his eyes too often wondered in -that direction.</p> - -<p>The youthful monitor at last ascended the pulpit; his text -was from Jeremiah, and to the following effect:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“She weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks; -among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her; all her friends have -dealt treacherously with her, they are become her enemies.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>After a slight introduction, in which he regretted that the -declension of moral principles demanded such an exhortation -as he was about to give, he commenced his subject; he described -a young female, adorned with beauty and innocence, -walking forward in the path of integrity, which a virtuous education -had early marked for her to take, and rejoicing as she -went with all around her; when, in the midst of happiness, unexpected -calamity suddenly surprised and precipitated her from -prosperity into the deepest distress: he described the benefits -she derived in this trying period from early implanted virtue -and religion; taught by them (he proceeded) the lovely -mourner turns not to the world for consolation—no, she looks -up to her Creator for comfort, whose supporting aid is so particularly -promised to afflicted worth. Cheered by them, she is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> -able to exert her little talents of genius and taste, and draw -upon industry for her future support; her active virtues, he -thinks the best proof of submission she can give to the will of -Heaven; and in the laudable exertions she finds a conscious -peace, which the mere possession of fortune could never bestow. -While thus employed, a son of perfidy sees and marks -her for his prey, because she is at once lovely and helpless: -her unsuspecting credulity lays her open to his arts, and his -blandishments by degrees allure her heart. The snare which -he has spread at last involves her; with the inconstancy of -libertinism he soon deserts her; and again is she plunged into -distress. But mark the difference of her first and second fall: -conscience no longer lends its opposing aid to stem her sorrow, -despair instead of hope arises; without one friend to soothe -the pangs of death, one pitying soul to whisper peace to her -departing spirit; insulted, too, perhaps, by some unfeeling -being, whom want of similar temptations alone, perhaps, saved -from similar imprudences, she sinks an early victim to wretchedness.</p> - -<p>Howel paused; the fulness of his heart mounted to his -eyes, which involuntarily turned and rested upon Amanda. -Interested by his simple and pathetic eloquence, she had risen, -and leaned over the pew, her head resting on her hand, and -her eyes fastened on his face. Lord Mortimer had also risen, -and alternately gazed upon Howel and Amanda, particularly -watching the latter, to see how the subject would affect her. -He at last saw the tears trickling down her cheeks: the distresses -of her own situation, and the stratagems of Belgrave, -made her, in some respect, perceive a resemblance between herself -and the picture Howel had drawn. Lord Mortimer was -unutterably affected by her tears, a faint sickness seized him, -he sunk upon the seat, and covered his face with his handkerchief, -to hide his emotion; but by the time service was over it -was pretty well dissipated: Amanda returned home, and his -lordship waited for Howel’s coming out of church. “What -the devil, Howel,” said he, “did you mean by giving us such -an exhortation? Have you discovered any affair going on between -any of your rustic neighbors?” The parson colored, -but remained silent; Lord Mortimer rallied him a little more, -and then departed; but his gayety was only assumed.</p> - -<p>On his first acquaintance with Amanda, in consequence of -what he heard from Mrs. Abergwilly, and observed himself, he -had been tempted to think she was involved in mystery: and -what, but impropriety, he thought, could occasion mystery. To<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> -see so young, so lovely, so elegant a creature an inmate of a -sequestered cottage, associating with people (in manners at -least) so infinitely beneath her; to see her trembling and -blushing, if a word was dropped that seemed tending to inquire -into her motives for retirement; all these circumstances, -I say, considered, naturally excited a suspicion injurious to her -in the mind of Lord Mortimer; and he was tempted to think -some deviation from prudence had, by depriving her of the -favor of her friends, made her retire to obscurity; and that she -would not dislike an opportunity of emerging from it, he could -not help thinking. In consequence of these ideas, he could not -think himself very culpable in encouraging the wishes her loveliness -gave rise to; besides, he had some reason to suspect she -desired to inspire him with these wishes; for Mrs. Abergwilly -told him she had informed Mrs. Edwin of his arrival; an information -he could not doubt her having immediately communicated -to Amanda; therefore her continuing to come to the -hall seemed as if she wished to throw herself in his way. Mrs. -Edwin had indeed been told of his arrival, but concealed it -from Amanda, that she should not be disappointed of going to -the hall, which she knew, if once informed of it, she would not -go to.</p> - -<p>’Tis true, Lord Mortimer saw Amanda wore (at least) the -semblance of innocence: but this could not remove his suspicions, -so often had he seen it assumed to hide the artful -stratagems of a depraved heart.</p> - -<p>Ah! why will the lovely female, adorned with all that -heaven and earth can bestow to render her amiable, overleap -the modesty of nature, and by levity and boldness lose all -pretensions to the esteem which would otherwise be an involuntary -tribute.</p> - -<p>Nor is it herself alone she injures; she hurts each child of -purity, helps to point the sting of ridicule, and weave the web -of art.</p> - -<p>We shun the blazing sun, but court his tempered beams; -the rose, which glares upon the day, is never so much sought -as the bud enwrapt in the foliage; and, to use the expression -of a late much-admired author, “The retiring graces have ever -been reckoned the most beautiful.”</p> - -<p>He had never heard the earl mention a person of the name -of Dunford; and he knew not, or rather suspected, little credit -was to be given to her assertion of an intimacy between them, -particularly as he saw her, whenever the subject was mentioned, -shrinking from it in the greatest confusion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> -Her reserve he imputed to pretence; and flattering himself -it would soon wear off, determined for the present at least to -humor her affectation.</p> - -<p>With such ideas, such sentiments, had Lord Mortimer’s -first visits to Amanda commenced: but they experienced an -immediate change as the decreasing reserve of her manners -gave him greater and more frequent opportunities of discovering -her mental perfections; the strength of her understanding, -the justness of her remarks, the liveliness of her fancy, above -all, the purity which mingled in every sentiment, and the modesty -which accompanied every word, filled him with delight and -amazement; his doubts gradually lessened, and at last vanished, -and with them every design, which they alone had ever given -rise to. Esteem was now united to love, and real respect to -admiration: in her society he only was happy, and thought not, -or rather would not suffer himself to think, on the consequences -of such an attachment. It might be said, he was entranced -in pleasure, from which Howel completely roused him, and -made him seriously ask his heart, what were his intentions relative -to Amanda. Of such views as he perceived Howel suspected -him of harboring, his conscience entirely acquitted him; -yet so great were the obstacles he knew in the way of an union -between him and Amanda, that he almost regretted (as every -one does, who acts against their better judgment,) that he had -not fled at the first intimation of his danger. So truly formidable -indeed did these obstacles appear, that he at times -resolved to break with Amanda, if he could fix upon any plan -for doing so, without injuring his honor, after the great attention -he had paid her.</p> - -<p>Ere he came to any final determination, however, he resolved -to try and discover her real situation: if he even left her, it -would be a satisfaction to his heart to know whether his friendship -could be serviceable: and if an opposite measure was his -plan, it could never be put in execution without the desired information. -He accordingly wrote to his sister, Lady Araminta -Dormer, who was then in the country with Lord Cherbury, -requesting she would inquire from his father whether he knew -a person of the name of Dunford; and if he did, what his -situation and family were. Lord Mortimer begged her ladyship -not to mention the inquiries being dictated by him, and -promised at some future period to explain the reason of them. -He still continued his assiduities to Amanda, and at the -expected time received an answer to his letter; but how was -he shocked and alarmed, when informed, Lord Cherbury never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> -knew a person of the name of Dunford! His doubts began to -revive; but before he yielded entirely to them, he resolved to -go to Amanda, and inquire from her, in the most explicit terms, -how, and at what time, her father and the Earl had become -acquainted; determined, if she answered him without embarrassment, -to mention to his sister whatever circumstances she -related, lest a forgetfulness of them alone had made the Earl -deny his knowledge of Dunford. Just as he was quitting the -grove with this intent, he espied Edwin and his wife coming -down a cross-road from the village, where they had been with -poultry and vegetables. It instantly occurred to him that these -people, in the simplicity of their hearts, might unfold the real -situation of Amanda, and save him the painful necessity of -making inquiries, which she, perhaps, would not answer, without -his real motives for making them were assigned, which was -what he could not think of doing.</p> - -<p>Instead, therefore, of proceeding, he stopped till they came -up to him, and then with the most engaging affability addressed -them, inquiring whether they had been successful in the disposal -of their goods. They answered bowing and curtseying, -and he then insisted that, as they appeared tired, they should -repair to the hall, and rest themselves. This was too great an -honor to be refused; and they followed their noble conductor, -who hastened forward to order refreshment into a parlor for -them. The nurse, who in her own way was a cunning woman, -instantly suspected, from the great and uncommon attention of -Lord Mortimer, that he wanted to inquire into the situation of -Amanda. As soon as she saw him at some distance, “David,” -cried she, “as sure as eggs are eggs,” (unpinning her white -apron, and smoothing it nicely down as she spoke,) “this young -lort wants to have our company, that he may find out something -apout Miss Amanda. Ah, pless her pretty face, I thought -how it would be; but we must be as cunning as foxes, and not -tell too much nor too little, because if we told too much it -would offend her, and she would ask us how we got all our intelligence, -and would not think us over and above genteel, when -she heard we had sifted Jemmy Hawthorn for it, when he came -down from London with her. All we must do is just to drop -some hints, as it were, of her situation, and then his lortship, -to be sure, will make his advantage of them, and ask her everything -apout herself, and then she will tell him of her own -accord: so, David, mind what you say, I charge you.” “Ay, -ay,” cried David, “leave me alone; I’ll warrant you you’ll -always find an old soldier ’cute enough for anypoty.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -When they reached the hall, they were shown into a parlor, -where Lord Mortimer was expecting them: with difficulty he -made them sit down at the table, where meat and wine were -laid out for them. After they had partaken of them, Lord -Mortimer began with asking Edwin some questions about his -farm (for he was a tenant on the Tudor estate), and whether -there was anything wanting to render it more comfortable. -“No,” Edwin replied, with a low bow, thanking his honorable -lordship for his inquiry. Lord Mortimer spoke of his family. -“Ay, Cot pless the poor things,” Edwin said, “they were, to -be sure, a fine thriving set of children.” Still Lord Mortimer -had not touched on the subject nearest his heart. He felt -embarrassed and agitated. At last, with as much composure as -he could assume, he asked how long they imagined Miss Dunford -would stay with them. Now was the nurse’s time to speak. -She had hitherto sat simpering and bowing. “That depended -on circumstances,” she said. “Poor tear young laty, though -their little cottage was so obscure, and so unlike anything she -had before been accustomed to, she made herself quite happy -with it.” “Her father must miss her society very much,” exclaimed -Lord Mortimer. “Tear heart, to be sure he does,” -cried nurse. “Well, strange things happen every tay; but -still I never thought what did happen would have happened, to -make the poor old gentleman and his daughter part.” “What -happened?” exclaimed Lord Mortimer, starting and suddenly -stopping in the middle of the room, for hitherto he had been -walking backwards and forwards. “’Twas not her business,” -the nurse replied, “by no manner of means, to be speaking -about the affairs of her petters; put for all that she could not -help saying, because, she thought it a pity his lortship, who was -so good and so affable, should remain in ignorance of everything; -that Miss Amanda was not what she appeared to be; -no, if the truth was told, not the person she passed for at all; -but, Lort, she would never forgive me,” cried the nurse, “if -your lortship told her it was from me your lortship heard this. -Poor tear thing, she is very unwilling to have her situation -known, though she is not the first poty who has met with a pad -man; and shame and sorrow be upon him who tistrest herself -and her father.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer had heard enough: every doubt, every -suspicion was realized; and he was equally unable and unwilling -to inquire further. It was plain Amanda was unworthy of -his esteem; and to inquire into the circumstances which -occasioned that unworthiness, would only have tortured him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> -He rung the bell abruptly, and ordering Mrs. Abergwilly to -attend the Edwins, withdrew immediately to another room. -Now there was an opportunity for Lord Mortimer to break -with Amanda, without the smallest imputation on his honor. -Did it give him pleasure? No: it filled him with sorrow, disappointment, -and anguish: the softness of her manners, even -more than the beauty of her person, had fascinated his soul, -and made him determine, if he found her worthy (of which -indeed he had then but little doubt) to cease not, till every -obstacle which could impede their union should be overcome. -He was inspired with indignation at the idea of the snare he -imagined she had spread for him; thinking her modesty all a -pretext to draw him into making honorable proposals. As she -sunk in his esteem, her charms lessened in his fancy; and he -thought it would be a proper punishment for her, and a noble -triumph over himself, if he conquered, or at least resisted his -passion, and forsook her entirely. Full of this idea, and influenced -by resentment for her supposed deceit, he resolved, -without longer delay, to fulfil the purpose which had brought -him into Wales, namely, visiting his friend; but how frail is -resolution and resentment when opposed to tenderness! Without -suffering himself to believe there was the least abatement -of either in his mind, he forbid the carriage, in a few minutes -after he had ordered it, merely, he persuaded himself, for the -purpose of yet more severely mortifying Amanda: as his continuing -a little longer in the neighborhood, without noticing her, -might, perhaps, convince her, she was not quite so fascinating -as she believed herself to be. From the time his residence at -Tudor Hall was known, he had received constant invitations -from the surrounding families, which, on Amanda’s account, he -uniformly declined. This he resolved should no longer be the -case: some, were yet unanswered, and these he meant to accept, -as means indeed of keeping him steady in his resolution of not -seeing her, and banishing her in some degree from his thoughts. -But he could not have fixed on worse methods than these for -effecting either of his purposes: the society he now mixed -among was so different from that he had lately been accustomed -to, that he was continually employed in drawing comparisons -between them. He grew restless; his unhappiness increased; -and he at last felt, that if he desired to experience any comfort, -he must no longer absent himself from Amanda; and also that, -if she refused to accede to the only proposals now in his power -to make her, he would be miserable; so essential did he deem -her society to his happiness; so much was he attached from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> -the softness and sweetness of her manners. At the time he -finally determined to see her again, he was in a large party at -a Welsh baronet’s where he had dined; and on the rack of -impatience to put his determination in practice, he retired early, -and took the road to the cottage.</p> - -<p>Poor Amanda, during this time, was a prey to disquietude: -the first day of Lord Mortimer’s absence, she felt a little uneasiness, -but strove to dissipate it, by thinking business had -detained him. The next morning she remained entirely at -home, every moment expecting to behold him; but this expectation -was totally destroyed, when from the outside room she -heard one of the nurse’s sons tell of all the company he had -met going to Sir Lewis ap Shenkin’s, and amongst the rest -Lord Mortimer, whose servants had told him, the day before -their lord dined at Mr. Jones’s, where there was a deal of company, -and a grand ball in the evening. Amanda’s heart almost -died within her at these words; pleasure then, not business, -had prevented Lord Mortimer from coming to her; these -amusements which he had so often declared were tasteless to -him, from the superior delight he experienced in her society. -Either he was insincere in such expressions, or had now grown -indifferent. She condemned herself for ever having permitted -his visits, or received his assiduities; she reproached him for -ever having paid those assiduities, knowing, as he must, the -insincerity or inconstancy of his nature. In spite of wounded -pride, tears of sorrow and disappointment burst from her; and -her only consolation was, that no one observed her. Her -hours passed heavily away; she could not attend to anything; -and in the evening walked out to indulge, in a lonely ramble, -the dejection of her heart: she turned from Tudor Hall, and -took (without knowing it indeed) the very road which led to the -house where Lord Mortimer had dined. With slow and pensive -steps she pursued her way, regardless of all around her, -till an approaching footstep made her raise her eyes, and she -beheld, with equal surprise and confusion, the very object who -was then employing her thoughts. Obeying the impulse of -pride, she hastily turned away; till, recollecting that her precipitately -avoiding him would at once betray her sentiments, -she paused to listen to his passionate inquiries after her health; -having answered them with involuntary coldness, she again -moved on; but her progress was soon stopped by Lord Mortimer; -snatching her hand, he insisted on knowing why she -appeared so desirous to avoid him. Amanda made no reply to -this, but desired he would let her go. “Never,” he exclaimed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -“till you wear another face to me. Oh! did you know the -pain I have suffered since last we met, you would from pity, I -am sure, treat me with less coldness.” Amanda’s heart throbbed -with sudden pleasure; but she soon silenced its emotion, -by reflecting that a declaration of uneasiness, at the very time -he was entering into gayety, had something too inconsistent in -it to merit credit. Hurt by supposing he wanted to impose on -her, she made yet more violent efforts to disengage her hand; -but Lord Mortimer held it too firmly for her to be successful; -he saw she was offended, and it gave him flattering ideas of -the estimation in which he stood with her, since to resent his -neglect was the most convincing proof he could receive of the -value she set upon his attention. Without hurting her feelings -by a hint, that he believed the alteration in her manner occasioned -his absence, in indirect terms he apologized for it, saying -what indeed was partly true, that a letter lately received -had so ruffled his mind he was quite unfit for her society, and -had therefore availed himself of those hours of chagrin and -uneasiness to accept invitations, which at some time or other -he must have done, to avoid giving offence; and by acting as -he had done, he reserved the precious moments of returning -tranquillity for her he adored. Ah! how readily do we receive -any apology, do we admit of any excuse, that comes from a -beloved object! Amanda felt as if a weight was suddenly removed -from her heart; her eyes were no longer bent to the -earth, her cheek no longer pale; and a smile, the smile of innocence -and love, enlivened all her features. She seemed -suddenly to forget her hand was detained by Lord Mortimer, -for no longer did she attempt to free it; she suffered him -gently to draw it within his, and lead her to the favorite haunt -in Tudor Grove.</p> - -<p>Pleased, yet blushing and confused, she heard Lord Mortimer, -with more energy than he had ever yet expressed himself -with, declare the pain he suffered the days he saw her not. -From his ardent, his passionate expressions, what could the innocent -Amanda infer, but that he intended, by uniting his destiny -to hers, to secure to himself a society he so highly valued; -what could she infer, but that he meant immediately to speak -in explicit terms? The idea was too pleasing to be received in -tranquillity, and her whole soul felt agitated. While they pursued -their way through Tudor Grove, the sky, which had been -lowering the whole day, became suddenly more darkened, and -by its increasing gloom foretold an approaching storm. Lord -Mortimer no longer opposed Amanda’s returning home; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -scarcely had they turned for that purpose, ere the vivid lightning -flashed across their path, and the thunder awfully reverberated -amongst the hills. The hall was much nearer than the -cottage, and Lord Mortimer, throwing his arm round Amanda’s -waist, hurried her to it; but ere they reached the library, -whose door was the first they came to, the rain began pouring -with violence. Lord Mortimer snatched off Amanda’s wet hat -and cloak; the rest of her clothes were quite dry; and immediately -ordered tea and coffee, as she refused any other refreshments: -he dismissed the attendants, that he might, without -observation or restraint, enjoy her society. As she presided at -the tea-table, his eyes, with the fondest rapture, were fastened -on her face, which never had appeared more lovely; exercise -had heightened the pale tint of her cheek, over which her -glossy hair curled in beautiful disorder; the unusual glow gave -a greater radiance to her eyes, whose soft confusion denoted -the pleasure she experienced from the attention of Lord Mortimer. -He restrained not, he could not restrain, the feelings of -his soul. “Oh, what happiness!” he exclaimed. “No wonder -I found all society tasteless, after having experienced yours. -Where could I find such softness, yet such sensibility; such -sweetness, yet such animation; such beauty, yet such apparent -unconsciousness of it? Oh, my Amanda, smoothly must that -life glide on, whose destiny you shall share!”</p> - -<p>Amanda endeavored to check these transports, yet secretly -they filled her with delight, for she considered them as the sincere -effusions of honorable love. Present happiness, however, -could not render her forgetful of propriety: by the time tea -was over, the evening began to clear, and she protested -she must depart. Lord Mortimer protested against this -for some time longer, and at last brought her to the window, -to convince her there was still a slight rain falling. He -promised to see her home as soon as it was over, and entreated, -in the mean time, she would gratify him with a song. Amanda -did not refuse; but the raptures he expressed, while she sung, -she thought too violent, and rose from the piano when she had -concluded, in spite of his entreaties to the contrary. She insisted -on getting her hat and cloak, which had been sent to -Mrs. Abergwilly to dry: Lord Mortimer at last reluctantly -went out to obey her.</p> - -<p>Amanda walked to the window: the prospect from it was -lovely; the evening was now perfectly serene; a few light -clouds alone floated in the sky, their lucid skirts tinged with -purple rays from the declining sun; the trees wore a brighter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> -green, and the dewdrop that had heightened their verdure, yet -glittered on their sprays; across a distant valley was extended -a beautiful rainbow, the sacred record of Heaven’s covenant -with man. All nature appeared revived and animated; the -birds now warbled their closing lays, and the bleating of the -cattle was heard from the neighboring hills. “Oh! how sweet, -how lovely is the dewy landscape!” exclaimed Amanda, with -that delight which scenes of calm and vernal nature never fail -of raising in minds of piety and tenderness.</p> - -<p>“’Tis lovely, indeed!” repeated Lord Mortimer, who returned -at the moment, assuring her the things would be sent in -directly. “I admire the prospect,” continued he, “because -you gaze upon it with me; were you absent, like every other -charm, it would lose its beauty, and become tasteless to me. -Tell me,” cried he, gently encircling her waist, “why this -hurry, why this wish to leave me? Do you expect elsewhere to -meet with a being who will value your society more highly than -I do? Do you expect to meet with a heart more fondly, more -firmly attached to you than mine? Oh, my Amanda, if you do, -how mistaken are such expectations!”</p> - -<p>Amanda blushed, and averted her head, unable to speak.</p> - -<p>“Ah, why,” continued he, pursuing her averted eyes with -his, “should we create uneasiness to ourselves, by again separating?”</p> - -<p>Amanda looked up at these words with involuntary surprise -in her countenance. Lord Mortimer understood it: he saw -she had hitherto deluded herself with thinking his intentions -towards her very different from what they really were; to suffer -her longer to deceive herself would, he thought, be cruelty. -Straining her to his beating heart, he imprinted a kiss on her -tremulous lips, and softly told her, that the life, which without -her would lose half its charms, should be devoted to her service; -and that his fortune, like his heart, should be in her possession. -Trembling while she struggled to free herself from his -arms, Amanda demanded what he meant: her manner somewhat -surprised and confused him; but recollecting this was the -moment for explanation, he, though with half-averted eyes, declared -his hopes—his wishes and intentions. Surprise—horror—and -indignation, for a few minutes overpowered Amanda; -but suddenly recovering her scattered senses, with a strength -greater than she had ever before felt, she burst from him, and -attempted to rush from the room. Lord Mortimer caught hold -of her. “Whither are you going, Amanda?” exclaimed he, -affrighted by her manner.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> -“From the basest of men,” cried she, struggling to disengage -herself.</p> - -<p>He shut the door, and forced her back to a chair: he was -shocked—amazed—and confounded by her looks: no art could -have assumed such a semblance of sorrow as she now wore; no -feelings but those of the most delicate nature, have expressed -such emotion as she now betrayed: the enlivening bloom of -her cheeks was fled, and succeeded by a deadly paleness; and -her soft eyes, robbed of their lustre, were bent to the ground -with the deepest expression of woe. Lord Mortimer began to -think he had mistaken, if not her character, her disposition; and -the idea of having insulted either purity or penitence, was like -a dagger to his heart. “Oh, my love!” he exclaimed, laying -his hand on her trembling one, “what do you mean by departing -so abruptly?”</p> - -<p>“My meaning, my lord,” cried she, rising and shaking his -hand from hers, “is now as obvious as your own—I seek, forever, -to quit a man who, under the appearance of delicate attention, -meditated so base a scheme against me. My credulity -may have yielded you amusement, but it has afforded you no -triumph: the tenderness which I know you think, which I shall -not deny your having inspired me with, as it was excited by -imaginary virtues, so it vanished with the illusion which gave it -birth; what then was innocent, would now be guilty. Oh, -heavens!” continued Amanda, clasping her hands together in -a sudden agony of tears, “is it me, the helpless child of sorrow, -Lord Mortimer sought as a victim to illicit love! Is it the son -of Lord Cherbury destined such a blow against the unfortunate -Fitzalan?”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer started. “Fitzalan!” repeated he. “Oh! -Amanda, why did you conceal your real name? And what am -I to infer from your having done so?”</p> - -<p>“What you please, my lord,” cried she. “The opinion of -a person I despise can be of little consequence to me, yet,” -continued she, as if suddenly recollecting herself, “that you -have no plea for extenuating your conduct, know that my name -was concealed by the desire of my father, who, involved in unexpected -distress, wished me to adopt another, till his affairs -were settled.”</p> - -<p>“This concealment has undone me,” exclaimed Lord Mortimer: -“it has led me into an error, I shall never cease repenting. -Oh! Amanda, deign to listen to the circumstances which -occasioned this error; and you will then, I am sure, think me -at least less culpable than I now appear to be; you will then, -perhaps, allow me to make some atonement.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> -“No, my lord,” cried Amanda, “willingly I will not allow -myself to be deceived: for without deceit, I am convinced you -could mention no circumstance which could possibly palliate -your conduct, or what you so gently term an error. Had I, my -lord, by art or coquetry, sought to attract your notice, your -crime would have been palliated; but when you pursued, I retired; -and the knowledge of your being Lord Cherbury’s son -first induced me to receive your visits. I suffered their continuance, -because I thought you amiable: sad mistake! Oh! -cruel, ungenerous Mortimer, how have you abused my unsuspecting -confidence!”</p> - -<p>As she ended these words, she moved towards the door. -Awed by her manner, confounded by her reproaches, tortured -by remorse and half offended at her refusing to hear his vindication, -he no longer attempted to prevent her quitting the -apartment; he followed her, however, from it. “What do you -mean, my lord,” asked she, “by coming after me?”</p> - -<p>“I mean to see you safely home,” replied he, in a tone of -proud sullenness.</p> - -<p>“And is it Lord Mortimer,” cried she, looking steadfastly in -his face, “pretends to see me safe?”</p> - -<p>He stamped, struck his hand violently against his forehead, -and exclaimed, “I see—I see—I am despicable in your eyes; -but, Amanda, I cannot endure your reproaches. Pause for a -few minutes, and you will find I am not so deserving of them as -you imagine.”</p> - -<p>She made no reply, but quickened her pace: within a few -yards of the cottage Lord Mortimer caught her, with a distracted -air. “Amanda,” said he, “I cannot bear to part with -you in this manner: you think me the veriest villain on earth; -you will drive me from your heart; I shall become abhorrent to -you.”</p> - -<p>“Most assuredly, my lord,” replied she, in a solemn voice.</p> - -<p>“Cannot compunction then extenuate my error?”</p> - -<p>“’Tis not compunction, ’tis regret you feel, for finding your -designs unsuccessful.”</p> - -<p>“No: by all that is sacred, ’tis remorse for ever having -meditated such an injury. Yet I again repeat, if you listen to -me, you will find I am not so culpable as you believe. Oh! -let me beseech you to do so; let me hope that my life may be -devoted to you alone, and that I may thus have opportunities -of apologizing for my conduct. Oh! dearest Amanda,” kneeling -before her, “drive me not from you in the hour of penitence.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> -“You plead in vain, my lord,” cried she, breaking from -him.</p> - -<p>He started in an agony from the ground, and again seized -her. “Is it thus,” he exclaimed, “with such unfeeling coldness -I am abandoned by Amanda? I will leave you, if you only say -I am not detested by you; if you only say the remembrance of -the sweet hours we have spent together will not become hateful -to you.”</p> - -<p>He was pale and trembled; and a tear wet his cheek. -Amanda’s began to flow: she averted her head, to hide her -emotion; but he had perceived it. “You weep, my Amanda,” -said he, “and you feel the influence of pity!”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” cried she, in a voice scarcely articulate: “I will -acknowledge,” continued she, “I believe you possessed of sensibility; -and an anticipation of the painful feelings it will excite -on the reflection of your conduct to me, now stops my -further reproaches. Ah! my lord, timely profit by mental -correction, nor ever again encourage a passion which virtue -cannot sanction or reason justify.”</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i7">“Thus spoke the angel;</span> -<span class="i0">And the grave rebuke, severe in youthful beauty</span> -<span class="i0">Added grace invincible.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Amanda darted from Lord Mortimer; and entering the cottage, -hastily closed the door. Her looks terrified the nurse, -who was the only one of the family up, and who, by means of -one of her sons, had discovered that Amanda had taken refuge -from the thunder-storm in Tudor Hall.</p> - -<p>Amanda had neither hat nor cloak on; her face was pale -as death; her hair, blown by the wind, and wet from the rain, -hung dishevelled about her; and to the inquiries of her nurse -she could only answer by sobs and tears. “Lack a tay,” said -the nurse, “what ails my sweet chilt?”</p> - -<p>Relieved by tears, Amanda told her nurse she was not very -well, and that she had been reflecting on the great impropriety -there was in receiving Lord Mortimer’s visits, whom she begged -her nurse, if he came again, not to admit.</p> - -<p>The nurse shook her head, and said she supposed there had -been some quarrel between them; but if Lord Mortimer had -done anything to vex her tear chilt, she would make him pay -for it. Amanda charged her never to address him on such a -subject; and having made her promise not to admit him, she -retired to her chamber faint, weary, and distressed. The indignity -offered her by Colonel Belgrave had insulted her purity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> -and offended her pride, but he had not wounded the softer -feelings of her soul; it was Mortimer alone had power to work -them up to agony.</p> - -<p>The charm which had soothed her sorrows was fled; and -while she glowed with keen resentment, she wept from disappointed -tenderness. “Alas! my father,” she cried, “is this -the secure retreat you fondly thought you had discovered for -me! Sad mistake! Less had I to dread from the audacious -front of vice, than the insidious form of virtue: delicacy shrinking -from one, immediately announced the danger; but innocence -inspired confidence in the other; and credulity, instead -of suspicion, occupied the mind. Am I doomed to be the victim -of deception—and, except thy honest tender heart, my -father, find every other fraught with deceit and treachery to -me? Alas! if in the early season of youth, perpetual perfidy -makes us relinquish candor and hope, what charms can the -world retain? The soul sickening, recoils within itself, and no -longer startles at dissolution. Belgrave aimed at my peace—but -Mortimer alone had power to pierce ‘the vital vulnerable -heart.’ Oh, Mortimer! from you alone the blow is severe—you, -who, in divine language I may say were my guide, my -companion, and my familiar friend.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was now a prey to all the pangs which an -ingenuous mind, oppressed with a consciousness of error, must -ever feel: the most implacable vengeance could not devise a -greater punishment for him, than his own thoughts inflicted; -the empire of inordinate passion was overthrown, and honor -and reason regained their full and natural ascendancy over -them. When he reflected on the uniform appearance of innocence -Amanda had always worn, he wondered at his weakness -in ever having doubted its reality—at his audacity, in ever having -insulted it; when he reflected on her melancholy, he shuddered -as if having aggravated it. “Your sorrows, as well as -purity, my Amanda,” he cried, “should have rendered you a -sacred object to me.”</p> - -<p>A ray of consolation darted into his mind at the idea of -prevailing on her to listen to the circumstances which had led -him into a conduct so unworthy of her and himself; such an -explanation, he trusted, would regain her love and confidence, -and make her accept, what he meant immediately to offer—his -hand: for pride and ambition could raise no obstacles to oppose -this design of reparation; his happiness depended on its being -accepted. Amanda was dearer to him than life, and hope could -sketch no prospect, in which she was not the foremost object.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> -Impetuous in his passions, the lapse of the hours was insupportably -tedious; and the idea of waiting till the morning to declare -his penitence, his intention, and again implore her forgiveness, -filled him with agony; he went up to the cottage, and -laid his hand upon the latch; he hesitated; even from the rustics -he wished to conceal his shame and confusion. All within -and without the cottage was still; the moonbeams seemed to -sleep upon the thatch, and the trees were unagitated by a -breeze.</p> - -<p>“Happy rustics!” exclaimed Lord Mortimer. “Children -of content and undeviating integrity, sleep presses sweetly on -your eyelids. My Amanda too rests, for she is innocent.”</p> - -<p>He descended to the valley, and saw a light from her window: -he advanced within a few yards of it, and saw her plainly -walk about with an agitated air—her handkerchief raised to her -eyes, as if she wept. His feelings rose almost to frenzy at this -sight, and he execrated himself for being the occasion of her -tears. The village clock struck one: good heavens! how -many hours must intervene ere he could kneel before the lovely -mourner, implore her soft voice to accord his pardon, and (as -he flattered himself would be the case), in the fulness of reconciliation, -press her to his throbbing heart, as the sweet partner -of his future days. The light was at last extinguished; but he -could not rest, and continued to wander about like a perturbed -spirit till the day began to dawn, and he saw some early peasants -coming to their labors.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Oh let me now, into a richer soil,</span> -<span class="i0">Transplant thee safe, where vernal suns and showers</span> -<span class="i0">Diffuse their warmest, largest influence;</span> -<span class="i0">And of my garden be the pride and joy.”—<span class="smcap">Thomson</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The moment he thought he could see Amanda, Mortimer -hastened to the cottage; the nurse, as she had promised, would -not reproach him, though she strongly suspected his having -done something to offend her child; that her sullen air declared -her dissatisfaction. “Miss Fitzalan was too ill,” she said, “to -see company;” (for Lord Mortimer had inquired for Amanda -by her real name, detesting the one of Dunford, to which, in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> -great degree, he imputed his unfortunate conduct to her.) The -nurse spoke truth in saying Amanda was ill; her agitation was -too much for her frame, and in the morning she felt so feverish -she could not rise; she had not spirits, indeed, to attempt it. -Sunk to the lowest ebb of dejection, she felt solitude alone -congenial to her feelings. Hitherto the morning had been impatiently -expected; for, with Mortimer, she enjoyed its</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Cool, its fragrant, and its silent hour.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>But no Mortimer was now desired. In the evening he -made another attempt; and finding Ellen alone, sent in a supplicatory -message by her to Amanda. She was just risen, and -Mrs. Edwin was making tea for her; a flush of indignation -overspread her pale face, on receiving his message. “Tell -him,” said she, “I am astonished at his request, and never will -grant it. Let him seek elsewhere a heart more like his own, -and trouble my repose no more.”</p> - -<p>He heard her words, and in a fit of passion and disappointment -flew out of the house. Howel entered soon after, and -heard from Ellen an account of the quarrel; a secret hope -sprung in his heart at this intelligence, and he desired Ellen to -meet him in about half an hour in the valley, thinking by that -time he could dictate some message to send by her to Amanda.</p> - -<p>As the parson had never paid Miss Fitzalan any of those -attentions which strike a vulgar eye, and had often laughed and -familiarly chatted with Ellen, she took it into her head he was -an admirer of hers; and if being the object of Chip’s admiration -excited the envy of her neighbors, how much would that -increase when the parson’s predilection was known? She set -about adorning herself for her appointment; and while thus -employed the honest, faithful Chip entered, attired in his holiday -clothes, to escort her to a little dance. Ellen bridled -up at the first intimation of it; and, delighted with the message -Amanda had sent to Lord Mortimer, which in her opinion was -extremely eloquent, she resolved now to imitate it.</p> - -<p>“Timothy,” said she, drawing back her head, “your request -is the most improperest that can be conceived, and it is by no -means convenient for me to adhere to it. I tell you, Tim,” -cried she, waving the corner of her white apron, for white handkerchief -she had not, “I wonder at your presumptioness in -making it; cease your flattering expressions of love, look out -amongst the inferiority for a heart more like your own, and -trouble my pleasure no more.”</p> - -<p>Chip paused a moment, as if wanting to comprehend her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> -meaning. “The short and the long of it then, Nell,” said he, -“is that you and I are to have nothing more to say to each -other.”</p> - -<p>“True,” cried his coquettish mistress.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, Nell,” said he, half crying, “the time may -come when you will repent having served a true-hearted lad in -this manner.” So saying, he ran from the house.</p> - -<p>Ellen surveyed herself with great admiration, and expected -nothing less than an immediate offer of the parson’s hand. -She found him punctual to his appointment, and after walking -some time about the valley, they sat down together upon a little -bank. “Ellen,” said he, taking her hand, “do you think there -is any hope for me?”</p> - -<p>“Nay, now intead, Mr. Howel,” cried she, with affected -coyness, “that is such a strange question.”</p> - -<p>“But the quarrel, perhaps,” said he, “may be made up.”</p> - -<p>“No, I assure you,” replied she, with quickness, “it was -entirely on your account it ever took place.”</p> - -<p>“Is it possible!” exclaimed he, pleasure sparkling in his -eyes; “then I may re-urge my passion.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, tear now, Mr. Howel, you are so very pressing.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think,” said he, “she is too ill to see me?”</p> - -<p>“Who too ill?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Miss Fitzalan.” (For, the moment Ellen knew Lord -Mortimer was acquainted with Amanda’s name, she thought -there was no longer reason for concealing it from any one, and -had informed Howel of it.)</p> - -<p>“Miss Fitzalan!” repeated she, staring and changing -color.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Ellen, the dear, lovely Miss Fitzalan, whom I adore -more than language can express, or imagination conceive.”</p> - -<p>Adieu to Ellen’s airy hopes: her chagrin could not be concealed; -and tears burst from her. The curate tenderly inquired -the cause of her emotion; though vain, she was not artful, -and could not disguise it. “Why, really, you made such -speeches, I thought—and then you looked so. But it is no -matter: I pelieve all men are teceitful.”</p> - -<p>From her tears and disjointed sentences, he began to suspect -something, and his gentle mind was hurt at the idea of -giving her pain; anxious, however, to receive his doom from -Amanda, he again asked, if she thought he could see her.</p> - -<p>Ellen answered him snappishly, she could not tell; and -hurried to the cottage, where a flood of tears soon relieved her -distress. To be dressed so charmingly, and for no purpose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> -was a pity: she therefore resolved on going to the dance, consoling -herself with the old saying of having more than one -string to her bow; and that if Chip was not as genteel, he was -quite as personable a man as the curate. Walking down the -lane, she met a little boy, who gave her a letter from Chip; full -of the idea of its containing some overtures for a reconciliation, -she hastily broke it open, and read to the following effect:—</p> - -<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Ellen</span>:—After your cruelty, I could not bear to stay in the village, as -I never could work another stroke with a light heart; and every tree and -meadow would remind me of the love my dear girl once bore her poor -Chip. So, before this comes to hand, I shall be on my way to enter one of -the King’s ships, and Heaven knows whether we shall ever meet again; but -this I know, I shall always love Ellen, though she was so cruel to her own -faithful</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Tim Chip</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Thus did the vanity of Ellen receive a speedy punishment. -Her distress for some days was unabated; but at last yielded -to the mild arguments of Amanda, and the hopes she inspired -of seeing the wandering hero again.</p> - -<p>Howel at last obtained an interview, and ventured to plead -his passion. Amanda thanked him for his regard, but declared -her inability of returning it as he wished; assuring him, however, -at the same time, of her sincere friendship.</p> - -<p>“This then shall suffice,” said he. “Neither sorrow nor -disappointment are new to me; and when they oppress me, I -will turn to the idea of my angel friend, and forget, for some -moments at least, my heavy burden.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer made several attempts for again seeing -Amanda, but without success, he then wrote, but his letters -were not successful. In despair at finding neither letters nor -messages received by Amanda, he at last, by stratagem, effected -an interview. Meeting one of the young Edwins returning -from the post-town with a letter, he inquired, and heard it was -for Miss Fitzalan; a little persuasion prevailed on the young -man to relinquish it, and Lord Mortimer flew directly to the -cottage. “Now,” cried he, “the inexorable girl must appear, if -she wishes to receive her letter.”</p> - -<p>The nurse informed Amanda of it; but she, suspecting it to -be a scheme, refused to appear. “By Heaven, I do not deceive -her!” exclaimed Lord Mortimer; “nor will I give the letter -into any hands but hers.” “This, my lord,” said Amanda, -coming from her chamber, “is really cruel; but give me the -letter,” impatiently stretching out her hand for it. “Another -condition remains to be complied with,” cried he, seizing her -soft hand, which she, however, instantly withdrew; “you must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -read it, Miss Fitzalan, in my presence.” “Good Heavens, how -you torment me!” she exclaimed. “Do you comply then?” -“Yes,” she replied, and received the letter from him. The -pity and compunction of his lordship increased as he gazed on -her pale face, while her eyes eagerly ran over the contents of -the letter, which were as follows:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS FITZALAN.</p> - -<p>To be able to communicate pleasure to my Amanda, rewards me for -tedious months of wretchedness. Dry up your tears, sweet child of early -sorrow, for the source of grief exists no longer; Lord Cherbury has been -kind beyond my warmest expectations, and has given me the ineffable delight, -as far as pecuniary matters can do, of rendering the future days of -Amanda happy. In my next I shall be more explicit; at present I have -not a moment I can call my own, which must excuse this laconic letter. -The faithful Edwins will rejoice in the renewed fortune of their dear -Amanda’s affectionate father.</p> - -<p>Jermyn Street.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Augustus Fitzalan</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The emotions of Amanda were irrepressible: the letter -dropped from her trembling hands, and her streaming eyes -were raised to heaven. “Oh bless him!” she exclaimed. -“Gracious Heaven, bless the benefactor of my father for this -good deed! May sorrow or misfortune never come across his -path.”</p> - -<p>“And who, may I ask,” said Lord Mortimer, “merits so -sweet a prayer from Amanda?”</p> - -<p>“See,” cried she, presenting him the letter, as if happy at -the moment to have such a proof of the truth of what she had -alleged to him.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was affected by the letter: his eyes filled -with tears, and he turned aside to hide his emotion; recovering -himself, he again approached her. “And while you so sweetly -pray for the felicity of the father,” said he, “are you resolved -on dooming the son to despair? If sincere penitence can extenuate -error, and merit mercy, I deserve to be forgiven.”</p> - -<p>Amanda rose, as if with an intention of retiring, but Lord -Mortimer caught her hand. “Think not,” cried he, “I will -lose the present opportunity, which I have so long desired, and -with such difficulty obtained, of entering into a vindication of -my conduct: however it may be received by you, it is a justice -I owe my own character to make: for as I never wilfully injured -innocence, so I cannot bear to be considered as its violator. -Amidst the wildness, the extravagance of youth, which with -compunction I acknowledge being too often led into, my heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> -still acquitted me of ever committing an act which could entail -upon me the pangs of conscience. Sacred to me has virtue -ever been, how lowly soever in situation.”</p> - -<p>The idea of his being able to vindicate himself scarcely -afforded less pleasure to Amanda than it did to Lord Mortimer. -She suffered him to reseat her, while he related the circumstances -which had led him astray in his opinion of her. Oh! -how fervent was the rapture that pervaded Amanda’s heart, -when, as she listened to him, she found he was still the amiable, -the generous, the noble character her fancy had first conceived -him to be. Tears of pleasure, exquisite as those she had lately -shed, again fell from her; for oh! what delight is there in -knowing that an object we cannot help loving we may still esteem. -“Thus,” continued Lord Mortimer, “have I accounted -for my error: an error which, except on account of your displeasure, -I know not whether I should regret, as it has convinced -me, more forcibly than any other circumstance could -have done, of the perfections of your mind, and has, besides, -removed from mine prejudices which causelessly I did not entertain -against your sex. Was every woman in a similar situation -to act like you,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">——Such numbers would not in vain,</span> -<span class="i0">Of broken vows and faithless men complain.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>To call you mine is the height of my wishes; on your decision -I rest for happiness. Oh! my Amanda, let it be a favorable -decision, and suffer me to write to Mr. Fitzalan, and request -him to bestow on me the greatest treasure one being could possibly -receive from another—a woman lovely and educated as -you have been.”</p> - -<p>When he mentioned appealing to her father, Amanda could -no longer doubt the sincerity of his intentions. Her own heart -pleaded as powerfully as his solicitations did for pardoning him; -and if she did not absolutely extend her hand, she at least suffered -it to be taken without any reluctance. ““I am forgiven, -then,” said Lord Mortimer, pressing her to his bosom. “Oh, -my Amanda, years of tender attention can never make up for -this goodness!”</p> - -<p>When his transports were a little abated, he insisted on -writing immediately to Fitzalan. As he sealed the letter, he -told Amanda he had requested an expeditious answer. The -happiness of the youthful pair was communicated to the honest -rustics, whom Lord Mortimer liberally rewarded for their -fidelity to his Amanda, and whom she readily excused for their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -ambiguous expressions to him, knowing they proceeded from -simplicity of heart, and a wish of serving her, yet without injuring -themselves, by betraying the manner in which they had -procured their intelligence of her situation.</p> - -<p>The day after the reconciliation, Lord Mortimer told -Amanda he was compelled, for a short time, to leave her; with -that reluctance, he hoped, he said, she could readily conceive; -but the visit, which he had come into Wales for the purpose of -paying, had been so long deferred, his friend was growing impatient, -and threatened to come to Tudor Hall to see what -detained him there. To prevent such a measure, which he -knew would be a total interruption to the happiness he enjoyed -in her society, Lord Mortimer added he meant to pass a few -days with him, hoping by the time he returned there would be -a letter from Mr. Fitzalan, which would authorize his immediate -preparations for their nuptials. Amanda wished, but could -not totally hide, the uneasiness she felt at the prospect of a -separation; the idea, however, of his speedy return, rendered -it but transient, and he departed in a few hours after he had -mentioned his intention.</p> - -<p>Amanda had never before experienced such happiness as -she now enjoyed. She now saw herself on the point of being -elevated to a situation, by a man, too, whom she adored, which -would give her ample opportunities of serving the clearest connections -of her heart, and of gratifying the benevolence of her -disposition, and the elegance of her taste. Oh, how delightful -to think she should be able to soothe the declining period -of her father’s life, by providing for him all the requisite indulgences -of age! oh, how delightful to think she should be -accessory to her dear Oscar’s promotion! how rapturous to -imagine at her approach the drooping children of misery would -brighten with pleasing presages of relief, which she should -amply realize! Such were Amanda’s anticipations of what she -termed the blessings of an affluent fortune; felicity, in her -opinion, was to be diffused to be enjoyed. Of Lord Cherbury’s -sanction to the attachment of his son, she entertained not a -doubt; her birth was little inferior to his, and fortune was -entirely out of the question—for a liberal mind, she thought, -could never look to that, when on one side was already possessed -more than sufficient for even the luxuries of life. Such -were the ideas of the innocent and romantic Amanda—ideas -which made her seem to tread on air, and which she entertained -till subsequent experience convinced her of their fallacy.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Alas! the story melts away my soul!</span> -<span class="i0">That best of fathers, how shall I discharge</span> -<span class="i0">The gratitude and duty which I owe him?</span> -<span class="i0">—By laying up his counsels in your heart.”—<span class="smcap">Cato</span>.</span> -</div></div> - - -<p>Amanda was sitting in the recess in the garden, the fourth -evening of Lord Mortimer’s absence, when suddenly she heard -the rattling of a carriage. Her heart bounded, and she flew -into the house; at the very moment a chaise stopped at the -door, from which, to her inexpressible amazement, her father -descended.</p> - -<p>Transfixed to the spot, it was many minutes ere she had -power to bid him welcome, or return the fond caresses he bestowed -upon her. “I am come, Amanda,” said he, eagerly -interrupting the joyful speeches of the Edwins, “to take you -away with me; and one hour is all I can give you to prepare -yourself.” “Good Heaven!” said Amanda, starting, “to take -me away immediately?” “Immediately,” he repeated. “And -as I know you are attached to this good girl,” turning to Ellen, -“I shall be happy, if her parents permit, to procure her attendance -for you.”</p> - -<p>The Edwins, who would have followed themselves, or allowed -any of their family to follow Fitzalan and his daughter -round the world, gladly consented to her going; and the girl, -exclusive of her attachment to Amanda, which was very great, -having pined ever since her lover’s departure, rejoiced at the -idea of a change of scene.</p> - -<p>Not so Amanda: it made her suffer agony; to be torn from -Lord Mortimer in the hour of reconciliation and explanation, -was more than she could support with fortitude. Her father, -perhaps, had not received his letter; it was but justice then to -him and Lord Mortimer to reveal her situation. She left her -trunk half-packed, and went out for that purpose; but as she -stood before him with quivering lips and half-averted eyes, at a -loss to begin, he took her hand, and softly exclaimed: “My -love, let us for the present waive every subject; the moments -are precious; hasten to put on your habit, or we shall be too -late at the stage where I propose resting to-night.” Amanda -turned in silence to her chamber to comply with his desire;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> -tears ran down her cheeks, and for the first time she conceived -the idea of being hurried away to avoid Lord Mortimer; but -why, she could not think—honor as well as tenderness, she -thought, demanded her acquainting him with the cause of her -precipitate journey; but, when she took up a pen for that purpose, -her hand was unsteady, and she was so much disturbed -by the nurse and her daughters, who ran backwards and forwards -in all the bustle of preparation, that she could not write: -her father prevented a second effort, for he was continually -coming to her chamber-door urging her to be quick, and thus -prevented her delivering any message to the nurse for Lord -Mortimer; so great was his eagerness to depart, he would not -suffer the horses to be taken from the chaise, or any refreshment -to be brought him by the Edwins, notwithstanding their -pressing entreaties: neither would he answer their interrogatories -as to where he was going, saying they should know hereafter. -The parting embrace was at last given and received -with a heavy heart—Amanda was handed to the carriage—silence -prevailed—all the travellers were equally though differently -affected; the cottage and the spire of the village church -had awakened the most affecting remembrances in the mind -of Fitzalan, and tears fell from him to the memory of his unfortunate -Malvina; sighs burst from Amanda as she viewed -the white turrets of Tudor Hall, and Ellen sobbed on passing -the forsaken cottage of poor Chip. From all these affecting -and beloved objects the rapidity of the carriage soon conveyed -them; but the impressions they left upon their minds were not -so easily eradicated. Fitzalan was the first to break the unsocial -silence, and it seemed as if he did so for the purpose of -rousing the dejection of his daughter: a cross road from the -cottage shortly brought them to Conway Ferry, which they -were obliged to pass, and here, had Amanda’s mind been at -ease, she would have felt truly gratified by viewing the remains -of gothic magnificence which Castle Conway exhibited; as it -was, she could not behold them unmoved, and, whilst she admired, -gave the passing tribute of a sigh to grandeur and -decay. They only continued in Conway till a carriage was -provided for them, and soon came beneath the stupendous projections -of Penmaenmawr; this was a scene as new as awful -to Amanda: “Well, Cot in heaven pless their souls,” Ellen -said, “what a tefil of a way they should be in if one of them -huge stones rolled down upon the carriage.” They stopped -not again until they reached Bangor Ferry, where they were to -rest for the night. Amanda’s strength and spirits were now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> -so entirely exhausted, that had not a glass of wine been immediately -procured her, she would have fainted from weakness; -this a little revived her, and the tears she shed relieved in some -degree the oppression of her heart; her father left her and -Ellen together, while he went to give directions about the journey -of the ensuing day.</p> - -<p>Amanda went to the window and threw up the sash; the -air from the mountains she thought refreshed her; the darkness -of the hour was opposed by a bright moon, which cast a -trembling radiance upon the water, and by its partial gleams -exhibited a beautiful scene of light and shade, that had Amanda -been in another frame of mind she would infinitely have admired; -the scene too was almost as still as it was lovely, for -no voice was heard except a low murmur from voices below -stairs: while she stood here in a deep reverie, the paddling of -oars suddenly roused her, and she beheld a boat on the opposite -shore, which in a few minutes gained the one where she -was, and she saw coming from it to the inn a large party of -gentlemen, whose air and attendants announced them to be -men of fashion; they seemed by their discourse to be a convivial -party; the light was too dim to allow their faces to be -discerned, but in the figure of one Amanda thought she perceived -a strong resemblance to Lord Mortimer; her heart -throbbed, she leaned forward to endeavor to distinguish more -plainly, and at the moment heard his well-known voice ordering -his groom to have the horses ready at twelve o’clock, as he -would take the advantage of such fine weather to set off at -that hour for Tudor Hall; the party were then ushered into a -room contiguous to the one occupied by Amanda, while the -bustling of the waiters, and the clattering of knives, forks, and -plates, announced the preparations for a late dinner. Oh! -what were now the agitations of Amanda, to think that in one -moment she could inform Lord Mortimer of her situation; but -the transport the idea gave was relinquished almost as soon as -felt, as such a measure she thought might perhaps for ever disoblige -her father. In this tumult of doubt and perplexity he -found her; and by his conduct convinced her that he not only -knew of Lord Mortimer’s being in the house, but wished her -to avoid him; for he instantly led her from the window, and, -shutting it down, darted, for the first time in his life, a severe -frown at her; a dagger in the breast of Amanda could scarcely -have given her more pain—a cold horror ran through her veins, -and she was oppressed by as many fears as if she had been -conscious of offending him. The supper he had ordered was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> -a little retarded by the late dinner of his gay neighbors; he -would have had it in another room had another been disengaged; -vainly did his timid companions try to eat—Amanda -was sick, and Ellen frightened, though she knew not why; the -waiter was dismissed, and the most unsocial silence prevailed.</p> - -<p>Unbounded gayety reigned in the next apartment, from -which every sound could plainly be distinguished. Dinner -over, the exhilarating juice went round, and bumper toasts were -called. Lord Mortimer at last was asked for a fair nymph. -“I will give you,” exclaimed he, in a voice which denoted his -being uncommonly elevated, “an Angel!”—Amanda’s heart -beat violently and her cheeks glowed. “A name for this -celestial beauty!” demanded one of the party: “Amanda,” -cried his lordship. “Oh, faith, Mortimer, that won’t do;” said -another of his companions; “this angel shall not pass without -the rest of her name.” “Miss Fitzalan, then,” exclaimed his -lordship. “Oh! oh!” cried a new voice, with a loud laugh, -after clue honor had been paid to the toast, “I being to unravel -a mystery; upon my soul I could not conceive till this instant -what had kept you so long at the hall; for I had seen the -maiden part of the household, and knew the metal there not -very attractive; but this Amanda, I suppose, is the rosy daughter -of some poor curate in its vicinity, who for”—“Beware!” -interrupted Lord Mortimer in an agitated voice, “of what you -say; give me no reason to repent having introduced a name so -valued into this company—the situation of Miss Fitzalan is not -exactly what you suppose: but let this suffice for you to know—it -is such as secures her from every species of impertinence -and were it even less protected, her own elegance and propriety -would elevate her above receiving any.” The face of Fitzalan, -during this conversation, was crimsoned over, and he again -darted a frown at the trembling Amanda, which almost petrified -her, he told her that she and Ellen must retire immediately to -rest, as they had a long journey before them the ensuing day, -which would require their rising early. Amanda, for the first time -in her life, wished to be relieved from his presence, and gladly -rose to obey him; he attended her himself to the room prepared -for her, which was directly over that where the gentlemen -sat; to think of rest was impossible; the severity of her father’s -looks, and her precipitate journey—she knew not whither—but -evidently for the purpose of avoiding Lord Mortimer, filled the -thoughts of Amanda with confusion and distress: Ellen essayed -artless consolation: “What the tefil do you think,” said she, -“if I was to go down to give his lortship an intimation of your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> -peing here; you could easily contrive to see him in the garden, -or else we could pring him up here, and if the captain surprised -us, we could pop him in a moment behind the curtain.” Amanda -motioned her to silence, unwilling to lose the smallest sound of -Lord Mortimer’s voice, and determined, anxious as she was to -see him, never to act in opposition to her father. At length -the horses were led from the stable, and the convivial party descended -to them. Amanda softly raised the window, and saw -Lord Mortimer eagerly vault upon the saddle; he gave a hasty -adieu to the friends, and galloped off; they mounted at the -same time, but took a contrary direction. Amanda leaned out -till she could no longer hear the clattering of the horses’ hoofs; -her heart sunk as the sound died upon her ear; she wept as she -retired from the window; the idea of Mortimer’s disappointment -aggravated her grief; she no longer opposed Ellen’s efforts -to undress her; exhausted by fatigue, sleep soon closed her eyes, -and fancy again transported her to Tudor Hall and Mortimer.</p> - -<p>By the first dawn of day a knock at her chamber-door roused -her from this pleasing illusion, and she heard her father desiring -her to rise immediately. Drowsy as she was, she instantly -obeyed the summons, and awaking Ellen, they were ready to -attend him in a few minutes; a boat was already prepared, and -on gaining the opposite side they found a carriage in waiting. -Day was now just dawning; a gray mist enveloped the mountains, -and cast a shade of obscurity upon all the inferior objects; -at length the atmosphere began to brighten—the lucid clouds in -the cast were tinged with golden radiance, and the sun in beautiful -and refulgent majesty arose, gladdening the face of nature -with its potent beams; the trees, the shrubs, seemed waving -their dewy heads in sign of grateful homage, while their winged -inhabitants, as they soared in the air, poured forth the softest -notes of melody. Amanda, in spite of sadness, beheld the -charming scene with admiration; and Fitzalan contemplated it -with delight. “All nature,” he exclaimed, “points out to man -the gratitude due to the Divine dispenser of good; hardened -must that heart be against the feelings of sensibility, which the -harmony and fragrance of this early hour awakens not to a perfect -sense of it!” Amanda assented to his remark more by a -smile than words, for she was ill able to speak. They stopped not -till they reached Gwintey, where they breakfasted, and then proceeded, -without resting again, to Holyhead, which place Fitzalan -announced as they entered it. And now, Amanda first conceived -the idea of being brought to another kingdom, which her -father soon confirmed her in—for, as soon as they alighted, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> -inquired when a packet would sail, and heard with evident -pleasure about six in the afternoon. He directly desired three -passages to be engaged; and, having ordered an early dinner, -dismissed Ellen into another room; and seating himself by -Amanda, he took her hand, and with a tender voice thus addressed -her: “To give pain to your gentle heart has inflicted -torture on mine; but honor compelled me to the conduct which -I have adopted, and which, I trust and believe, Amanda will -excuse when she knows my motive for it, which in due order -she shall hear.</p> - -<p>“On Lord Cherbury’s arrival in town, I was immediately -informed of it, according to the promise of his domestics, and -directly sent him my letter; scarcely had he read it, ere, with -all the ardor of true friendship, he came and brought me to his -house, where we might securely reflect on what was to be done. -His lordship soon formed a plan that at once inspired me with -gratitude and pleasure, as it promised me competence without -depriving me of independence—this was to accept the agency of -a considerable estate in the north of Ireland, which he possessed -in right of his wife, the late Countess of Cherbury, who was an -Irish heiress. He proposed my residing in the mansion house, -offering to advance a sum sufficient to answer all demands and -exigencies; and striving to lighten the obligations he conferred -upon me, by declaring he had long been seeking a man of well-known -probity, as his last agent had gone off considerably in -arrears to him. I accepted his generous offer, and soon freed -myself from the power of Belgrave. I now felt a tranquillity I -was long a stranger to, and was busied in preparing to come -down to you, when Lord Mortimer’s letter, like a clap of thunder, -broke the happy calm I enjoyed. Gracious heaven! I -shuddered to think, that at the very period Lord Cherbury was -building up my fortunes, the hopes he entertained for this darling -son were in a way of being destroyed, through means of a -connection of mine; he had hinted to me his having already -settled upon a splendid alliance for Lord Mortimer, which he -also hinted his heart was set on: this the infatuated young -man had himself some knowledge of; for in his rash letter -he entreated my secrecy relative to his proposal for you till -beyond the reach of mortals to separate you: no doubt he -would never have asked my consent, had he thought he could -have procured you without it; he took me, I suppose, for some -needy and ambitious creature, who would, though at the expense -of integrity, grasp an opportunity of elevating a child to -rank and fortune; but never was an erring mortal more mis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>taken, -though dearer to me than the air I breath—though the -lovely child of my lost Malvina—though a cherubim, whose innocent -endearments often raised in me, as Prospero says—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">An undergoing stomach—to bear up</span> -<span class="i0">Against what should ensue.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>I would rather see you breathless at my feet, than, by conscious -and apparent meanness, deserve and incur the malevolence of -calumny. I committed the letter to the flames, and requested -Lord Cherbury’s final commands; being desirous to commence -my journey without longer delay, as your delicate state of health, -I said, made me anxious to have you immediately under my -own care; he complied with my request, and I travelled post, -resolved to separate you and Lord Mortimer—even if prepared -for the altar: nor was I alone actuated to this by gratitude to -Lord Cherbury, or consideration for my own honor—no, with -these, a regard for your peace equally influenced me—a soul of -sensibility and refinement like yours could never, I know, be -happy if treated with repulsive coldness by the family of her -husband; particularly if her conscience told her she merited -that coldness by entering it clandestinely. Could I bear to -think that of you—so lovely in person—so amiable in manners—so -illustrious in descent—should be called an artful and -necessitous contriver? an imputation, which, most undoubtedly, -your union with Lord Mortimer would have incurred. No, to -the God who gave you to my care, I hold myself responsible, as -far as in my power, for preserving your peace—to the mother, -whose last words implored my tenderness for her offspring, I -hold myself accountable—to me she still exists—I think her -ever near—and ere I act, always reflect whether such an action -would meet her approbation. Such is the respect virtue excites—it -lives when the frail texture of mortality is dissolved. Your -attachment, when repelled by reason and fortitude, will soon -vanish; as for Lord Mortimer, removed from the flame which -warmed his heart, he will soon forget it ever played around it—should -he, however, be daring enough to persevere, he will -find my resolution unalterable. Honor is the only hereditary -possession that ever came to me uninjured; to preserve -it in the same state has been ever my unremitted study—it -irradiated the gloomy morning of care, and I trust it will gild -the setting hours of existence.”</p> - -<p>Amanda’s emotions deprived her of speech or acting—she -sat a pale statue, listening to her father’s firm and rapid language, -which announced the abolition of her hopes; ignorant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> -of her inability to speak, he felt hurt at her silence; and rising -abruptly, walked about the room with a disordered air. “I -see—I see,” cried he at last, looking mournfully upon her, “I -am destined to be unhappy; the little treasure which remained -from the wreck of felicity, I had hoped (vain hope!) would -have comforted and consoled me for what then was lost.” -“O! my father!” exclaimed Amanda, suddenly starting and -sighing deeply, “how you pierce my heart!” His pale, emaciated -looks seemed to declare him sinking beneath a burden -of care; she started up, and flung herself into his arms. -“Dearest, best of fathers!” she exclaimed, in a voice broken -by sobs, “what is all the world to me in comparison of you? -Shall I put Lord Mortimer, so lately a stranger, in competition -with your happiness? Oh no! I will henceforth try to -regulate every impulse of my heart according to your wishes.” -Fitzalan burst into tears—the enthusiasm of virtue warmed -them both—hallowed are her raptures, and amply do they recompense -the pain attendant on her sacrifices.</p> - -<p>Dinner was brought in, to which they sat down in their -usual social manner; and Amanda, happy in her father’s -smiles, felt a ray of returning cheerfulness. The evening was -delightfully serene when they went on board, and the vessel, -with a gentle motion, glided over the glittering waves; sickness -soon compelled Amanda and Ellen to retire from the -deck; yet without a sigh, the former could not relinquish the -prospect of the Welsh mountains. By the dawn of next morning -the vessel entered the bay of Dublin, and Fitzalan shortly -after brought Amanda from the cabin to contemplate a scene -which far surpassed all her ideas of sublimity and beauty, a -scene which the rising sun soon heightened to the most glowing -radiance; they landed at the Marine Hotel, where they -breakfasted, and then proceeded in a carriage to a hotel in -Capel street, where they proposed staying a few days for the -purpose of enjoying Oscar’s company, whose regiment was -quartered in Dublin, and making some requisite purchases for -their journey to the north. As the carriage drove down Capel -street, Amanda saw a young officer standing at the corner of -Mary’s Abbey, whose air very much resembled Oscar’s ; her -heart palpitated; she looked out and perceived the resemblance -was a just one, for it was Oscar himself—the carriage -passed too swiftly for him to recognize her face; but he was -astonished to see a fair hand waving to him; he walked down -the street, and reached the hotel just as they were entering it.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“And whence, unhappy youth, he cried,</span> -<span class="i0">The sorrow of thy breast?”—<span class="smcap">Goldsmith</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The raptures of this meeting surpassed description: to -Oscar they were heightened by surprise; he was unfortunately -that day on guard at the Bank—therefore could only pay them -a few short and stolen visits; but the next morning, the moment -he was relieved, he came to them. Fitzalan had given Amanda -money to purchase whatever she deemed necessary for her -convenience and amusement, and Oscar attended her to the -most celebrated shops to make her purchases: having supplied -herself with a pretty fashionable assortment for her wardrobe, -she procured a small collection of books, sufficient, however, -from their excellence, to form a little library in themselves, -and every requisite for drawing; nor did she forget the -little wants and vanities of Ellen; they returned about dinner -time to the hotel, where they found their father, who had been -transacting business for Lord Cherbury in different parts of -the town. We may now suppose him in the possession of -happiness, blessed as he was in the society of his children, and -the certainty of a competence; but, alas! happiness has almost -ever an attendant drawback, and he now experienced one -of the most corroding kind from the alteration he witnessed in -his son. Oscar was improved in his person, but his eyes no -longer beamed with animation, and the rose upon his cheek -was pale; his cheerfulness no longer appeared spontaneous, -but constrained, as if assumed for the purpose of veiling deep -and heartfelt sorrow.</p> - -<p>Fitzalan, with all the anxiety and tenderness of a parent, -delicately expressed his wish of learning the source of his uneasiness, -that by so doing he might be better qualified to alleviate -it, hinting at the same time, in indirect terms, that if -occasioned by any of the imprudences which youth is sometimes -inadvertently led into, he would readily excuse them, from -a certainty that he who repented never would again commit -them. Oscar started from the remotest hint of divulging his uneasiness: -he begged his father, however, to believe (since he -had unfortunately perceived it) that it was not derived from -imprudence: he pretended to say it was but a slight chagrin,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> -which would soon wear away of itself if not renewed by -inquiries. Fitzalan, however, was too much affected by the -subject to drop it as readily as Oscar wished. After regarding -him for a few minutes with an attention as mournful as fixed, -while they sat round the table after dinner, he suddenly exclaimed, -“Alas! my dear boy, I fear things are worse within -than you will allow.” “Now, indeed, Oscar” cried Amanda, -sweetly smiling on him, anxious to relieve him from the embarrassment -these words had involved him in, and to dissipate the -deep gloom of her father’s brow, “though never in the wars, I -fancy you are not quite heart whole.” He answered her with -affected gayety, but, as if wishing to change the discourse, -suddenly spoke of Colonel Belgrave, who, at present, he said, -was absent of the regiment; occupied by his own feelings, he -observed not the glow which mantled the cheeks of his father -and sister at that name.</p> - -<p>“You know Mrs. Belgrave,” said Amanda, endeavoring to -regain her composure. “Know her!” repeated he, with an -involuntary sigh, “oh, yes!” Then, after the pause of a few -minutes, turning to his father, “I believe I have already informed -you, sir,” he said, “that she is the daughter of your brave old -friend, General Honeywood, who, I assure you, paid me no -little attention on your account; his house is quite the temple -of hospitality, and she the little presiding goddess.” “She is -happy, I hope,” said Amanda. “Oh, surely,” replied Oscar, -little thinking of the secret motive his sister had for asking -such a question, “she possesses what the world thinks necessary -to constitute felicity.”</p> - -<p>Fitzalan had accounted to his son for leaving Devonshire, -by saying the air had disagreed with Amanda; he told him of -the friendship of Lord Cherbury, from which he said he trusted -shortly to be able to have him promoted. “Be assured, my -dear Oscar,” he cried, “most willingly would I relinquish many -of the comforts of life to attain the ability of hastening your -advancement, or adding to your happiness.” “My happiness!” -Oscar mournfully repeated; tears filled his eyes; he could no -longer restrain them; and starting up, hurried to a window. -Amanda followed, unutterably affected at his emotion: “Oscar, -my dear Oscar,” said she as she flung her arms round his neck, -“you distress me beyond example.” He sat down, and leaning -his head on her bosom, as she stood before him, his tears -fell through her handkerchief. “Oh, heavens!” exclaimed -Fitzalan, clasping his hands together, “what a sight is this! -Oh! my children, from your felicity alone could I ever derive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> -any; if the hope I entertained of that felicity is disappointed, -the heart which cherished it must soon be silent.” He arose -and went to them: “yet,” continued he, “amidst the anguish -of this moment, I feel a ray of pleasure at perceiving an affection -so strong and tender between you; it will be a mutual consolation -and support when the feeble help and protection I can -give is finally removed; oh! then, my Oscar,” he proceeded, -while he folded their united hands in his, “become the soothing -friend and guardian of this dear, this amiable, this too lovely -girl—let her not too severely feel—too bitterly mourn—the loss -of an unhappy father!”</p> - -<p>Amanda’s tears began to stream, and Oscar’s for a few -minutes were increased. “Excuse me,” at last he said, making -an effort to exert himself, to his father, “and be assured, to the -utmost of my ability, I will ever obey your wishes, and fulfil -your expectations; I am ashamed of the weakness I have -betrayed—I will yield to it no more—forget therefore your -having seen it, or at least remember it with pain, as I solemnly -assure you, no effort on my part shall be untried to conquer it -entirely; and now let the short time we have to continue together -be devoted to cheerfulness.”</p> - -<p>Soon after this he mentioned Parker’s performance in Marlborough -Green, and proposed, as it was now the hour, taking -Amanda there; the proposal was not objected to, and Ellen, -who they knew would particularly delight in such an amusement, -was committed to the care of Oscar’s servant, a smart young -soldier, who escorted her with much gallantry; the Green was -extremely crowded, particularly with officers, whose wandering -glances were soon attracted to Amanda, as one of the most -elegant girls present. Oscar was soon surrounded by them, -and compelled, not only to gratify their curiosity by discovering -who she was, but their gallantry by introducing them to her. -Their compliments soon diverted her attention from the exhibition, -and Ellen, who sat behind her on a bench, afforded -innocent mirth by her remarks. “Pless her soul and poty too,” -she said, “it was the most comical and wonderfulest sight -she had ever seen in her porn days.” A string of redcoats -would have attended Amanda to the hotel had not Oscar prevented -it.</p> - -<p>The next day was devoted to visiting the public buildings, -the park, and a few of the most beautiful places in its vicinage. -On the ensuing morn Fitzalan and Amanda continued their -journey to the north, where Oscar assured them he expected -leave to visit them the following summer, after the reviews<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> -were over: as he helped his sister in the carriage she put a -pocket-book into his hand (given by her father for that purpose), -which contained something to replenish his purse.</p> - -<p>Ere we attend the travellers, or rather while they are journeying -along, we shall endeavor to account for the dejection of -Oscar.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“From the loud camp retired and noisy court,</span> -<span class="i0">In honorable ease and rural sport;</span> -<span class="i0">The remnant of his days he safely passed,</span> -<span class="i0">Nor found they lagged too slow nor flew too fast.</span> -<span class="i0">He made his wish with his estate comply,</span> -<span class="i0">Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die:</span> -<span class="i0">One child he had—a daughter chaste and fair,</span> -<span class="i0">His age’s comfort, and his fortune’s heir.”—<span class="smcap">Prior</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Oscar’s regiment, on his first joining it in Ireland, was -quartered in Enniskillen, the corps was agreeable, and the inhabitants -of the town hospitable and polite. He felt all the -delight of a young and enterprising mind, at entering, what -appeared to him, the road to glory and pleasure, many of his -idle mornings were spent in rambling about the country, -sometimes accompanied by a party of officers, and sometimes -alone.</p> - -<p>In one of his solitary excursions along the beautiful banks -of Lough Erne, with a light fusee on his shoulder, as the woods, -that almost descended to the very edge of the water, abounded -in game; after proceeding a few miles he felt quite exhausted -by the heat, which, as it was now the middle of summer, was -intense; at a little distance he perceived an orchard, whose -glowing apples promised a delightful repast; knowing that the -fruit in many of the neighboring places was kept for sale, he -resolved on trying if any was to be purchased here, and accordingly -opened a small gate, and ascended through a grass-grown -path in the orchard, to a very plain white cottage, which stood -upon a gentle sloping lawn, surrounded by a rude paling, he -knocked against the door with his fusee, and immediately a -little rosy girl appeared; “tell me, my pretty lass,” cried he, -“whether I can purchase any of the fine apples I see here.” -“Anan!” exclaimed the girl with a foolish stare. Oscar -glancing at that moment into the passage, saw, from a half-opened -door, nearly opposite to the one at which he stood, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> -beautiful fair face peeping out; he involuntarily started, and -pushing aside the girl, made a step into the passage; the room -door directly opened, and an elderly woman, of a genteel figure -and pleasing countenance, appeared. “Good Heaven!” cried -Oscar, taking off his hat, and retreating, “I fear I have been -guilty of the highest impertinence; the only apology I can offer -for it is by saying it was not intentional. I am quite a stranger -here, and having been informed most of the orchards hereabouts -contained fruits for sale, I intruded under that idea.” “Your -mistake, sir,” she replied with a benevolent smile, “is too trifling -to require an apology; nor shall it be attended with any disappointment -to you.”</p> - -<p>She then politely showed him into the parlor, where, with -equal pleasure and admiration, he contemplated the fair being -of whom before he had but a transient glance: she appeared -to be scarcely seventeen, and was, both as to face and figure, -what a painter would have chosen to copy for the portrait of a -little playful Hebe; though below even the middle size, she -was formed with the nicest symmetry; her skin was of a dazzling -fairness, and so transparent, that the veins were clearly discernible; -the softest blush of nature shaded her beautifully-rounded -cheeks; her mouth was small and pouting, and whenever -she smiled a thousand graces sported round it; her eyes -were full and of a heavenly blue, soft, yet animated, giving, like -the expression of her whole countenance, at once an idea of -innocence, spirit, and sensibility; her hair, of the palest and -most glossy brown, hung carelessly about her, and, though -dressed in a loose morning-gown of muslin, she possessed an -air of fashion and even consequence; the easy manner in which -she bore the looks of Oscar, proclaimed her at once not unaccustomed -to admiration, nor displeased with that she now -received; for that Oscar admired her could not but be visible, -and he sometimes fancied he saw an arch smile playing over -her features, at the involuntary glances he directed towards her.</p> - -<p>A fine basket of apples, and some delicious cider, was brought -to Oscar, and he found his entertainer as hospitable in deposition -as she was pleasing in conversation.</p> - -<p>The beautiful interior of the cottage by no means corresponded -with the plainness of the exterior; the furniture was -elegantly neat, and the room ornamented with a variety of fine -prints and landscapes; a large folding glass door opened from -it into a pleasure-garden.</p> - -<p>Adela, so was the charming young stranger called, chatted -in the most lively and familiar terms, and at last running over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> -to the basket, tossed the apples all about the table, and picking -out the finest presented them to Oscar. It is scarcely necessary -to say he received them with emotion: but how transient is all -sublunary bliss! A cuckoo-clock, over Oscar’s head, by striking -three, reminded him that he had passed near two hours in the -cottage. “Oh, Heavens!” cried he, starting, “I have made a -most unconscionable intrusion; you see, my dear ladies,” bowing -respectfully to both, “the consequence of being too polite -and too fascinating.” He repeated his thanks in the most -animated manner, and snatching up his hat, departed, yet not -without casting</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“One longing, lingering look behind.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The sound of footsteps after him in the lawn made him turn, -and he perceived the ladies had followed him thither. He -stopped again to speak to them, and extolled the lovely prospect -they had from that eminence of the lake and its scattered -islands. “I presume,” said Adela, handling the fusee on which -he leaned, “you were trying your success to-day in fowling?” -“Yes; but, as you may perceive, I have been unsuccessful.” -“Then, I assure you,” said she, with an arch smile, “there is -choice game to be found in our woods.” “Delicious game, -indeed!” cried he, interpreting the archness of her look, and -animated by it to touch her hand, “but only tantalizing to -a keen sportsman, who sees it elevated above his reach.” -“Come, come,” exclaimed the old lady, with a sudden gravity, -“we are detaining the gentleman.” She took her fair companion -by the arm, and hastily turned to the cottage. Oscar -gazed after them a moment, then, with a half-smothered sigh, -descended to the road. He could not help thinking this incident -of the morning very like the novel adventures he had sometimes -read to his sister Amanda as she sat at work; and, to complete -the resemblance, thought he, I must fall in love with the little -heroine. Ah! Oscar, beware of such imprudence! guard your -heart with all your care against tender impressions, till fortune -has been more propitious to you! Thus would my father speak, -mused Oscar, and set his own misfortunes in terrible array -before me, were he now present: well, I must endeavor to act -as if he were here to exhort me. Heigh ho! proceeded he, -shouldering his fusee, glory for some time to come must be -my mistress!</p> - -<p>The next morning the fusee was again taken down, and he -sallied out, carefully avoiding the officers, lest any of them -should offer to accompany him; for he felt a strange reluctance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> -to their participating in either the smiles of Adela or the apples -of the old lady. Upon his arrival at the orchard, finding the -gate open, he advanced a few steps up the path, and had a -glimpse of the cottage, but no object was visible. Oscar was -too modest to attempt entering it uninvited; he therefore -turned back, yet often cast a look behind him; no one, however, -was to be seen. He now began to feel the heat oppressive, -and himself fatigued with his walk, and sat down upon a -moss-covered stone, on the margin of the lake, at a little distance -from the cottage, beneath the spreading branches of a -hawthorn; his hat and fusee were laid at his feet, and a cool -breeze from the water refreshed him; upon its smooth surface -a number of boats and small sail-vessels were now gliding about -in various directions, and enlivened the enchanting prospect -which was spread upon the bosom of the lake; from contemplating -it he was suddenly roused by the warble of a female -voice; he started, turned, and beheld Adela just by him. -“Bless me!” cried she, “who would have thought of seeing -you here; why, you look quite fatigued, and, I believe, want -apples to-day as much as you did yesterday?” Then, sitting -down on the seat he had resigned, she tossed off her bonnet, -declaring it was insupportably warm, and began rummaging a -small work-bag she held on her arm. Oscar snatching the -bonnet from the ground, Adela flung apples into it, observing -it would make an excellent basket. He sat down at her feet, -and never, perhaps, felt such a variety of emotions as at the -present moment: his cheeks glowed with a brighter color, and -his eyes were raised to hers with the most ardent admiration; -yet not to them alone could he confine the expression of his -feelings; they broke in half-formed sentences from his lips, -which Adela heard with the most perfect composure, desiring -him either to eat or pocket his apples quickly, as she wanted -her bonnet, being in a great hurry to return to the cottage, from -which she had made a kind of stolen march. The apples were -instantly committed to his pocket, and he was permitted to tie -on the bonnet. A depraved man might have misinterpreted -the gayety of Adela, or at least endeavored to take advantage -of it; but the sacred impression of virtue, which nature and -education had stamped upon the heart of Oscar, was indelibly -fixed, and he neither suspected, nor, for worlds, would have -attempted injuring, the innocence of Adela: he beheld her (in -what indeed was a true light) as a little playful nymph, whose -actions were the offspring of innocence.</p> - -<p>“I assure you,” exclaimed she, rising, “I am very loath to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> -quit this pleasant seat; but, if I make a much longer delay, I -shall find the lady of the cottage in anxious expectation.” -“May I advance?” said Oscar, as he pushed open the gate for -her. “If you do,” replied she, “the least that will be said -from seeing us together, is, that we were in search of each other -the whole of the morning.” “Well,” cried Oscar, laughing at -this careless speech, “and if they do say so, it would not be -doing me injustice.” “Adieu, adieu,” said she, waving her -hand, “not another word for a kingdom.”</p> - -<p>What a compound of beauty and giddiness it is! thought -Oscar, watching her till she entered the cottage. As he returned -from the sweet spot he met some laborers, from whom -he inquired concerning its owner, and learned she was a respectable -widow lady of the name of Marlowe.</p> - -<p>On Oscar’s return from Enniskillen, he heard from the -officers that General Honeywood, an old veteran, who had a -fine estate about fourteen miles from the town, was that morning -to pay his compliments to them, and that cards had been -left for a grand <i>f��te</i> and ball, which he annually gave on the 1st -of July, to commemorate one of the glorious victories of King -William. Every person of any fashion in and about the neighborhood -was on such occasions sure of an invitation; and -the officers were pleased with theirs, as they had for some time -wished for an opportunity of seeing the general’s daughter, who -was very much admired.</p> - -<p>The general, like a true veteran, retained an enthusiastic -attachment for the profession of arms, to which not only the -morning, but the meridian of his life had been devoted, and -which he had not quitted till compelled by a debilitated constitution. -Seated in his paternal mansion he began to experience -the want of a faithful companion, who would heighten the -enjoyments of the tranquil hour, and soothe the infirmities -of age: this want was soon supplied by his union with a young -lady in the neighborhood, whose only dowry was innocence and -beauty. From the great disparity of their ages it was concluded -she had married for convenience; but the tenor of her conduct -changed this opinion, by proving the general possessed her -tenderest affections: a happier couple were not known; but -this happiness was terminated as suddenly as fatally by her -death, which happened two years after the birth of her daughter; -all the general’s love was then centred in her child. Many of -the ladies in the neighborhood, induced by the well-known -felicity his lady had enjoyed, or by the largeness of his fortune, -made attempts to engage him again in matrimonial toils; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> -he fought shy of them all, solemnly declaring, he would never -bring a stepmother over his dear girl. In her infancy, she was -his plaything, and as she grew up his comfort; caressed, flattered, -adored from her childhood, she scarcely knew the meaning -of harshness and contradiction; a naturally sweet disposition, -and the superintending care of an excellent woman, prevented -any pernicious effect from such excessive indulgence as she received; -to disguise or duplicity she was a perfect stranger; her -own feelings were never concealed, and others she supposed -equally sincere in revealing theirs: true, the open avowal of her -regard or contempt often incurred the imputation of imprudence; -but had she even heard it she would have only laughed -at it—for the general declared whatever she said was right, and -her own heart assured her of the innocence of her intentions. -As she grew up the house again became the seat of gayety; the -general, though very infirm, felt his convivial spirit revive; -he delighted in the society of his friends, and could still</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Shoulder his crutch, and show how fields were won!”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Oscar, actuated by an impulse, which if he could, he, at -least, did not strive to account for, continued daily to parade -before the orchard, but without again seeing Adela.</p> - -<p>At length the day for General Honeywood’s entertainment -arrived, and the officers, accompanied by a large party, set off -early for Woodlawn, the name of the general’s seat. It was -situated on the borders of the lake, where they found barges -waiting to convey them to a small island, which was the scene -of the morning’s amusement: the breakfast was laid out amidst -the ruins of an ancient building, which, from the venerable remains -of its gothic elegance, was most probably, in the days of -religious enthusiasm, the seat of sacred piety: the old trees in -groups formed a thick canopy overhead, and the ivy that crept -along the walls filled up many of the niches where the windows -had formerly been; those that still remained open, by descending -to the ground, afforded a most enchanting prospect of the -lake; the long succession of arches, which composed the body -of the chapel, were in many places covered with creeping moss, -and scattered over with wall-flowers, blue hair-bells, and other -spontaneous productions of nature; while between them were -placed seats and breakfast-tables, ornamented in a fanciful -manner.</p> - -<p>The officers experienced a most agreeable surprise on -entering; but how inferior were their feelings to the sensations -which Oscar felt, when, introduced with the party by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> -general to his daughter, he beheld in Miss Honeywood the -lovely Adela! She seemed to enjoy his surprise, and Mrs. -Marlowe, from the opposite side of the table, beckoned him to -her with an arch look; he flew round, and she made room for -him by herself: “Well, my friend,” cried she, “do you think -you shall find the general’s fruit as tempting as mine?” -“Ah!” exclaimed Oscar, half sighing, half smiling, “Hesperian -fruit, I fear, which I can never hope to obtain.” Adela’s attention, -during breakfast, was too much engrossed by the company -to allow her to notice Oscar more than by a few hasty -words and smiles. There being no dancing till the evening, the -company, after breakfast, dispersed according to their various -inclinations.</p> - -<p>The island was diversified with little acclivities, and scattered -over with wild shrubs, which embalmed the air; temporary -arbors of laurel, intermingled with lilies, were erected and laid -out with fruits, ices, and other refreshments; upon the edge of -the water a marquee was pitched for the regimental band, which -Colonel Belgrave had politely complimented the general with: -a flag was hoisted on it, and upon a low eminence a few small -field-pieces were mounted: attendants were everywhere dispersed, -dressed in white streamers, ornamented with a profusion -of orange-colored ribbons; the boatmen were dressed in the -same livery; and the barges, in which several of the party were -to visit the other islands, made a picturesque appearance with -their gay streamers fluttering in the breeze; the music, now -softly dying away upon the water, now gradually swelling on -the breeze, and echoed back by the neighboring hills, added to -the pleasures of the scene.</p> - -<p>Oscar followed the footsteps of Adela; but at the very -moment in which he saw her disengaged from a large party, -the general hallooed to him from a shady bank on which he -sat; Oscar could not refuse the summons; and, as he approached, -the general, extending his hand, gave him a cordial -squeeze, and welcomed him as the son of a brave man he had -once intimately known. “I recollected the name of Fitzalan,” -said he, “the moment I heard it mentioned; and had the happiness -of learning from Colonel Belgrave I was not mistaken -in believing you to be the son of my old friend.” He now -made several inquiries concerning Fitzalan, and the affectionate -manner in which he mentioned him was truly pleasing to -Oscar. “He had once,” he said, “saved his life at the imminent -danger of his own, and it was an obligation, while that -life remained, he could not forget.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> -Like Don Guzman in Gil Blas, the general delighted in -fighting over his battles, and now proceeded to enumerate many -incidents which happened during the American war, when he -and Fitzalan served in the same regiment. Oscar could well -have dispensed with such an enumeration; but the general, -who had no idea that he was not as much delighted in listening -as he was in speaking, still went on. Adela had been -watching them some time; her patience at length, like Oscar’s, -being exhausted, she ran forward and told her father “he must -not detain him another minute, for they were going upon the -lake; and you know, papa,” cried she, “against we come -back, you can have all your battles arranged in proper form, -though, by the bye, I don’t think it is the business of an old -soldier to intimidate a young one with such dreadful tales of -iron wars.” The general called her saucy baggage, kissed her -with rapture, and saw her trip off with his young friend, who -seized the favorable opportunity to engage her for the first set -in the evening. About four the company assembled in the Abbey -to dinner; the band played during the repast, the toasts -were proclaimed by sound of trumpet, and answered by an immediate -discharge from the Mount. At six the ladies returned -to Woodlawn to change their dresses for the ball, and now</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Awful beauty put on all its charms.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Tea and coffee were served in the respective rooms, and by -eleven the ballroom was completely crowded with company, at -once brilliant and lively, particularly the gentlemen, who were -not a little elevated by the general’s potent libations to the -glorious memory of him whose victory they were celebrating.</p> - -<p>Adela, adorned in a style superior to what Oscar had yet -seen, appeared more lovely than he had even at first thought -her; her dress, which was of thin muslin, spangled, was so -contrived as to give a kind of aerial lightness to her figure. -Oscar reminded her of the promise of the morning, at the very -moment the colonel approached for the purpose of engaging -her. She instantly informed him of her engagement to Mr. -Fitzalan. “Mr. Fitzalan!” repeated the colonel, with the -haughty air of a man who thought he had reason to be offended: -“he has been rather precipitate, indeed; but, though we may -envy, who shall wonder at his anxiety to engage Miss Honeywood?”</p> - -<p>Dancing now commenced, and the elegant figure of Adela -never appeared to greater advantage; the transported general -watched every movement, and, “incomparable, by Jove!—what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> -a sweet angel she is!” were expressions of admiration which -involuntarily broke from him in the pride and fondness of his -heart. Oscar, too, whose figure was remarkably fine, shared -his admiration, and he declared to Colonel Belgrave, he did -not think the world could produce such another couple. This -assertion was by no means pleasing to the Colonel; he possessed -as much vanity, perhaps, as ever fell to the share of a -young belle conscious of perfections, and detested the idea of -having any competitor (at least such a powerful one as Oscar) -in the good graces of the ladies. Adela, having concluded the -dance, complained of fatigue, and retired to an alcove, whither -Oscar followed her. The window commanded a view of the -lake, the little island, and the ruined Abbey; the moon in full -splendor cast her silvery light over all those objects, giving a -softness to the landscape, even more pleasing than the glowing -charms it had derived from the radiancy of day. Adela in -dancing had dropped the bandeau from her hair; Oscar took -it up, and still retained it. Adela now stretched forth her -hand to take it. “Allow me,” cried he, gently taking her -hand, “to keep it; to-morrow you would cast it away as a -trifle, but I would treasure it as a relic of inestimable value; -let me have some memento of the charming hours I have -passed to-day.” “Oh, a truce,” said Adela, “with such expressions -(who did not, however, oppose his putting her bandeau -in his bosom); they are quite commonplace, and have -already been repeated to hundreds, and will again, I make no -doubt.” “This is your opinion?” “Yes, really.” “Oh, -would to Heaven,” exclaimed Oscar, “I durst convince you -how mistaken a one it is.” Adela, laughing, assured him that -would be a difficult matter. Oscar grew pensive. “I think,” -cried he, “if oppressed by misfortune, I should of all places -on earth like a seclusion in the old Abbey.” “Why, really,” -said Adela, “it is tolerably calculated for a hermitage; and if -you take a solitary whim, I beg I may be apprised of it in time, -as I should receive peculiar pleasure in preparing your mossy -couch and frugal fare.” “The reason for my liking it,” replied -he, “would be the prospect I should have from it of Woodlawn.” -“And does Woodlawn,” asked Adela, “contain such particular -charms, as to render a view of it so very delightful?”</p> - -<p>At this moment they were summoned to call a new dance—a -summons, perhaps, not agreeable to either, as it interrupted -an interesting <i>tete-��-tete</i>. The colonel engaged Adela for the -next set; and though Oscar had no longer an inclination to -dance, to avoid particularity he stood up, and with a young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> -lady who was esteemed extremely handsome. Adela, as if -fatigued, no longer moved with animation, and suddenly interrupted -the colonel in a gallant speech he was making to her, -to inquire, if he thought Miss O’Neal (Oscar’s partner) pretty—so -very pretty as she was generally thought? The colonel -was too keen not to discover at once the motive which suggested -this inquiry. “Why, faith,” cried he after examining -Miss O’Neal some minutes through an opera glass, “the girl -has charms, but so totally eclipsed,” looking languishingly at -Adela, “in my eyes, that I cannot do them the justice they -may perhaps merit: Fitzalan, however, by the homage he pays -her, seems as if he would make up for the deficiency of every -other person.” Adela turned pale, and took the first opportunity -of demanding her bandeau from Oscar; he, smilingly, -refused it, declaring it was a trophy of the happiness he had -enjoyed that day, and that the general should have informed -her a soldier never relinquished such a glorious memento. -“Resign mine,” replied Adela, “and procure one from Miss -O’Neal.”—“No!” cried he, “I would not pay her charms -and my own sincerity so bad a compliment, as to ask what I -should not in the least degree value.” Adela’s spirits revived, -and she repeated her request no more.</p> - -<p>The dancing continued after supper, with little intermission, -till seven, when the company repaired to the saloon to breakfast, -after which they dispersed. The general particularly and -affectionately bid Oscar farewell, and charged him to consider -Woodlawn as his head-quarters. “Be assured,” said the good-natured -old man, “the son of my brave, worthy, and long-respected -friend, will ever be valuable to my heart and welcome -to my home; and would to heaven, in the calm evening of life, -your father and I had pitched our tents nearer each other.”</p> - -<p>From this period Oscar became almost an inmate of his -house, and the general shortly grew so attached to him, that -he felt unhappy if deprived of his society; the attentions he -received from Oscar were such as an affectionate son would -pay a tender father; he supported his venerable friend whenever -he attempted to walk, attended him in all the excursions -he made about his domain, read to him when he wanted to be -lulled to sleep, and listened, without betraying any symptoms -of fatigue, to his long and often truly tiresome stories of -former battles and campaigns; in paying these attentions Oscar -obeyed the dictates of gratitude and esteem, and also gratified -a benevolent disposition, happy in being able</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“To rock the cradle of declining age.“</span> -</div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> -But his time was not so entirely engrossed by the general -as to prevent his having many hours to devote to Adela; with -her he alternately conversed, read, and sung, rambled with her -through romantic paths, or rode along the beautiful borders of -Lough Erne; was almost her constant escort to all the parties -she went to in the neighborhood, and frequently accompanied -her to the hovels of wretchedness, where the woes which extorted -the soft tear of commiseration he saw amply relieved by -her generous hand; admiring her as he did before, how impossible -was it for Oscar, in these dangerous <i>tete-��-tetes</i>, to -resist the progress of a tender passion—a passion, however, -confined (as far at least as silence could confine it) to his own -heart. The confidence which he thought the general reposed -in him, by allowing such an intercourse with his daughter, was -too sacred in his estimation to be abused; but though his honor -resisted, his health yielded to his feelings.</p> - -<p>Adela, from delighting in company, suddenly took a pensive -turn; she declined the constant society she had hitherto kept -up, and seemed in a solitary ramble with Oscar to enjoy more -pleasure than the gayest party appeared to afford her; the -favorite spot they visited almost every evening was a path on -the margin of the lake, at the foot of a woody mountain; here -often seated, they viewed the sun sinking behind the opposite -hills; and while they enjoyed the benignancy of his departing -beams, beheld him tinge the trembling waves with gold and -purple; the low whistle of the ploughman returning to his humble -cottage, the plaintive carol of birds from the adjacent -grove, and the low bleating of cattle from pastures which -swelled above the water, all these, by giving the softest and -most pleasing charms of nature to the hour, contrived to touch, -yet more sensibly, hearts already prepossessed in favor of each -other. Adela would sometimes sing a little simple air, and -carelessly leaning on the arm of Oscar, appear to enjoy perfect -felicity. Not so poor Oscar: the feelings of his soul at these -moments trembled on his lips, and to repress them was agony.</p> - -<p>An incident soon occurred which endeared him yet more to -the general. Driving one day in a low phaeton along a road -cut over a mountain, the horses, frightened by a sudden firing -from the lake, began rearing in the most frightful manner; the -carriage stood near a tremendous precipice, and the servants, -appalled by terror, had not power to move. Oscar saw that -nothing but an effort of desperate resolution could keep them -from destruction; he leaped out, and, rushing before the horses, -seized their heads, at the eminent hazard of being tumbled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> -down the precipice, on whose very verge he stood; the servants, -a little relieved from their terror, hastened to his assistance; -the traces were cut, and the poor general, whose infirmities -had weakened his spirits, conveyed home in almost a state -of insensibility. Adela, perceiving him from her dressing-room -window, flew down, and learning his danger, fell upon his neck -in an agony of mingled joy and terror; her caresses soon revived -him, and as he returned them, his eyes eagerly sought his -deliverer. Oscar stood near, with mingled tenderness and -anxiety in his looks; the general took his hand, and whilst he -pressed it along with Adela’s to his bosom, tears fell on them. -“You are both my children!” he exclaimed; “the children of -my love, and from your felicity I must derive mine.” This -expression Oscar conceived to be a mere effusion of gratitude, -little thinking what a project relative to him had entered the -general’s head, who had first, however, consulted and learned -from his daughter it would be agreeable to her. This generous, -some will say romantic, old man, felt for Oscar the most -unbounded love and gratitude, and as the best proof of both, -he resolved to bestow on this young soldier his rich and lovely -heiress, who had acknowledged to her father her predilection -for him. He knew his birth to be noble, his disposition amiable, -and his spirit brave; besides, by this union he should -secure the society of Adela. He wished her married, yet -dreaded, whenever that event took place, he should be deprived -of her; but Oscar, he supposed, bound to him by gratitude, -would, unlike others, accede to his wishes of residing at Woodlawn -during his lifetime. His project he resolved on communicating -to Colonel Belgrave, whom, on Oscar’s account, he regarded, -as Oscar had said (what indeed he believed), that he -was partly indebted to him for his commission.</p> - -<p>What a thunder-stroke was this to Belgrave, who arrived at -Woodlawn the morning after the resolution was finally settled, -and was asked to accompany the general, about a little business, -to the summer-house in the garden. Poor Oscar trembled; -he felt a presentiment he should be the subject of discourse, -and had no doubt but the general meant to complain -to Colonel Belgrave, as a person who had some authority over -him, about his great particularity to Miss Honeywood.</p> - -<p>Rage, envy, and surprise, kept the colonel silent some minutes -after the general had ended speaking; dissimulation then -came to his aid, and he attempted, though in faltering accents, -to express his admiration of such generosity; yet to bestow -such a treasure, so inestimable, on such a man, when so many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -of equal rank and fortune sighed for its possession; upon a -man, too, or rather a boy, from whose age it might be expected -his affections would be variable. “Let me tell you, colonel,” -said the general, hastily interrupting him, and striking his stick -upon the ground, as he rose to return to the house, “there can -be little danger of his affections changing when such a girl as -Adela is his wife; so touch no more upon that subject, I entreat -you; but you must break the affair to the young fellow, -for I should be in such a confounded flurry I should set all in -confusion, and beat an alarm at the first onset.”</p> - -<p>The gloom and embarrassment which appeared in the countenance -of the colonel, filled Oscar with alarms; he imagined -them excited by friendship for him. After what the general -had said, he sighed to hear particulars, and longed, for the first -time, to quit Woodlawn. The colonel was indeed in a state -of torture; he had long meditated the conquest of Adela, -whose fortune and beauty rendered her a truly desirable object; -to resign her without one effort of circumventing Oscar was not -to be thought of. To blast his promised joys, even if it did -not lead to the accomplishment of his own wishes, he felt would -give him some comfort, and he resolved to leave no means -untried for doing so.</p> - -<p>They set off early in the morning for Enniskillen, and Belgrave -sent his servant on before them, that there might be no -restraint on the conversation he found Oscar inclined to begin.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i10">“Sincerity!</span> -<span class="i0">Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave</span> -<span class="i0">Thy onward path, although the earth should gape,</span> -<span class="i0">And from the gulf of hell destruction cry</span> -<span class="i0">To take dissimulation’s winding way.”—<span class="smcap">Douglas</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>“Well, colonel,” said Oscar, “I fancy I was not mistaken -in thinking the general wanted to speak with you concerning -me; I am convinced you will not conceal any particulars of a -conversation it may be so essential to my honor to hear.” -“Why, faith,” cried the colonel, delighted to commence his -operations, “he was making a kind of complaint about you; he -acknowledges you a brave lad, yet, hang him, he has not generosity -enough to reward that bravery with his daughter, or any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -of his treasure.” “Heaven is my witness!” exclaimed the -unsuspicious Oscar, “I never aspired to either; I always knew -my passion for his daughter as hopeless as fervent, and my esteem -for him as disinterested as sincere; I would have sooner -died than abused the confidence he reposed in me, by revealing -my attachment; I see, however, in future, I must be an -exile to Woodlawn.” “Not so, neither,” replied the colonel; -“only avoid such particularity to the girl; I believe in my soul -she has more pride than susceptibility in her nature; in your -next visit, therefore, which, for that purpose, I would have you -soon make, declare, in a cavalier manner, your affections being -engaged previous to your coming to Ireland; this declaration -will set all to rights with the general; he will no longer dread -you on his daughter’s account; you will be as welcome as ever -to Woodlawn, and enjoy, during your continuance in the country, -the society you have hitherto been accustomed to.” “No,” -said Oscar, “I cannot assert so great a falsehood.” “How -ridiculous!” replied the colonel; “for heaven’s sake, my dear -boy, drop such romantic notions; I should be the last man in -the world to desire you to invent a falsehood which could injure -any one; but no priest in Christendom would blame you -for this.” “And suppose I venture it, what will it do but bind -faster round my heart chains already too galling, and destroy -in the end all remains of peace.”</p> - -<p>“Faith, Fitzalan,” said the colonel, “by the time you have -had a few more love affairs with some of the pretty girls of this -kingdom, you will talk no more in this way; consider, and be -not too scrupulous, how disagreeable it will be to resign the -general’s friendship, and the pleasing society you enjoyed at -Woodlawn; besides, it will appear strange to those who knew -your former intimacy: in honor, too, you are bound to do as I -desire you, for should the girl have been imprudent enough to -conceive an attachment for you, this will certainly remove it; -for pride would not allow its continuance after hearing of a -favorite rival; and the general will be essentially served.” -“My dear colonel,” said Oscar, his eyes suddenly sparkling, -“do you think she has been imprudent enough to conceive a -partiality for me?” “I am sure,” said the colonel, “that is a -question I cannot possibly answer; but, to give my opinion, I -think, from her gay, unembarrassed manner, she has not.” -“I suppose not, indeed,” cried Oscar, mournfully sighing; -“why then should I be guilty of a falsehood for a person who -is already indifferent to me?” “I have told you my reason,” -replied the colonel, coldly; “do as you please.” They were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> -now both silent, but the conversation was soon renewed, and -many arguments passed on both sides. Oscar’s heart secretly -favored the colonel’s plan, as it promised the indulgence of -Adela’s society; to be an exile from Woodlawn was insupportable -to his thoughts; reason yielded to the vehemence of passion, -and he at last fell into the snare the perfidious Belgrave -had spread, thus, by a deviation from truth, forfeiting the blessings -a bounteous Providence had prepared for him.</p> - -<p>Oh! never let the child of integrity be seduced from the -plain and undeviating path of sincerity: oh! never let him hope -by illicit means to attain a real pleasure; the hope of obtaining -any good through such means will, like a meteor of the night, -allure but to deceive.</p> - -<p>Soon after his fatal promise to the colonel, a self-devoted -victim, he accompanied him to Woodlawn; on their arrival, -Miss Honeywood was in the garden, and Oscar, trembling, went -to seek her; he found her sitting in a flower-woven arbor—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Herself the fairest flower.“</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Never had she looked more lovely; the natural bloom of -her cheeks was heightened by the heat, and glowed beneath -the careless curls that fell over them; and her eyes, the moment -she beheld Oscar, beamed with the softest tenderness, the -most bewitching sensibility. “My dear, dear Fitzalan!” cried -she, throwing aside the book she had been reading, and extending -her hand, “I am glad to see you; I hope you are come to -take up your residence for some time at Woodlawn.” “You -hope!” repeated Oscar, mournfully. “I do, indeed! but, -bless me, what is the matter? You look so pale and thin, you -look but the shadow of yourself, or rather like a despairing -shepherd, ready to hang himself on the first willow tree he -meets.” “I am indeed unhappy!” cried Oscar; “nor will -you wonder at my being so when I acknowledge I at this present -time feel a passion which I must believe hopeless.” “Hopeless! -well, now, I insist on being your confidant, and then,” -smiling somewhat archly, “I shall see what reason you have to -despair,” “Agreed,” exclaimed Oscar; “and now to my -story:” then pausing a minute, he started up. “No,” continued -he, “I find it impossible to tell it——; let this dear, -this estimable object,” drawing a miniature of his sister from -his bosom, “speak for me, and declare whether he who loves -such a being can ever lose that love, or help being wretched at -knowing it is without hope.”</p> - -<p>Adela snatched if hastily from him, and by a sudden start<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> -betrayed her surprise; words indeed are inadequate to express -her heart-rending emotions as she contemplated the beautiful -countenance of her imaginary rival: and was Oscar, then—that -Oscar whom she adored—whose happiness she had hoped to -constitute—whose fortune she delighted to think she should advance—really -attached to another; alas! too true, he was—of -the attachment she held a convincing proof in her hand; she -examined it again and again, and in its mild beauties thought -she beheld a striking proof of the superiority over the charms -she herself possessed; the roses forsook her cheeks, a mist -overspread her eyes, and with a shivering horror she dropped -it from her hand. Oscar had quitted the arbor to conceal his -agonies. “Well,” said he, now returning with forced calmness, -“is it not worthy of inspiring the passion I feel?” Unable to -answer him, she could only point to the place where it lay, and -hastened to the house. “Sweet image!” cried Oscar, taking -it from the ground, “what an unworthy purpose have I made you -answer!—alas! all is now over—Adela—my Adela!—is lost -forever!—lost—ah, heavens! had I ever hopes of possessing -her?—oh, no! to such happiness never did I dare to look -forward.”</p> - -<p>Adela, on reaching the parlor which opened into the garden, -found her father there. “Ah! you little baggage, do I not deserve -a kiss for not disturbing your <i>tete-��-tete</i>? Where is that -young rogue, Fitzalan?” “I beg, I entreat, sir,” said Adela, -whose tears could no longer be restrained, “you will never -mention him again to me; too much has already been said -about him.” “Nay, pr’ythee, my little girl,” exclaimed the -general, regarding her with surprise, “cease thy sighs and tears, -and tell me what’s the matter.” “I am hurt,” replied she, in a -voice scarcely articulate, “that so much has been said about -Mr. Fitzalan, whom I can never regard in any other light than -that of a common acquaintance.” The colonel, who had purposely -lingered about the wood, now entered. Adela started, -and precipitately retreated through another door. “Faith, my -dear colonel,” said the general, “I am glad you are come; the -boy and girl have had a little skirmish; but, like other love -quarrels, I suppose it will soon be made up—so let me know -how the lad bore the announcement of his good fortune.” “It -fills a rational mind with regret,” exclaimed the colonel, seating -himself gravely, and inwardly rejoicing at the success of his -stratagem, “to find such a fatality prevalent among mankind as -makes them reject a proffered good, and sigh for that which is -unattainable; like wayward children, neglecting their sports to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> -pursue a rainbow, and weeping as the airy pageant mocks their -grasp.” “Very true, indeed,” said the general; “very excellent, -upon my word; I doubt if the chaplain of a regiment ever -delivered such a pretty piece of morality; but, dear colonel,” -laying his hand on his knee, “what did the boy say?” “I am -sorry, sir,” he replied, “that what I have just said is so applicable -to him. He acknowledged the lady’s merit, extolled her -generosity—but pleaded a prior attachment against accepting -your offer, which even one more exalted would not tempt him -to forego, though he knows not whether he will ever succeed in -it.” “The devil he did!” exclaimed the general, as soon as -rage and surprise would allow him to speak. “The little impertinent -puppy! the ungrateful young dog! a prior attachment!—reject -my girl—my Adela—who has had such suitors already; -so, I suppose I shall have the whole affair blazed about the -country; I shall hear from every quarter how my daughter was -refused; and by whom?—why, by a little ensign, whose whole -fortune lies in his sword-knot. A fine game I have played, -truly; but if the jackanapes opens his lips about the matter, -may powder be my poison if I do not trim his jacket for him!” -“Dear general,” said the colonel, “you may depend on his -honor; but even supposing he did mention the affair, surely -you should know it would not be in his power to injure Miss -Honeywood—amiable—accomplished—in short, possessed, as -she is, of every perfection. I know men, at least one man of -consequence, both from birth and fortune, who has long sighed -for her, and who would, if he received the least encouragement, -openly avow his sentiments.” “Well,” cried the general, still -panting for breath, “we will talk about him at some future -time; for I am resolved on soon having my little girl married, -and to her own liking, too.”</p> - -<p>Oscar and Adela did not appear till dinner time; both had -been endeavoring to regain composure; but poor Oscar had -been far less successful than Adela in the attempt; not that she -loved less, for indeed her passion for him was of the tenderest -nature, and she flattered herself with having inspired one equally -ardent in his breast. Sanctioned by her father, she thought it -would constitute the felicity of their lives, and looked forward -with a generous delight to the period when she should render -her beloved Fitzalan prosperous and independent. The disappointment -she experienced, as the first she had ever met, sat -heavy on her heart, and the gay visions of youth were in one -moment clouded by melancholy; but her pride was as great as -sensibility, and as its powerful impulse, pervaded her mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -She resolved to afford Oscar no triumph by letting him witness -her dejection; she therefore wiped away all traces of tears from -her eyes, checked the vain sigh that struggled at her heart, and -dressed herself with as much attention as ever. Her heavy -eyes, her colorless cheeks, however, denoted her feelings; she -tried, as she sat at table, to appear cheerful, but in vain; and, -on the removal of the cloth, immediately retired, as no ladies -were present.</p> - -<p>The general was a stranger to dissimulation, and as he no -longer felt, he no longer treated Oscar with his usual kindness. -When pale, trembling, and disordered, he appeared before him, -he received him with a stern frown, and an air scarcely complaisant. -This increased the agitation of Oscar: every feeling -of his soul was in commotion; he was no longer the life of their -company; their happiness and mirth formed a striking contrast -to his misery and dejection; he felt a forlorn wretch—a mere -child of sorrow and dependence; scalding tears dropped from -him as he bent over his plate; he could have cursed himself -for such weakness: fortunately it was unnoticed. In losing the -general’s attention, he seemed to lose that of his guests; his -situation grew too irksome to be borne; he rose, unregarded, -and a secret impulse led him to the drawing-room. Here -Adela, oppressed by the dejection of her spirits, had flung! herself -upon a couch, and gradually sunk into a slumber: Oscar -stepped lightly forward, and gazed on her with a tenderness as -exquisite as a mother would have felt in viewing her sleeping -babe; her cheek, which rested on her fair hand, was tinged -with a blush, by the reflection of a crimson curtain through -which the sun darted, and the traces of a tear were yet discernible -upon it. “Never!” cried Oscar, with folded hands; -as he hung over the interesting figure, “never may any tear, -except that of soft sensibility for the woes of others, bedew the -cheek of Adela—perfect as her goodness be her felicity—may -every blessing she now enjoys be rendered permanent by that -Power who smiles benignly upon innocence like hers! Oh! -Adela, he who now prays for your felicity never will lose your -idea, he will cherish it in his heart, to ameliorate his sorrows, -and, from the dreary path which may be appointed for him to -tread, sometimes look back to happier scenes!” Adela began -to stir; she murmured out some inarticulate words, and, suddenly -rising from the couch, beheld the motionless form of -Fitzalan: haughtily regarding him, she asked the meaning of -such an intrusion. “I did not mean indeed to intrude,” said -he; “but when I came and found you, can you wonder at my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> -being fascinated to the spot?” The plaintive tone of his voice -sunk deep into Adela’s heart; she sighed heavily, and turning -away seated herself in a window. Oscar followed; he forgot -the character he had assumed in the morning, and gently seizing -her hand, pressed it to his bosom: at this critical minute, -when mutual sympathy appeared on the point of triumphing -over duplicity, the door opened, and Colonel Belgrave appeared; -from the instant of Oscar’s departure, he had been on -thorns to follow him, fearful of the consequences of a <i>tete-��-tete</i>, -which was attended by the rest of the gentlemen.</p> - -<p>Oscar was determined on not staying another night at -Woodlawn, and declared his intention by asking Colonel Belgrave -if he had any commands for Enniskillen, whither he -meant to return immediately. “Why, hang it, boy,” cried the -general, in a rough grumbling voice, “since you have stayed -so long, you may as well stay the night; the clouds look heavy -over the lake, and threaten a storm.” “No, sir,” said Oscar, -coloring, and speaking in the agitation of his heart, “the -raging of a tempest would not make me stay.” Adela sighed, -but pride prevented her speaking. Fitzalan approached her: -“Miss Honeywood,” said he—he stopped—his voice was quite -stifled. Adela, equally unable to speak, could only encourage -him to proceed by a cold glance. “Lest I should not,” resumed -he, “have the happiness of again visiting Woodlawn, I -cannot neglect this opportunity of assuring you that the attention, -the obligations I have received in it, never can be forgotten -by me; and that the severest pang my heart could possibly -experience would result from thinking I lost any part of the -friendship you and the general honored me with.” Adela bent -her head, and Oscar, seeing that she either would not, or could -not speak, bowed to the general, and hurried from the room; -the tears he had painfully suppressed gushed forth, and at the -bottom of the stairs he leaned against the banisters for support; -while he cast his eyes around, as if bidding a melancholy -farewell to the scene of former happiness, a hasty footstep advanced, -he started, and was precipitately retreating, when the -voice of the butler stopped him; this was an old veteran, much -attached to Oscar, and his usual attendant in all his fowling -and fishing parties. As he waited at tea, he heard Oscar’s -declaration of departing with surprise, and followed him for the -purpose of expressing that and his concern. “Why, Lord now, -Mr. Fitzalan,” cried he, “what do you mean by leaving us so -oddly? But if you are so positive about going to Enniskillen -to-night, let me order Standard to be prepared for you.” Oscar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> -for some time had had the command of the stables; but knowing -as he did that he had lost the general’s favor, he could no -longer think of taking those liberties which kindness had once -invited him to: he wrung the hand of his humble friend, and -snatching his hat from the hall table, darted out of the house: -he ran till he came to the mountain path, on the margin of the -lake. “Never,” cried he, distractedly striking his breast, -“shall I see her here again! oh, never, never, my beloved -Adela! shall your unfortunate Fitzalan wander with you through -those enchanting scenes: oh, how transient was this gleam of -felicity!”</p> - -<p>Exhausted by the violence of his feelings, he fell into a kind -of torpid state against the side of the mountain; the shadows -of night were thickened by a coming storm; a cool blast howled -amongst the hills, and agitated the gloomy waters of the lake; -the rain, accompanied by sleet, began to fall, but the tempest -raged unregarded around the child of sorrow, the wanderer of -the night. Adela alone,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Heard, felt, or seen,”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>pervaded every thought. Some fishermen approaching to secure -their boats, drove him from this situation, and he flew to -the woods which screened one side of the house: by the time -he reached it the storm had abated, and the moon, with a -watery lustre, breaking through the clouds, rendered, by her -feeble rays, the surrounding and beloved scenes just visible.</p> - -<p>Adela’s chamber looked into the wood, and the light from -it riveted Oscar to a spot exactly opposite the window. “My -Adela,” he exclaimed, extending his arms as if she could have -heard and flown into them; then dejectedly dropping them, -“she thinks not on such a forlorn wretch as me; oh, what -comfort to lay my poor distracted head for one moment on her -soft bosom, and hear her sweet voice speak pity to my tortured -heart!” Sinking with weakness from the conflicts of his -mind, he sought an old roofless root-house in the centre of the -wood, where he and Adela had often sat. “Well,” said he, -as he flung himself upon the damp ground, “many a brave -fellow has had a worse bed; but God particularly protects the -unsheltered head of the soldier and the afflicted.” The twittering -of the birds roused him from an uneasy slumber, or rather -lethargy, into which he had fallen; and starting up he hastened -to the road, fearful, as day was beginning to dawn, of being -seen by any of General Honeywood’s workmen. It was late -ere he arrived at Enniskillen, and before he gained his room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> -he was met by some of the officers, who viewed him with evident -astonishment; his regimentals were quite spoiled; his -fine hair, from which the rain had washed all the powder, hung -dishevelled about his shoulders; the feather of his hat was -broken, and the disorder of his countenance was not less suspicious -than that of his dress; to their inquiries he stammered -out something of a fall, and extricated himself with difficulty -from them.</p> - -<p>In an obscure village, fifteen miles from Enniskillen, a detachment -of the regiment lay; the officer who commanded it -disliked his situation extremely; but company being irksome -to Oscar, it was just such a one as he desired, and he obtained -leave to relieve him: the agitation of his mind, aided by the -effects of the storm he had been exposed to, was too much for -his constitution: immediately on arriving at his new quarters -he was seized with a violent fever; an officer was obliged to be -sent to do duty in his place, and it was long ere any symptoms -appeared which could flatter those who attended him with -hopes of his recovery; when able to sit up he was ordered to -return to Enniskillen, where he could be immediately under -the care of the regimental surgeon.</p> - -<p>Oscar’s servant accompanied him in the carriage, and as it -drove slowly along he was agreeably surprised by a view of -Mrs. Marlowe’s orchard; he could not resist the wish of seeing -her, and making inquiries relative to the inhabitants of Woodlawn; -for with Mrs. Marlowe, I should previously say, he had -not only formed an intimacy, but a sincere friendship. She -was a woman of the most pleasing manners, and to her superintending -care Adela was indebted for many of the graces she -possessed, and at her cottage passed many delightful hours -with Oscar.</p> - -<p>The evening was far advanced when Oscar reached the -orchard, and leaning on his servant, slowly walked up the hill: -had a spectre appeared before the old lady, she could not have -seemed more shocked than she now did, at the unexpected and -emaciated appearance of her young friend. With all the tenderness -of a fond mother, she pressed his cold hands between -her own, and seated him by the cheerful fire which blazed on -her hearth, then procured him refreshments that, joined to her -conversation, a little revived his spirits; yet, at this moment the -recollection of the first interview he ever had with her, recurred -with pain to his heart. “Our friends at Woodlawn, I hope,” -cried he—he paused—but his eye expressed the inquiry his -tongue was unable to make. “They are well and happy,” re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>plied -Mrs. Marlowe; “and you know, I suppose, of all that -has lately happened there?” “No, I know nothing; I am as -one awoke from the slumbers of the grave.” “Ere I inform you, -then,” cried Mrs. Marlowe, “let me, my noble Oscar, express -my approbation, my admiration of your conduct, of that disinterested -nature which preferred the preservation of constancy -to the splendid independency offered to your acceptance.” -“What splendid independency did I refuse?” asked Oscar, -wildly staring at her. “That which the general offered.” “The -general!” “Yes, and appointed Colonel Belgrave to declare -his intentions.” “Oh Heavens!” exclaimed Oscar, starting -from his chair; “did the general indeed form such intentions, -and has Belgrave then deceived me? He told me my attentions -to Miss Honeywood were noticed and disliked! he filled -my soul with unutterable anguish, and persuaded me to a false-hood -which has plunged me into despair!” “He is a monster!” -cried Mrs. Marlowe, “and you are a victim to his -treachery.” “Oh no! I will fly to the general, and open my -whole soul to him; at his feet I will declare the false ideas of -honor which misled me; I shall obtain his forgiveness, and -Adela will yet be mine.” “Alas! my child,” cried Mrs. Marlowe, -stopping him as he was hurrying from the room, “it is -now too late; Adela can never be yours; she is married, and -married unto Belgrave.” Oscar staggered back a few paces, -uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless at her feet. Mrs. -Marlowe’s cries brought in his servant, as well as her own, to -his assistance; he was laid upon a bed, but it was long ere he -showed any signs of recovery; at length, opening his heavy -eyes, he sighed deeply, and exclaimed, “she is lost to me forever!”</p> - -<p>The servants were dismissed, and the tender-hearted Mrs. -Marlowe knelt beside him. “Oh! my friend,” said she, “my -heart sympathizes in your sorrow; but it is from your own fortitude, -more than my sympathy, you must now derive resources -of support.” “Oh, horrible! to know the cup of happiness -was at my lips, and that it was my own hand dashed it from -me.” “Such, alas!” said Mrs. Marlowe, sighing, as if touched -at the moment with a similar pang of self-regret, “is the way-wardness -of mortals; too often do they deprive themselves of -the blessings of a bounteous Providence by their own folly and -imprudence—oh! my friend, born as you were with a noble ingenuity -of soul, never let that soul again be sullied by the -smallest deviation from sincerity.” “Do not aggravate my sufferings,” -said Oscar, “by dwelling on my error.” “No, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> -would sooner die than be guilty of such barbarity; but admonition -never sinks so deeply on the heart as in the hour of -trial. Young, amiable as you are, life teems, I doubt not, with -various blessings to you—blessings which you will know how -to value properly, for early disappointment is the nurse of wisdom.” -“Alas!” exclaimed he, “what blessings?” “These, -at least,” cried Mrs. Marlowe, “are in your own power—the -peace, the happiness, which ever proceeds from a mind conscious -of having discharged the incumbent duties of life, and -patiently submitted to its trials.” “But do you think I will -calmly submit to his baseness?” said Oscar, interrupting her. -“No; Belgrave shall never triumph over me with impunity!” -He started from the bed, and, rushing into the outer room, -snatched his sword from the table on which he had flung it at -his entrance. Mrs. Marlowe caught his arm. “Rash young -man!” exclaimed she, “whither would you go—is it to scatter -ruin and desolation around you? Suppose your vengeance -was gratified, would that restore your happiness? Think you -that Adela, the child of virtue and propriety, would ever notice -the murderer of her husband, how unworthy, soever, that husband -might be? Or that the old general, who so fondly -planned your felicity, would forgive, if he could survive, the -evils of his house, occasioned by you?” The sword dropped -from the hand of the trembling Oscar. “I have been blameable,” -cried he, “in allowing myself to be transported to such -an effort of revenge; I forgot everything but that; and as to -my own life, deprived of Adela, it appears so gloomy as to be -scarcely worth preserving.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Marlowe seized this moment of yielding softness to -advise and reason with him; her tears mingled with his, as she -listened to his relation of Belgrave’s perfidy; tears augmented -by reflecting that Adela, the darling of her care and affections, -was also a victim to it. She convinced Oscar, however, that it -would be prudent to confine the fatal secret to their own breasts; -the agitation of his mind was too much for the weak state of his -health; the fever returned, and he felt unable to quit the cottage; -Mrs. Marlowe prepared a bed for him, trusting he would -soon be able to remove, but she was disappointed; it was long -ere Oscar could quit the bed of sickness; she watched over -him with maternal tenderness, while he, like a blasted flower, -seemed hastening to decay.</p> - -<p>The general was stung to the soul by the rejection of his -offer, which he thought would have inspired the soul of Oscar -with rapture and gratitude; never had his pride been so se<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>verely -wounded—never before had he felt humbled in his own -eyes: his mortifying reflections the colonel soon found means -to remove, by the most delicate flattery, and the most assiduous -attention, assuring the general that his conduct merited not -the censure, but the applause of the world. The sophistry -which can reconcile us to ourselves is truly pleasing; the colonel -gradually became a favorite, and when he insinuated his -attachment for Adela, was assured he should have all the general’s -interest with her. He was now more anxious than ever -to have her advantageously settled; there was something so -humiliating in the idea of her being rejected, that it drove him -at times almost to madness: the colonel possessed all the advantages -of fortune; but these weighed little in his favor with -the general (whose notions we have already proved very disinterested), -and much less with his daughter; on the first overture -about him she requested the subject might be entirely -dropped; the mention of love was extremely painful to her. -Wounded by her disappointment in the severest manner, her -heart required time to heal it; her feelings delicacy confined -to her own bosom; but her languid eyes, and faded cheeks, -denoted their poignancy. She avoided company, and was perpetually -wandering through the romantic and solitary paths -which she and Oscar had trod together; here more than ever -she thought of him, and feared she had treated her poor companion -unkindly; she saw him oppressed with sadness, and -yet she had driven him from her by the repulsive coldness of -her manner—a manner, too, which, from its being so suddenly -assumed, could not fail of conveying an idea of her disappointment; -this hurt her delicacy as much as her tenderness, and -she would have given worlds, had she possessed them, to recall -the time when she could have afforded consolation to Oscar, and -convinced him that solely as a friend she regarded him. The -colonel was not discouraged by her coldness; he was in the -habit of conquering difficulties, and doubted not that he should -overcome any she threw in his way; he sometimes, as if by -chance, contrived to meet her in her rambles; his conversation -was always amusing, and confined within the limits she had -prescribed; but his eyes, by the tenderest expression, declared -the pain he suffered from this proscription, and secretly pleased -Adela, as it convinced her of the implicit deference he paid to -her will.</p> - -<p>Some weeks had elapsed since Oscar’s voluntary exile from -Woodlawn, and sanguine as were the colonel’s hopes, he found -without a stratagem they would not be realized, at least as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> -soon as he expected: fertile in invention, he was not long in -concerting one. He followed Adela one morning into the garden, -and found her reading in the arbor; she laid aside the -book at his entrance, and they chatted for some time on indifferent -subjects. The colonel’s servant at last appeared with -a large packet of letters, which he presented to his master, who, -with a hesitating air, was about putting them into his pocket, -when Adela prevented him:—"Make no ceremony, colonel,” -said she, “with me; I shall resume my book till you have -perused your letters.” The colonel bowed for her permission -and began; her attention was soon drawn from her book by -the sudden emotion he betrayed; he started, and exclaimed, -“Oh heavens! what a wretch!” then, as if suddenly recollecting -his situation, looked at Adela, appeared confused, stammered -out a few inarticulate words, and resumed his letter; -when finished, he seemed to put it into his pocket, but in reality -dropped it at his feet for the basest purpose. He ran over -the remainder of the letters, and rising, entreated Adela to excuse -his leaving her so abruptly, to answer some of them. Soon -after his departure, Adela perceived an open letter lying at her -feet; she immediately took it up with an intention of returning -to the house with it, when the sight of her own name, in capital -letters, and in the well-known hand of Fitzalan, struck her -sight; she threw the letter on the table; an universal tremor -seized her; she would have given any consideration to know -why she was mentioned in a correspondence between Belgrave -and Fitzalan: her eye involuntarily glanced at the letter; she -saw some words in it which excited still more strongly her curiosity; -it could no longer be repressed; she snatched it up, -and read as follows:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO COLONEL BELGRAVE.</p> - -<p>You accuse me of insensibility to, what you call the matchless charms of -Adela, an accusation I acknowledge I merit; but why, because I have -been too susceptible to those of another, which in the fond estimation of a -lover (at least), appear infinitely superior. The general’s offer was certainly -a most generous and flattering one, and has gratified every feeling of -my soul, by giving me an opportunity of sacrificing, at the shrine of love, -ambition and self-interest; my disinterested conduct has confirmed me in -the affections of my dear girl, whose vanity I cannot help thinking a little -elevated by the triumph I have told her she obtained over Adela; but this -is excusable indeed when we consider the object I relinquished for her. -Would to heaven the general was propitious to your wishes; it would yield -me much happiness to see you, my first and best friend, in possession of a -treasure you have long sighed for. I shall, no doubt, receive a long lecture -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>from you for letting the affair relative to Adela be made known, but faith, I -could not resist telling my charmer. Heaven grant discretion may seal her -lips; if not, I suppose I shall be summoned to formidable combat with the -old general. Adieu! and believe me,</p> - -<p class="quotsig">Dear colonel, ever yours,<br /> -<span class="smcap">Oscar Fitzalan</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>“Wretch!” cried the agitated Adela, dropping the letter -(which it is scarcely necessary to say was an infamous forgery) -in an agony of grief and indignation, “is this the base return -we meet for our wishes to raise you to prosperity? Oh! cruel -Fitzalan, is it Adela—who thought you so amiable, and who -never thoroughly valued wealth, till she believed it had given -her the power of conducing to your felicity—whom you hold up -as an object of ridicule for unfeeling vanity to triumph over?” -Wounded pride and tenderness raised a whirl of contending -passions in her breast; she sunk upon the bench, her head -rested on her hand, and sighs and tears burst from her. She -now resolved to inform Fitzalan she knew the baseness of his -conduct, and sting his heart with keen reproaches: now resolved -to pass it over in silent contempt. While thus fluctuating, the -colonel softly advanced and stood before her: in the tumult -of her mind she had quite forgot the probability of his returning, -and involuntarily screamed and started at his appearance. By -her confusion, she doubted not but he would suspect her of -having perused the fatal letter. Oppressed by the idea, her -head sunk on her bosom, and her face was covered with blushes. -“What a careless fellow I am!” said the colonel, taking up -the letter, which he then pretended to perceive; he glanced at -Adela. “Curse it!” continued he, “I would rather have had -all the letters read than this one.” He suspects me, thought -Adela; her blushes faded, and she fell back on her seat, unable -to support the oppressive idea of having acted against the rules -of propriety. Belgrave flew to support her: “Loveliest of -women!” he exclaimed, and with all the softness he could -assume, “what means this agitation?” “I have been suddenly -affected,” answered Adela, a little recovering, and, rising, she -motioned to return to the house. “Thus,” answered the -colonel, “you always fly me; but go, Miss Honeywood; I -have no right, no attraction, indeed, to detain you: yet, be -assured,” and he summoned a tear to his aid, while he pressed -her hand to his bosom, “a heart more truly devoted to you -than mine you can never meet; but I see the subject is painful, -and again I resume the rigid silence you have imposed on me; -go, then, most lovely and beloved, and since I dare not aspire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> -to a higher, allow me, at least, the title of your friend.” “Most -willingly,” said Adela, penetrated by his gentleness. She was -now tolerably recovered, and he prevailed on her to walk -instead of returning to the house; she felt soothed by his -attention; his insidious tongue dropped manna; he gradually -stole her thoughts from painful recollections; the implicit respect -he paid her will flattered her wounded pride, and her -gratitude was excited by knowing he resented the disrespectful -mention of her name in Fitzalan’s letter; in short, she felt -esteem and respect for him—contempt and resentment for -Oscar. The colonel was too penetrating not to discover her -sentiments, and too artful not to take advantage of them. Had -Adela, indeed, obeyed the real feelings of her heart, she would -have declared against marrying; but pride urged her to a step -which would prove to Fitzalan his conduct had not affected her. -The general rejoiced at obtaining her consent, and received a -promise that for some time she should not be separated from -him. The most splendid preparations were made for the nuptials; -but though Adela’s resentment remained unabated, she -soon began to wish she had not been so precipitate in obeying -it; an involuntary repugnance rose in her mind against the -connection she was about forming, and honor alone kept her -from declining it forever: her beloved friend, Mrs. Marlowe, -supported her throughout the trying occasion, and, in an inauspicious -hour, Adela gave her hand to the perfidious Belgrave.</p> - -<p>About a fortnight after her nuptials, she heard from some -of the officers of Oscar’s illness; she blushed at his name. -“Faith,” cried one of them, “Mrs. Marlowe is a charming -woman; it is well he got into such snug quarters: I really -believe elsewhere he would have given up the ghost.” “Poor -fellow,” said Adela, sighing heavily, yet without being sensible -of it. Belgrave rose, he caught her eye, a dark frown lowered -on his brow, and he looked as if he would pierce into the -recesses of her heart: she shuddered, and for the first time, -felt the tyranny she had imposed upon herself. As Mrs. -Marlowe chose to be silent on the subject, she resolved not to -mention it to her; but she sent every day to invite her to -Woodlawn, expecting by this to hear something of Oscar; but -she was disappointed. At the end of a fortnight, Mrs. Marlowe -made her appearance; she looked pale and thin. Adela -gently reproved her for her long absence, trusting this would -oblige her to allege the reason of it; but no such thing. Mrs. -Marlowe began to converse on indifferent subjects; Adela -suddenly grew peevish, and sullenly sat at her work.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -In a few days after Mrs. Marlowe’s visit, Adela, one evening -immediately after dinner, ordered the carriage to the cottage; -by this time she supposed Oscar had left it, and flattered herself, -in the course of conversation, she should learn whether he -was perfectly recovered ere he departed. Proposing to surprise -her friend, she stole by a winding path to the cottage, and -softly opened the parlor door; but what were her feelings, -when she perceived Oscar sitting at the fireside with Mrs. -Marlowe, engaged in a deep conversation! She stopped, -unable to advance. Mrs. Marlowe embraced and led her -forward. The emotions of Oscar were not inferior to Adela’s. -He attempted to rise, but could not. A glance from the expressive -eyes of Mrs. Marlowe, which seemed to conjure him -not to yield to a weakness which would betray his real sentiments -to Adela, somewhat reanimated him. He rose, and -tremblingly approached her. “Allow me, madam,” cried he, -“to——" The sentence died unfinished on his lips; he had -not power to offer congratulations on an event which had -probably destroyed the happiness of Adela, as well as his own. -“Oh! a truce with compliments,” said Mrs. Marlowe, forcing -herself to assume a cheerful air; “prithee, good folks, let us be -seated, and enjoy, this cold evening, the comforts of a good -fire.” She forced the trembling, the almost fainting, Adela to -take some wine, and by degrees the flutter of her spirits and -Oscar’s abated, but the sadness of their countenances, the -anguish of their souls, increased. The cold formality, the -distant reserve they both assumed, filled each with sorrow and -regret. So pale, so emaciated, so woe-begone did Fitzalan -appear, so much the son of sorrow and despair, that had he -half murdered Adela, she could not at that moment have felt -for him any other sentiments than those of pity and compassion. -Mrs. Marlowe, in a laughing way, told her of the troubles she -had had with him: “for which, I assure you,” said she, “he -rewards me badly; for the moment he was enlarged from the -nursery, he either forgot or neglected all the rules I had laid -down for him. Pray do join your commands to mine, and -charge him to take more care of himself.” “I would, most -willingly,” cried Adela, “if I thought they would influence him -to do so.” “Influence!” repeated Oscar, emphatically; “oh, -heavens!” then starting up, he hurried to the window, as if to -hide and to indulge his melancholy. The scene he viewed -from it was dreary and desolate. It was now the latter end of -autumn; the evening was cold, a savage blast howled from the -hills, and the sky was darkened by a coming storm. Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> -Marlowe roused him from his deep reverie. “I am sure,” said -she, “the prospect you view from the window can have no -great attractions at present.” “And yet,” cried he, “there -is something sadly pleasing in it: the leafless trees, the -fading flowers of autumn, excite in my bosom a kind of -mournful sympathy; they are emblems to me of him whose -tenderest hopes have been disappointed; but, unlike him, -they, after a short period, shall again flourish with primeval -beauty.” “Nonsense,” exclaimed Mrs. Marlowe; “your illness -has affected your spirits; but this gloom will vanish long -before my orchard reassumes its smiling appearance, and haply -attracts another smart redcoat to visit an old woman.” “Oh! -with what an enthusiasm of tenderness,” cried Oscar, “shall I -ever remember the dear, though dangerous, moment I first -entered this cottage!” “Now, no flattery, Oscar,” said Mrs. -Marlowe; “I know your fickle sex too well to believe I have -made a lasting impression; why, the very first fine old woman -you meet at your ensuing quarters, will, I dare say, have similar -praise bestowed on her.” “No,” replied he, with a languid -smile; “I can assure you, solemnly, the impression which has -been made on my heart will never be effaced.” He stole a -look at Adela; her head sunk upon her bosom, and her heart -began to beat violently. Mrs. Marlowe wished to change the -subject entirely; she felt the truest compassion for the unhappy -young couple, and had fervently desired their union; but -since irrevocably separated, she wished to check any intimation -of a mutual attachment, which now could answer no purpose -but that of increasing their misery. She rung for tea, -and endeavored by her conversation to enliven the tea-table; -the effort however, was not seconded. “You have often,” -cried she, addressing Adela, as they again drew their chairs -round the fire, “desired to hear the exact particulars of my -life; unconquerable feelings of regret hitherto prevented my -acquiescing in your desire; but, as nothing better now offers -for passing away the hours, I will, if you please, relate them.” -“You will oblige me by so doing,” cried Adela; “my curiosity, -you know, has been long excited.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,</span> -<span class="i1">And well my life shall pay;</span> -<span class="i0">I’ll seek the solitude he sought,</span> -<span class="i1">And stretch me where he lay.”—<span class="smcap">Goldsmith.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>To begin, then, as they say in a novel, without further -preface, I was the only child of a country curate, in the southern -part of England, who, like his wife, was of a good, but reduced -family. Contented dispositions and an agreeable neighborhood, -ready on every occasion to oblige them, rendered them, in -their humble situations, completely happy. I was the idol of -both their hearts; every one told my mother I should grow up -a beauty, and she, poor simple woman, believed the flattering -tale. Naturally ambitious, and somewhat romantic, she expected -nothing less than my attaining, by my charms, an elevated -situation; to fit me to it, therefore, according to her idea, she -gave me all the showy, instead of solid, advantages of education. -My father being a meek, or rather an indolent man, -submitted entirely to her direction; thus, without knowing the -grammatical part of my own language, I was taught to gabble -bad French by myself; and, instead of mending or making my -clothes, to flourish upon catgut and embroider satin. I was -taught dancing by a man who kept a cheap school for that -purpose in the village; music I could not aspire to, my mother’s -finances being insufficient to purchase an instrument; she was -therefore obliged to content herself with my knowing the vocal -part of that delightful science, and instructed me in singing a -few old-fashioned airs, with a thousand graces, in her opinion -at least.</p> - -<p>To make me excel by my dress, as well as my accomplishments, -all the misses of the village, the remains of her finery -were cut and altered into every form which art or ingenuity -could suggest; and, Heaven forgive me, but my chief inducement -in going to church on a Sunday was to exhibit my flounced -silk petticoat and painted chip hat.</p> - -<p>When I attained my sixteenth year, my mother thought me, -and supposed every one else must do the same, the most perfect -creature in the world. I was lively, thoughtless, vain, and -ambitious to an extravagant degree; yet, truly innocent in my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> -disposition, and often, forgetting the appearance I had been -taught to assume, indulged the natural gayety of my heart, -and in a game of hide-and-go-seek, amongst the haycocks in a -meadow, by moonlight, enjoyed perfect felicity.</p> - -<p>Once a week, accompanied by my mother, I attended the -dancing-master’s school, to practise country dances. One -evening we had just concluded a set, and were resting ourselves, -when an elegant youth, in a fashionable riding dress, -entered the room. His appearance at once excited admiration -and surprise; never shall I forget the palpitation of my -heart at his approach; every girl experienced the same, every -cheek was flushed, and every eye sparkled with hope and -expectation. He walked round the room, with an easy, unembarrassed -air, as if to take a survey of the company; he -stopped by a very pretty girl, the miller’s daughter—good -heavens! what were my agonies! My mother, too, who sat -beside me, turned pale, and would actually, I believe, have -fainted, had he taken any farther notice of her; fortunately -he did not, but advanced. My eyes caught his; he again -paused, looked surprised and pleased, and, after a moment, -passed in seeming consideration, bowed with the utmost elegance, -and requested the honor of my hand for the ensuing -dance. My politeness had hitherto only been in theory; I -arose, dropped him a profound curtsey, assured him the -honor would be all on my side, and I was happy to grant his -request. He smiled, I thought, a little archly, and coughed to -avoid laughing; I blushed, and felt embarrassed; but he led -me to the head of the room to call a dance, and my triumph -over my companions so exhilarated my spirits, that I immediately -lost all confusion.</p> - -<p>I had been engaged to a young farmer, and he was enraged, -not only at my breaking my engagement without his permission, -but at the superior graces of my partner, who threatened to -be a formidable rival to him. “By jingo!” said Clod, coming -up to me in a surly manner, “I think, Miss Fanny, you have -not used me quite genteelly; I don’t see why this here fine -spark should take the lead of us all.” “Creature!” cried I, -with an ineffable look of contempt, which he could not bear, -and retired grumbling. My partner could no longer refrain -from laughing; the simplicity of my manners, notwithstanding -the airs I endeavored to assume, highly delighted him. “No -wonder,” cried he, “the poor swain should be mortified at -losing the hand of his charming Fanny.”</p> - -<p>The dancing over, we rejoined my mother, who was on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> -thorns to begin a conversation with the stranger, that she -might let him know we were not to be ranked with the present -company. “I am sure, sir,” said she, “a gentleman of your -elegant appearance must feel rather awkward in the present -party; it is so with us, as, indeed, it must be with every person -of fashion; but, in an obscure little village like this, we must -not be too nice in our society, except, like a hermit, we could -do without any.” The stranger assented to whatever she -said, and accepted an invitation to sup with us; my mother -instantly sent an intimation of her will to my father, to have, -not the fatted calf, indeed, but the fatted duck prepared; and -he and the maid used such expedition, that, by the time we -returned, a neat, comfortable supper was ready to lay on the -table. Mr. Marlowe, the stranger’s name, as he informed me, -was all animation and affability: it is unnecessary to say, that -my mother, father, and myself, were all complaisance, delight, -and attention. On departing, he asked, and obtained, permission, -of course, to renew his visit the next day; and my mother -immediately set him down as her future son-in-law.</p> - -<p>As everything is speedily communicated in such a small -village as we resided in, we learned on the preceding evening -he had stopped at the inn, and, hearing music, had inquired -from whence it proceeded, and had gone out of curiosity to -the dance. We also learned that his attendants reported him -to be heir to a large fortune; this report, vain as I was, was -almost enough of itself to engage my heart; judge, then, -whether it was not an easy conquest to a person, who, besides -the above-mentioned attraction, possessed those of a graceful -figure and cultivated mind. He visited continually at our -cottage; and I, uncultivated as I was, daily strengthened myself -in his affections. In conversing with him, I forgot the -precepts of vanity and affectation, and obeyed the dictates of -nature and sensibility. He soon declared the motives of his -visits to me—"to have immediately demanded my hand" he -said, “would have gratified the tenderest wish of his soul; -but, in his present situation, that was impossible—left, at -an early age, destitute and distressed, by the death of his -parents, an old whimsical uncle, married to a woman equally -capricious, had adopted him as heir to their large possessions—he -found it difficult,” he said, “to submit to their ill-humor, -and was confident, if he took any step against their inclinations, -he should forever forfeit their favor; therefore, if my parents -would allow a reciprocal promise to pass between us, binding -each to each, the moment he became master of expected for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>tune, -or obtained an independence, he would make me a partaker -of it.” They consented, and he enjoined us to the strictest -secrecy, saying, one of his attendants was placed about him -as a kind of spy. He had hitherto deceived him with respect -to us, declaring my father was an intimate friend, and that his -uncle knew he intended visiting him. But my unfortunate -vanity betrayed the secret it was so material for me to keep. -I was bound indeed not to reveal it. One morning a young -girl who had been an intimate acquaintance of mine till I knew -Marlowe, came to see me, “Why, Fanny,” cried she, “you have -given us all up for Mr. Marlowe; take care, my dear, he makes -you amends for the loss of your other friends.” “I shall take -your advice,” said I, with a smile and a conceited toss of my -head. “Faith, for my part,” continued she, “I think you -were very foolish not to secure a good settlement for yourself -with Clod.” “With Clod!” repeated I, with the utmost -haughtiness. “Lord, child, you forget who I am!” “Who -are you?” exclaimed she, provoked at my insolence; “oh, yes, -to be sure, I forget that you are the daughter of a poor country -curate, with more pride in your head than money in your purse.” -“Neither do I forget,” said I, “that your ignorance is equal to -your impertinence; if I am the daughter of a poor country -curate, I am the affianced wife of a rich man, and as much -elevated by expectation, as spirit, above you.”</p> - -<p>Our conversation was repeated throughout the village, and -reached the ears of Marlowe’s attendant, who instantly developed -the real motive which detained him so long in the village. -He wrote to his uncle an account of the whole affair; the consequence -of this was a letter to poor Marlowe, full of the -bitterest reproaches, charging him, without delay, to return -home. This was like a thunder-stroke to us all; but there -was no alternative between obeying, or forfeiting his uncle’s -favor. “I fear, my dear Fanny,” cried he, as he folded me to -his bosom, a little before his departure, “it will be long ere we -shall meet again; nay, I also fear I shall be obliged to promise -not to write; if both these fears are realized, impute not either -absence or silence to a want of the tenderest affection for you.” -He went, and with him all my happiness! My mother, shortly -after his departure, was attacked by a nervous fever, which -terminated her days; my father, naturally of weak spirits and -delicate constitution, was so shocked by the sudden death of his -beloved and faithful companion, that he sunk beneath his -grief. The horrors of my mind I cannot describe; I seemed -to stand alone in the world, without one friendly hand to prevent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> -my sinking into the grave, which contained the dearest objects -of my love. I did not know where Marlowe lived, and, even -if I had, durst not venture an application, which might be the -means of ruining him. The esteem of my neighbors I had -forfeited by my conceit; they paid no attention but what common -humanity dictated, merely to prevent my perishing; and -that they made me sensibly feel. In this distress, I received -an invitation from a school-fellow of mine, who had married -a rich farmer about forty miles from our village, to take up my -residence with her till I was sufficiently recovered to fix on -some plan for subsistence. I gladly accepted the offer, and -after paying a farewell visit to the grave of my regretted parents, -I set off in the cheapest conveyance I could find to her habitation, -with all my worldly treasure packed in a portmanteau.</p> - -<p>With my friend I trusted I should enjoy a calm and happy -asylum till Marlowe was able to fulfil his promise, and allow -me to reward her kindness; but this idea she soon put to flight, -by informing me, as my health returned, I must think of some -method for supporting myself. I started, as at the utter annihilation -of all my hopes; for, vain and ignorant of the world, I -imagined Marlowe would never think of me if once disgraced -by servitude. I told her I understood little of anything except -fancy work. She was particularly glad, she said, to hear I -knew that, as it would, in all probability, gain me admittance -to the service of a rich old lady in the neighborhood, who had -long been seeking for a person who could read agreeably and -do fancy works, with which she delighted to ornament her -house. She was a little whimsical, to be sure, she added, but -well-timed flattery might turn those whims to advantage; and, -if I regarded my reputation, I should not reject so respectable -a protection. There was no alternative; I inquired more -particularly about her, but how great was my emotion, when I -learned she was the aunt of Marlowe. My heart throbbed with -exquisite delight at the idea of being in the same house with -him; besides, the service of his aunt would not, I flattered myself, -degrade me as much in his eyes as that of another person’s ; -it was necessary, however, my name should be concealed, and -I requested my friend to comply with my wish in that respect. -She rallied me about my pride, which she supposed had suggested -the request, but promised to comply with it; she had no -doubt but her recommendation would be sufficient to procure -me immediate admittance, and, accordingly, taking some of my -work with me, I proceeded to the habitation of Marlowe. It -was an antique mansion, surrounded with neat-clipped hedges,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> -level lawns, and formal plantations. Two statues, cast in the -same mould, and resembling nothing either in heaven, earth, or -sea, stood grinning horribly upon the pillars of a massy gate, as -if to guard the entrance from impertinent intrusion. On knocking, -an old porter appeared. I gave him my message, but he, -like the statues, seemed stationary, and would not, I believe, -have stirred from his situation to deliver an embassy from the -king. He called, however, to a domestic, who, happening to -be a little deaf, was full half an hour before he heard him; at -last, I was ushered up stairs into an apartment, from the heat -of which one might have conjectured it was under the torrid -zone. Though in the middle of July, a heavy hot fire burned -in the grate; a thick carpet, representing birds, beasts, and -flowers, was spread on the floor, and the windows, closely -screwed down, were heavy with woodwork, and darkened with -dust. The master and mistress of the mansion, like Darby and -Joan, sat in arm-chairs on each side of the fire; three dogs, and -as many cats, slumbered at their feet. He was leaning on a -spider-table, poring over a voluminous book, and she was stitching -a counterpane. Sickness and ill-nature were visible in each -countenance. “So!” said she, raising a huge pair of spectacles -at my entrance, and examining me from head to foot, “you are -come from Mrs. Wilson’s ; why, bless me, child, you are quite -too young for any business; pray, what is your name, and -where do you come from?” I was prepared for these questions, -and told her the truth, only concealing my real name, and the -place of my nativity. “Well, let me see those works of yours,” -cried she. I produced them, and the spectacles were again -drawn down. “Why, they are neat enough, to be sure,” said -she, “but the design is bad—very bad, indeed: there is taste, -there is execution!” directing me to some pictures, in heavy -gilt frames, hung round the room. I told her, with sincerity, -“I had never seen anything like them.” “To be sure, child,” -exclaimed she, pleased at what she considered admiration in me, -“it is running a great risk to take you; but if you think you -can conform to the regulations of my house, I will, from compassion, -and as you are recommended by Mrs. Wilson, venture -to engage you; but, remember, I must have no gad-about, no -fly-flapper, no chatterer, in my family. You must be decent in -your dress and carriage, discreet in your words, industrious at -your work, and satisfied with the indulgence of going to church -on a Sunday.” I saw I was about entering upon a painful servitude; -but the idea of its being sweetened by the sympathy of -Marlowe a little reconciled me to it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -On promising all she desired, everything was settled for my -admission into her family, and she took care I should perform -the promises I made her. I shall not recapitulate the various -trials I underwent from her austerity and peevishness; suffice -it to say, my patience, as well as taste, underwent a perfect martyrdom. -I was continually seated at a frame, working pictures -of her own invention, which were everything that was hideous -in nature. I was never allowed to go out, except on a Sunday -to church, or on a chance evening when it was too dark to distinguish -colors.</p> - -<p>Marlowe was absent on my entering the family, nor -durst I ask when he was expected. My health and spirits -gradually declined from my close confinement. When allowed, -as I have before said, of a chance time to go out, instead of -enjoying the fresh air, I have sat down to weep over scenes -of former happiness. I dined constantly with the old housekeeper. -She informed me, one day, that Mr. Marlowe, her -master’s young heir, who had been absent some time on a -visit, was expected home on the ensuing day. Fortunately, -the good dame was too busily employed to notice my agitation. -I retired as soon as possible from the table, in a -state of indescribable pleasure. Never shall I forget my -emotions, when I heard the trampling of his horse’s feet, and -saw him enter the house! Vainly I endeavored to resume my -work; my hands trembled, and I sunk back on my chair, to -indulge the delightful idea of an interview with him, which I -believed to be inevitable. My severe task-mistress soon -awakened me from me delightful dream; she came to tell me: -“I must confine myself to my own and the housekeeper’s room, -which, to a virtuous, discreet maiden, such as I appeared to be, -she supposed would be no hardship, while her nephew, who was -a young, perhaps rather a wild young man, remained in the -house: when he again left it, which would soon be the case, I -should regain my liberty.” My heart sunk within me at her -words, but, when the first shock was over; I consoled myself by -thinking I should be able to elude her vigilance. I was, however, -mistaken; she and the housekeeper were perfect Arguses. -To be in the same house with Marlowe, yet without his knowing -it, drove me almost distracted.</p> - -<p>I at last thought of an expedient, which, I hoped, would -effect the discovery I wanted. I had just finished a piece of -work, which my mistress was delighted with. It was an enormous -flower-basket, mounted on the back of a cat, which held -beneath its paw a trembling mouse. The raptures the old lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> -expressed at seeing her own design so ably executed encouraged -me to ask permission to embroider a picture of my own designing, -for which I had the silks lying by me. She complied, and -I set about it with alacrity. I copied my face and figure as -exactly as I could, and, in mourning drapery and a pensive -attitude, placed the little image by a rustic grave, in the church-yard -of my native village, at the head of which, half embowered -in trees, appeared the lovely cottage of my departed parents. -These well-known objects, I thought, would revive, if indeed -she was absent from it, the idea of poor Fanny in the mind of -Marlowe. I presented the picture to my mistress, who was -pleased with the present, and promised to have it framed. The -next day while I sat at dinner, the door suddenly opened, and -Marlowe entered the room. I thought I should have fainted. -My companion dropped her knife and fork with great precipitation, -and Marlowe told her he was very ill, and wanted a cordial -from her. She rose with a dissatisfied air, to comply with his -request. He, taking this opportunity of approaching a little -nearer, darted a glance of pity and tenderness, and softly -whispered—"To-night, at eleven o’clock, meet me in the front -parlor.”</p> - -<p>You may conceive how tardily the hours passed till the -appointed time came, when, stealing to the parlor, I found -Marlowe expecting me. He folded me to his heart, and his -tears mingled with mine, as I related my melancholy tale. -“You are now, my Fanny!” he cried, “entirely mine; deprived -of the protection of your tender parents I shall endeavor to -fulfil the sacred trust they reposed in my honor, by securing -mine to you, as far as lies in my power. I was not mistaken,” -continued he, “in the idea I had formed of the treatment I -should receive from my flinty-hearted relations on leaving you. -Had I not promised to drop all correspondence with you, I -must have relinquished all hopes of their favor. Bitter, indeed,” -cried he, while a tear started in his eye, “is the bread of dependence. -Ill could my soul submit to the indignities I received; -but I consoled myself throughout them, by the idea of future -happiness with my Fanny. Had I known her situation (which, -indeed, it was impossible I should, as my uncle’s spy attended -me wherever I went), no dictate of prudence would have -prevented my flying to her aid!” “Thank Heaven, then, you -were ignorant of it,” said I. “My aunt,” he proceeded, -“showed me your work, lavishing the highest encomiums on it. -I glanced my eye carelessly upon it, but, in a moment, how was -that careless eye attracted by the well known objects presented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> -to it! this, I said to my heart, can only be Fanny’s work. I -tried to discover from my aunt whether my conjectures were -wrong, but without success. When I retired to dress, I asked -my servant if there had been any addition to the family during -my absence; he said a young woman was hired to do fine works, -but she never appeared among the servants.”</p> - -<p>Marlowe proceeded to say, “he could not bear I should -longer continue in servitude, and that without delay he was -resolved to unite his fate to mine.” I opposed this resolution -a little; but soon, too self-interested, I fear, acquiesced in it. -It was agreed I should inform his aunt my health would no -longer permit my continuing in her family, and that I should -retire to a village six miles off, where Marlowe undertook to -bring a young clergyman, a particular friend of his, to perform -the ceremony. Our plan, as settled, was carried into execution, -and I became the wife of Marlowe. I was now, you will suppose, -elevated to the pinnacle of happiness; I was so, indeed, -but my own folly precipitated me from it. The secrecy I was -compelled to observe mortified me exceedingly, as I panted to -emerge from the invidious cloud which had so long concealed -my beauty and accomplishments from a world that I was -confident, if seen, would pay them the homage they merited. -The people with whom I lodged had been obliged by Marlowe, -and, therefore, from interest and gratitude, obeyed the injunction -he gave them, of keeping my residence at their house -a secret; they believed, or affected to believe, I was an -orphan committed to his care, whom his uncle would be displeased -to know he had taken under his protection. Three or -four times a week I received stolen visits from Marlowe, when, -one day (after a month had elapsed in this manner) standing at -the parlor window, I saw Mrs. Wilson walking down the village. -I started back, but too late to escape her observation; she -immediately bolted into the room with all the eagerness of -curiosity. I bore her first interrogatories tolerably well, but -when she upbraided me for leaving the excellent service she -had procured for me, for duplicity in saying I was going to another, -and for my indiscretion in respect to Marlowe, I lost all -command of my temper, and, remembering the inhumanity -with which she had forced me into servitude, I resolved to -mortify her completely, by assuming all the airs I had heretofore -so ridiculously aspired to. Lolling in my chair, with an air of -the most careless indifference, I bid her no longer petrify me with -her discourse. This raised all the violence of rage, and she -plainly told me, “from my conduct with Marlowe, I was un<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>worthy -her notice.” “Therefore,” cried I, forgetting every -dictate of prudence, “his wife will neither desire nor receive it -in future.” “His wife!” she repeated, with a look of scorn and -incredulity. I produced the certificate of my marriage; thus, -from an impulse of vanity and resentment, putting myself in -the power of a woman, a stranger to every liberal feeling, and -whose mind was inflamed with envy towards me. The hint I -forced myself at parting to give her, to keep the affair secret, -only determined her more strongly to reveal it. The day after -her visit, Marlowe entered my apartment—pale, agitated, and -breathless, he sunk into a chair. A pang, like conscious guilt, -smote my heart, and I trembled as I approached him. He -repulsed me when I attempted to touch his hand. “Cruel, -inconsiderate woman!” he said, “to what dreadful lengths has -your vanity hurried you; it has drawn destruction upon your -own head as well as mine!” Shame and remorse tied my -tongue; had I spoken, indeed, I could not have vindicated -myself, and I turned aside and wept. Marlowe, mild, tender, -and adoring, could not long retain resentment; he started from -his chair, and clasped me to his bosom. “Oh, Fanny!” he -cried, “though you have ruined me, you are still dear as ever -to me.”</p> - -<p>This tenderness affected me even more than reproaches, and -tears and sighs declared my penitence. His expectations relative -to his uncle were finally destroyed, on being informed of our marriage, -which Mrs. Wilson lost no time in telling him. He -burned his will, and immediately made another in favor of a -distant relation. On hearing this intelligence, I was almost distracted; -I flung myself at my husband’s feet, implored his pardon, -yet declared I could never forgive myself. He grew more -composed upon the increase of my agitation, as if purposely -to soothe my spirits, assuring me, that, though his uncle’s -favor was lost, he had other friends on whom he greatly -depended. We set off for London, and found his dependence -was not ill-placed; for, soon after his arrival, he obtained a -place of considerable emolument in one of the public offices. -My husband delighted in gratifying me, though I was often both -extravagant and whimsical, and almost ever on the wing for -admiration and amusement. I was reckoned a pretty woman, and -received with rapture the nonsense and adulation addressed to -me. I became acquainted with a young widow, who concealed a -depraved heart under a specious appearance of innocence and -virtue, and by aiding the vices of others, procured the means -of gratifying her own; yet so secret were all her transactions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> -that calumny had not yet attacked her, and her house was -the rendezvous of the most fashionable people. My husband, -who did not dislike her manner, encouraged our intimacy, and -at her parties I was noticed by a young nobleman, then at the -head of the ton. He declared I was one of the most charming -objects he had ever beheld, and, for such a declaration, I thought -him the most polite I had ever known. As Lord T. condescended -to wear my chains, I must certainly, I thought, become quite -the rage. My transports, however, were a little checked by the -grave remonstrances of my husband, who assured me Lord T. -was a famous, or rather an infamous libertine; and that, if I -did not avoid his lordship’s particular attentions, he must insist -on my relinquishing the widow’s society. This I thought cruel, -but I saw him resolute, and promised to act as he desired—a -promise I never adhered to, except when he was present. I -was now in a situation to promise an increase of family, and -Marlowe wished me to nurse the child. The tenderness of my -heart seconding his wish, I resolved on obeying it; but when -the widow heard my intention she laughed at it, and said it was -absolutely ridiculous, for the sake of a squalling brat, to give -up all the pleasures of life; besides, it would be much better -taken care of in some of the villages about London. I denied -this; still, however, she dwelt on the sacrifices I must make, -the amusements I must give up, and at last completely conquered -my resolution. I pretended to Marlowe my health was -too delicate to allow me to bear such a fatigue and he immediately -sacrificed his own inclinations to mine. I have often -wondered at the kind of infatuation with which he complied -with all my desires. My little girl, almost as soon as born, was -sent from me; but, on being able to go out again, I received a -considerable shock, from hearing my noble admirer was gone -to the Continent, owing to a trifling derangement in his affairs. -The vain pursuits of pleasure and dissipation were still continued. -Three years passed in this manner, during which I -had a son, and my little girl was brought home. I have since -often felt astonished at the cold indifference with which I regarded -my Marlowe, and our lovely babe, on whom he doted -with all the enthusiasm of tenderness. Alas! vanity had then -absorbed my heart, and deadened every feeling of nature and -sensibility; it is the parent of self-love and apathy, and degrades -those who harbor it below humanity.</p> - -<p>Lord T. now returned from the Continent; he swore my idea -had never been absent from his mind, and that I was more -charming than ever; while I thought him, if possible, more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> -polite and engaging. Again my husband remonstrated. Sometimes -I seemed to regard these remonstrances, sometimes protested -I would not submit to such unnecessary control. I knew, -indeed, that my intentions were innocent, and I believed I might -safely indulge my vanity, without endangering either my reputation -or peace. About this time Marlowe received a summons -to attend a dying friend four miles from London. Our little -girl was then in a slight fever, which had alarmed her father, -and confined me most unwillingly, I must confess, to the house. -Marlowe, on the point of departing, pressed me to his breast: -“My heart, my beloved Fanny!” said he, “feels unusually -heavy. I trust the feeling is no presentiment of approaching -ill. Oh! my Fanny! on you and my babe, I rest for happiness—take -care of our little cherub, and above all (his meek eye -encountering mine), take care of yourself, that, with my accustomed -rapture, I may, on my return, receive you to my arms.” -There was something so solemn, and so tender, in this address, -that my heart melted, and my tears mingled with those which -trickled down his pale checks. For two days I attended my -child assiduously, when the widow made her appearance. She -assured me I should injure myself by such close confinement, -and that my cheeks were already faded by it. She mentioned -a delightful masquerade which was to be given that night, and -for which Lord T. had presented her with tickets for me and -herself; but she declared, except I would accompany her, she -would not go. I had often wished to go to a masquerade; I -now, however, declined this opportunity of gratifying my inclination, -but so faintly, as to prompt a renewal of her solicitations, -to which I at last yielded; and, committing my babe to -the care of a servant, set off with the widow to a warehouse to -choose dresses. Lord T. dined with us, and we were all in the -highest spirits imaginable: about twelve we went in his chariot -to the Haymarket, and I was absolutely intoxicated with his -flattery, and the dazzling objects around me. At five we quitted -this scene of gayety. The widow took a chair; I would have -followed her example, but my Lord absolutely lifted me into -his chariot, and there began talking in a strain which provoked -my contempt, and excited my apprehensions. I expressed my -displeasure in tears, which checked his boldness, and convinced -him he had some difficulties yet to overcome ere he completed -his designs. He made his apologies with so much humility, that -I was soon appeased, and prevailed on to accept them. We -arrived at the widow’s house in as much harmony as we left it; -the flags were wet, and Lord T. insisted on carrying me into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -the house. At the door I observed a man muffled up, but as -no one noticed him, I thought no more about it. We sat -down to supper in high spirits, and chatted for a considerable -time about our past amusements. His lordship said: “After -a little sleep we should recruit ourselves by a pleasant jaunt to -Richmond, where he had a charming villa.” We agreed to his -proposal, and retired to rest. About noon we arose; and, while -I was dressing myself for the projected excursion, a letter was -brought in to me. “Good Lord! Halcot!” exclaimed I, turning -to the widow, “if Marlowe is returned, what will become -of me?” “Oh! read, my dear creature!” cried she impatiently, -“and then we can think of excuses.” “I have the -letter here,” continued Mrs. Marlowe, laying her hand to her -breast, and drawing it forth after a short pause, “I laid it to -my heart to guard it against future folly.”</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">THE LETTER.</p> - -<p>The presages of my heart were but too true—we parted never to meet again. -Oh! Fanny, beloved of my soul, how are you lost to yourself and Marlowe! -The independence, splendor, riches, which I gave up for your sake, were -mean sacrifices, in my estimation, to the felicity I fondly expected to have -enjoyed with you through life. Your beauty charmed my mind, but it was -your simplicity captivated my heart. I took, as I thought, the perfect child -of innocence and sincerity to my bosom; resolved, from duty, as well as -from inclination, to shelter you in that bosom, to the utmost of my power, -from every adverse storm. Whenever you were indisposed, what agonies -did I endure! yet, what I then dreaded, could I have possibly foreseen, -would have been comparative happiness to my present misery; for, oh! my -Fanny, far preferable would it have been to behold you in the arms of death -than infamy.</p> - -<p>I returned immediately after witnessing the last pangs of my friend—oppressed -with the awful scene of death, yet cheering my spirits by an anticipation -of the consolation I should receive from my Fanny’s sympathy. -Good God! what was my horror, when I found my little babe, instead of -being restored to health by a mother’s care, nearly expiring through her -neglect! The angel lay gasping on her bed, deserted by the mercenary -wretch to whose care she was consigned. I inquired, and the fatal truth -rushed upon my soul; yet, when the first tumult of passion had subsided, -I felt that, without yet stronger proofs, I could not abandon you. Alas! -too soon did I receive those proofs. I traced you, Fanny, through your giddy -round, till I saw you borne in the arms of the vile Lord T. into the house -of his vile paramour. You will wonder, perhaps, I did not tear you from -his grasp. Could such a procedure have restored you to me, with all your -unsullied innocence, I should not have hesitated; but that was impossible, -and my eyes then gazed upon Fanny for the last time. I returned to my -motherless babe, and, I am not ashamed to say, I wept over it with all the -agonies of a fond and betrayed heart.</p> - -<p>Ere I bid an irrevocable adieu, I would, if possible, endeavor to convince -you that conscience cannot always be stifled—that illicit love is constantly -attended by remorse and disappointment; for, when familiarity, or disease,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -has diminished the charms which excited it, the frail fetters of admiration -are broken by him who looks only to an exterior for delight; if, indeed, -your conscience should not be awakened till this hour of desertion comes, -when it does arrive, you may, perhaps, think of Marlowe. Yes, Fanny, -when your cheeks are faded by care, when your wit is enfeebled by despondency, -you may think of him whose tenderness would have outlived both -time and change, and supported you, without abatement, through every -stage of life.</p> - -<p>To stop short in the career of vice is, they say, the noblest effort of -virtue. May such an effort be yours; and may you yet give joy to the -angels of heaven, who, we are taught to believe, rejoice over them that -truly repent! That want should strew no thorns in the path of penitence, -all that I could take from my babe I have assigned to you. Oh! my dear -culprit, remember the precepts of your early youth—of those who, sleeping -in the dust, are spared the bitter tear of anguish, such as I now shed—and, -ere too late, expiate your errors. In the solitude to which I am hastening, -I shall continually pray for you; and when my child raises its spotless -hands to Heaven, it shall implore its mercy for erring mortals; yet, think -not it shall ever hear your story. Oh! never shall the blush of shame, for -the frailties of one so dear, tinge its ingenuous countenance. May the sincerity -of your repentance restore that peace and brightness to your life, -which, at present, I think you must have forfeited, and support you with -fortitude through its closing period! As a friend, once dear, you will ever -exist in the memory of</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Marlowe</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>As I concluded the letter, my spirits, which had been gradually -receding, entirely forsook me, and I fell senseless on the -floor. Mrs. Halcot and Lord T. took his opportunity of gratifying -their curiosity by perusing the letter, and when I recovered, -I found myself supported between them. “You see, my dear -angel,” cried Lord T., “your cruel husband has entirely abandoned -you; but grieve not, for in my arms you shall find a -kinder asylum than he ever afforded you.” “True,” said Mrs. -Halcot; “for my part, I think she has reason to rejoice at his -desertion.”</p> - -<p>I shall not attempt to repeat all I had said to them in the -height of my distraction. Suffice it to say, I reproached them -both as the authors of my shame and misery; and, while I -spurned Lord T. indignantly from my feet, accused Mrs. Halcot -of possessing neither delicacy nor feeling. Alas! accusation -or reproach could not lighten the weight on my heart—I felt a -dreadful consciousness of having occasioned my own misery. -I seemed as if awaking from a disordered dream, which had -confused my senses; and the more clearly my perception of -what was right returned, the more bitterly I lamented my -deviation from it. To be reinstated in the esteem and affection -of my husband was all of felicity I could desire to possess. -Full of the idea of being able to effect a reconciliation, I started<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> -up; but, ere I reached the door, sunk into an agony of tears: -recollecting that ere this he was probably far distant from me. -My base companions tried to assuage my grief, and make me -in reality the wretch poor Marlowe supposed me to be. I -heard them in silent contempt, unable to move, till a servant -informed me a gentleman below stairs desired to see me. The -idea of a relenting husband instantly occurred, and I flew -down; but how great was my disappointment only to see a -particular friend of his! Our meeting was painful in the -extreme. I asked him if he knew anything of Marlowe, and -he solemnly assured me he did not. When my confusion and -distress had a little subsided, he informed me that in the -morning he had received a letter from him, with an account of -our separation, and the fatal cause of it. The letter contained -a deed of settlement on me of a small paternal estate, and a -bill of fifty pounds, which Marlowe requested his friend to -present himself to me. He also added my clothes were sent -to his house, as our lodgings had been discharged. I did not -find it difficult to convince this gentleman of my innocence, -and, putting myself under his protection, was immediately -conveyed to lodgings in a retired part of the town. Here he -consoled me with assurances of using every effort to discover -the residence of my husband. All, alas! proved unsuccessful; -and my health gradually declined. As time wore away, my -hope yet left still undiminished my desire of seeing him. -Change of air was at last deemed requisite to preserve my -existence, and I went to Bristol. I had the good fortune to -lodge in the house with an elderly Irish lady, whose sweet and -benevolent manner soon gained my warmest esteem, and -tempted me to divulge my melancholy tale, where so certain -of obtaining pity. She had also suffered severely from the -pressure of sorrow; but hers, as it proceeded not from imprudence, -but the common vicissitudes of life, was borne without -that degree of anguish mine occasioned. As the period approached -for her return to her native country, I felt the deepest -regret at the prospect of our separation, which she, however, removed, -by asking me to reside entirely with her. Eight years -had elapsed since the loss of my husband, and no latent hope -of his return remained in my heart sufficiently strong to tempt -me to forego the advantages of such society. Ere I departed, -however, I wrote to several of his friends, informing them of -the step I intended taking, and, if any tidings of Marlowe -occurred, where I was to be found. Five years I passed with -my valuable friend in retirement, and had the pleasure of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> -thinking I contributed to the ease of her last moments. This -cottage, with a few acres adjoining it, and four hundred pounds, -was all her wealth, and to me she bequeathed it, having no -relations whose wants gave them any claim upon her.</p> - -<p>The events I have just related will, I hope, strengthen the -moral so many wish to impress upon the minds of youth, -namely—that, without a strict adherence to propriety, there can -be no permanent pleasure; and that it is the actions of early -life must give to old age either happiness and comfort, or -sorrow and remorse. Had I attended to the admonitions of -wisdom and experience, I should have checked my wanderings -from prudence, and preserved my happiness from being sacrificed -at the shrine of vanity; then, instead of being a solitary -in the world, I might have had my little fireside enlivened by -the partner of my heart, and, perhaps, my children’s children -sporting around; but suffering is the proper tax we pay for -folly; the frailty of human nature, the prevalence of example, -the allurements of the world, are mentioned by many as extenuations -for misconduct. Though virtue, say they, is willing, -she is often too weak to resist the wishes they excite. Mistaken -idea! and blessed is that virtue which, opposing, ends -them. With every temptation we have the means of escape; -and woe be to us if we neglect those means, or hesitate to disentangle -ourselves from the snare which vice or folly may -have spread around us. Sorrow and disappointment are -incident to mortality, and when not occasioned by any conscious -imprudence, should be considered as temporary trials -from Heaven to improve and correct us, and therefore cheerfully -be borne. A sigh stole from Oscar as she spoke, and a -tear trickled down the soft cheek of Adela. “I have,” continued -Mrs. Marlowe, “given you, like an old woman, a tedious -tale; but that tediousness, with every other imperfection I -have acknowledged, I rest upon your friendship and candor to -excuse.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Denied her sight, he often crept</span> -<span class="i1">Beneath the hawthorn’s shade;</span> -<span class="i0">To mark the spot in which she wept—</span> -<span class="i1">In which she wept and prayed.”—<span class="smcap">Mallet.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The night was waning fast, and Adela rose to depart as -her friend concluded her story; yet it required an effort of -resolution to retire. Mrs. Marlowe, however, was too well -convinced of the expediency and propriety of this to press her -longer stay, though the eyes of Oscar, suddenly turned to her, -seemed to entreat she would do so. The night was dark and -wet, which prevented Mrs. Marlowe from accompanying Adela -to the carriage. Not so Oscar; he took the umbrella from the -servant, who held it for his mistress, and bid him hasten on to -have the carriage-door opened. “Oscar,” cried Mrs. Marlowe, -extremely unwilling to allow even this short <i>tete-��-tete</i>, “Mrs. -Belgrave will dispense with your gallantry, for you are really -too great an invalid to venture out such a night as this.” Adela -attempted to dissuade him from it, but her voice was so low -and faltering as scarcely to be articulate. Oscar gently seized -her hand, and pulled it under his arm; he felt it tremble as he -did so. The touch became contagious; an universal tremor -affected his frame, and never, perhaps, had he and Adela experienced -a moment of greater unhappiness. Adela at last -found herself obliged to speak, conscious that her silence must -appear particular, and said, she feared he would be injured by -his attentions to her. More fatally injured than he already -was, he might have replied, he could not be; but he checked -the words ready to burst from his lips, and only answered that -he would be unfit for a soldier, if he could not endure the -inclemency of the wintry blast. The light from the globes of -the carriage gave him a view of her pale lovely cheeks, and he -saw she was weeping. Confused at the idea of betraying her -distress, she averted her head, and hastily ascended the steps; -yet, for a moment, her trembling hand rested upon Oscar’s, as -if, in this manner, she would have given the adieu she had not -the power of pronouncing. Lost in agony, he remained, like a -statue, on the spot where she had left him, till roused by the -friendly voice of Mrs. Marlowe, who, alarmed at his long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> -absence, came to seek him. Soothed by her kind solicitude, -he directly returned with her to the house, where his indignation -against the perfidious Belgrave again broke forth. He -execrated him, not only as the destroyer of his peace, but a -peace infinitely more precious than his own—that of the charming -Adela.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Marlowe essayed every art of consolation, and, by -sympathy and mildness, at last subdued the violence of his -feelings; she acknowledged the loss he sustained in being -deprived of Adela; but, since irrevocable, both virtue and -reason required him to struggle against his grief, and conceal -it. By their sacred dictates, she entreated him to avoid seeing -Adela. He felt she was right in the entreaty, and solemnly -promised to comply with it; her friendship was balm to his -wounded heart, and her society the only pleasure he was -capable of enjoying. Whenever he could absent himself from -quarters he retired to her, and frequently spent three or four -days at a time in her cottage. By discontinuing his visits in -the gay neighborhood of Woodlawn, he avoided all opportunities -of seeing Adela, yet often, on a clear frosty night, has he -stole from the fireside of Mrs. Marlowe to the beloved and -beautiful haunts about the lake, where he and Adela passed so -many happy hours together. Here he indulged in all the -luxury of woe; and such are the pleasures of virtuous melancholy, -that Oscar would not have resigned them for any of the -commonplace enjoyments of life.</p> - -<p>Often did he wander to the grove from whence he had a -view of Adela’s chamber, and if a lucky chance gave him a -glimpse of her, as she passed through it, a sudden ecstasy would -pervade his bosom; he would pray for her felicity, and return -to Mrs. Marlowe, as if his heart was lightened of an oppressive -weight. That tender friend flattered herself, from youth and -the natural gayety of his disposition, his attachment, no longer -fed by hope, would gradually decline; but she was mistaken—the -bloom of his youth was faded, and his gayety converted -into deep despondency. Had he never been undeceived with -regard to the general and Adela, pride, no doubt, would quickly -have lessened the poignancy of his feelings; but when he reflected -on the generous intentions of the one, on the sincere -affection of the other, and the supreme happiness he might -have enjoyed, he lost all fortitude. Thus, by perpetually brooding -over the blessings once within his reach, losing all relish -for those which were yet attainable, his sorrow, instead of being -ameliorated, was increased by time. The horror and indigna<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>tion -with which he beheld Belgrave, after the first knowledge of -his baseness, could scarcely be restrained. Though painful, he -was pleased the effort had proved a successful one, as, exclusive -of his sacred promise to Mrs. Marlowe, delicacy on Adela’s -account induced him to bear his wrongs in silence. He could -not, however, be so great a hypocrite as to profess any longer -esteem or respect for the colonel, and when they met, it was -with cold politeness on both sides.</p> - -<p>The unfortunate Adela pined in secret. Her interview with -Oscar had destroyed the small remainder of her peace. His -pale and emaciated figure haunted her imagination; in vain, -by dwelling on his unkind letter, did she endeavor to lessen her -tenderness. She felt the emotion of pity stronger than that of -resentment, and that the friendship of Oscar would have been -sweeter to her soul than the love or attention of any other object. -By obeying the impulse of passion, she feared she had -doomed herself to wretchedness. Belgrave was a man whom, -upon mature deliberation, she never could have chosen. The -softness of his manners gradually vanished when the purpose for -which they had been assumed was completed. Unfeeling and -depraved, the virtues of Adela could excite no esteem in his -bosom, and the love (if it can merit that appellation) which he -felt for her, quickly subsided after their marriage; but as the -general retained the greatest part of his fortune in his own -power, he continued tolerably guarded in his conduct. A slave, -however, to the most violent passions, he was often unable to -control them; and, forgetful of all prudential motives, delighted -at those times in mortifying Adela by sly sarcasms on her attachment -for Oscar. Though deeply wounded, she never complained; -she had partly forged her chains, and resolved to bear -them without repining. Tranquil in appearance, the poor -general, who was not penetrating, thought his darling perfectly -happy. Such, however, was not the opinion of those who visited -at Woodlawn. The rose of health no longer spread its -beautiful tints on the cheek of Adela, nor were her eyes irradiated -by vivacity.</p> - -<p>The colonel never went to Enniskillen except about military -business, but he made frequent excursions to the metropolis -and other parts of the kingdom in pursuit of pleasure. -Adela felt relieved by his absence; and the general, satisfied -at his not attempting to take her along with him, never murmured -at it. The period now arrived for the departure of the -regiment. Adela had not seen Oscar since the interview at -Mrs. Marlowe’s. She declined going to the reviews which pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>ceded -the change of garrison, and sincerely hoped no chance -would again throw him in her way. Oscar sickened at the idea -of quitting the country without seeing her. He knew she was -not to accompany the colonel. The officers were going to pay -a farewell visit to Woodlawn, and he could not resist being of -the party. They were shown into the drawing-room, where -Adela and the general sat. She was startled at the appearance -of Oscar, but though a blush tinged her pale face, she -soon recovered her composure, and entered into conversation. -The general pressed them to stay to dinner, but they had -many visits to pay and begged to be excused. “My dear Fitzalan,” -said the general, who had long dropped his displeasure, -“I wish you happiness and success, and hope I shall soon hear -of your being at the head of a company; remember, I say soon—for -I am an old veteran, and should be sorry to drop into -the trench till I had heard of the good fortune of my friends. -Your father was a brave fellow, and, in the speedy advancement -of his son, should receive a reward for his past services.” -Oscar pressed the general’s hand to his breast. He cast his -tearful eyes on Adela; she sighed, and bent hers to the ground. -“Be assured, sir,” he cried, “no gratitude can be more fervent -than that your goodness has inspired me with; no wishes can -be more sincere than mine for the happiness of the inhabitants -of Woodlawn.” “Ineffectual wishes,” softly exclaimed Adela; -“happiness, from one of its inhabitants at least, has, I fear, -fled forever.”</p> - -<p>The general’s wishes for the success of Oscar may be considered -as mere words of course, since not enforced by more -substantial proofs of regard; but, in reality, soon after his -daughter’s marriage, in his usual blunt manner, he had mentioned -to the colonel his giving a thousand or two to help the -promotion of Oscar. Belgrave, who could not bear that the -man whom he had injured should have a chance of obtaining -equal rank with himself, opposed this truly generous design, -by saying, “Oscar was taken under the patronage of Lord -Cherbury, and that the general’s bounty might therefore, at -some future period, be better applied in serving a person without -his interest.” To this the general assented, declaring that -he never yet met with a brave soldier or his offspring in distress -without feeling and answering the claim they had upon -his heart.</p> - -<p>Oscar obtained a ready promise from Mrs. Marlowe of corresponding -with him. He blushed and faltered as he besought -her sometimes to acquaint him with the health of their friends<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> -at Woodlawn. Change of scene produced no alteration in him. -Still pining with regret, and languid from ill-health, his father -and sister found him. The comforts of sympathy could not -be his, as the anguish which preyed on his heart he considered -of too sacred a nature to divulge. He hoarded up his grief, -like a miser hoarding up his treasure, fearful that the eye of -suspicion should glance at it, as he pressed his lovely sister to -his heart. Had he imagined she was the object of Colonel -Belgrave’s licentious passion, the bounds he had hitherto prescribed -to his resentment would in a moment have been overturned, -and he would, had it been necessary, have pursued the -monster round the world, to avenge the injury he had meditated, -as well as the one he had committed.</p> - -<p>We shall now bid adieu to Oscar for the present, and, drawing -on our boots of seven leagues, step after Fitzalan and -Amanda.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Confessed from yonder slow extinguished clouds,</span> -<span class="i0">All ether softening, sober evening takes</span> -<span class="i0">Her wonted station in the middle air;</span> -<span class="i0">A thousand shadows at her back.”—<span class="smcap">Thomson.</span></span> -</div></div> - - -<p>Castle Carberry, to which our travellers were going, was -a large gothic pile, erected in the rude and distant period when -strength more than elegance was deemed necessary in a building. -The depredations of war, as well as time, were discernible -on its exterior; some of its lofty battlements were broken, and -others mouldering to decay, while about its ancient towers</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“The rank grass waved its head,</span> -<span class="i0">And the moss whistled to the wind.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>It stood upon a rocky eminence overhanging the sea, and -commanding a delightful prospect of the opposite coast of -Scotland; about it were yet to be traced irregular fortifications, -a moat, and remains of a drawbridge, with a well, long since -dry, which had been dug in the rock to supply the inhabitants -in time of siege with water. On one side rose a stupendous -hill, covered to the very summit with trees, and scattered over -with relics of druidical antiquity; before it stretched an exten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>sive -and gently swelling lawn, sheltered on each side with -groves of intermingled shade, and refreshed by a clear and -meandering rivulet, that took its rise from the adjoining hill, -and murmured over a bed of pebbles.</p> - -<p>After a pleasant journey, on the evening of the fourth day, -our travellers arrived at their destined habitation. An old man -and woman, who had the care of it, were apprised of their -coming, and on the first approach of the carriage, opened the -massy door, and waited to receive them: they reached it when -the sober gray of twilight had clad every object. Amanda -viewed the dark and stupendous edifice, whose gloom was -now heightened by the shadows of evening, with venerable -awe. The solitude, the silence which reigned around, the -melancholy murmur of the waves as they dashed against the -foot of the rocks, all heightened the sadness of her mind; yet it -was not quite an unpleasing sadness, for with it was now mingled -a degree of that enthusiasm which plaintive and romantic spirits -are so peculiarly subject to feel in viewing the venerable grandeur -of an ancient fabric renowned in history. As she entered -a spacious hall, curiously wainscoted with oak, ornamented -with coats of arms, spears, lances, and old armor, she could -not avoid casting a retrospective eye to former times, when, -perhaps, in this very hall, bards sung the exploits of those -heroes, whose useless arms now hung upon the walls. She -wished, in the romance of the moment, some gray bard near -her, to tell the deeds of other times—of kings renowned in our -land—of chiefs we behold no more. In the niches in the hall -were figures of chieftains, large as life, and rudely carved in -oak. Their frowning countenances struck a sudden panic -upon the heart of Ellen. “Cot pless their souls,” she said, -“what the tefil did they do there, except to frighten the people -from going into the house.”</p> - -<p>They were shown into a large parlor, furnished in an old-fashioned -manner, and found a comfortable supper prepared -for them. Oppressed with fatigue, soon after they had partaken -of it, they retired to rest. The next morning, immediately -after breakfast, Amanda, attended by the old woman and -Ellen, ranged over the castle. Its interior was quite as gothic -as its exterior; the stairs were winding, the galleries intricate, -the apartments numerous, and mostly hung with old tapestry, -representing Irish battles, in which the chiefs of Castle Carberry -were particularly distinguished. Their portraits, with -those of their ladies, occupied a long gallery, whose arched -windows cast a dim religious light upon them. This was termi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>nated -by a small apartment in the centre of one of the towers -that flanked the building. The room was an octagon, and thus -commanded a sea and land prospect, uniting at once the sublime -and beautiful in it. The furniture was not only modern -but elegant, and excited the particular attention and inquiries -of Amanda. The old woman informed her this had been the -dressing-room of the late Countess of Cherbury, both before -and after her marriage: “one of the sweetest, kindest ladies,” -continued she, “I ever knew; the castle has been quite -deserted since she died—alack-a-day! I thought my poor heart -would have broke when I heard of her death. Ah! I remember -the night I heard the Banshee crying so pitifully.” “And -pray what is that?” interrupted Amanda. “Why, a little woman, -no higher than a yard, who wears a blue petticoat, a red -cloak, and a handkerchief round her head; and when the head -of any family, especially a great family, is to die, she is always -heard, by some of the old followers, bemoaning herself.” “Lort -save us!” cried Ellen, “I hope his lortship, the earl, won’t -take it into his head to die while we are here, for I’d as lief -see one of the fairies of Penmaenmawr, as such a little old -witch.” “Well, proceed,” said Amanda. “So, as I was saying, -I heard her crying dismally one night in a corner of the -house. So, says I to my husband, Johnaten, says I, I am -sure we shall hear something about my good lord or lady. -And sure enough we did the next day, and ever since we have -seen none of the family.” “Did you ever see the young lord?” -asked Amanda, with involuntary precipitation. “See him! -aye, that I did, when he was about eight years old; there is -his picture (pointing to one which hung over the chimney); -my lady had it done by a fine English painter, and brought it -over with her. It is the moral of what he then was.” The -eager eyes of Amanda were instantly turned to it, and she -traced, or at least imagined she did so, a resemblance still -between it and him. The painter seemed as if he had had the -description of Pity in his mind when he drew the picture; for -Lord Mortimer was portrayed, as she is represented in the -beautiful allegory, sheltering a trembling dove in his bosom -from a ferocious hawk. Oh! Mortimer! thought Amanda, -thy feeling nature is here ably delineated! The distressed, or -the helpless, to the utmost of your power, you would save from -the gripe of cruelty and oppression. Her father had desired -her to choose pleasant apartments for her own immediate -use, and she accordingly fixed on this and the room adjoining -it, which had been Lady Cherbury’s chamber. Her things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -were brought hither, and her books, works, and implements -for drawing, deposited in rich inlaid cabinets. Pleased with -the arrangements she had made, she brought her father, as -soon as he was at leisure, to view them. He was happy to -find her spirits somewhat cheerful and composed, and declared -in future he would call this Amanda’s Tower. Accompanied -by him, she ascended to the battlements of the castle, and -was delighted with the extensive and variegated prospect she -beheld from them. A spacious edifice, at some distance, embowered -in a grove of venerable oaks, attracted her admiration. -Her father told her that was Ulster Lodge, a seat belonging -to the Marquis of Roslin, who was an Irish as well as a Scotch -Peer, and had very extensive possessions in Ireland. Fitzalan -added, he had been inquiring of the old man about the neighborhood, -and learned from him that, at the expiration of every -three or four years, the Marquis usually came over to Ulster -Lodge, but had never yet been accompanied by the Marchioness, -or Lady Euphrasia Sutherland, who was his only child.</p> - -<p>The domestic economy of Castle Carberry was soon settled. -A young man and woman were hired, as Johnaten and his wife, -Kate, were considered little more than supernumeraries. Ellen -was appointed to attend Amanda, and do whatever plain work -was required. Fitzalan felt a pleasing serenity diffused over -his mind, from the idea of being in some degree independent, -and in the way of making some provision for his children. -The first shock of a separation from Lord Mortimer being over, -the cheerfulness of Amanda gradually returned, the visions of -hope again revived in her mind, and she indulged a secret pleasure -at living in the house he had once occupied. She considered -her father as particularly connected with his family, -and doubted not, from this circumstance, she should sometimes -hear of him. She judged of his constancy by her own, -and believed he would not readily forget her. She acknowledged -her father’s motives for separating them were equally -just and delicate; but firmly believed, if Lord Mortimer (as -she flattered herself he would) confessed a partiality in her -favor to his father, that, influenced by tenderness for his son, -friendship for her father, and the knowledge of her descent, he -would immediately give up every idea of another connection, -and sanction theirs with his approbation. No obstacle appeared -to such an union but want of fortune, and that want -she could never suppose would be considered as one by the -liberal-minded Lord Cherbury, who had himself an income -sufficient to gratify even luxurious wishes. Her time was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> -agreeably diversified by the sources of amusements she drew -from herself. Her father, whose supreme felicity consisted in -contributing to her pleasure, purchased a delightful harp for -her in Dublin, which arrived a few days after them, at Castle -Carberry, and with its dulcet lays she often charmed, not only -his spirit, but her own, from every mortal care. She loved to -rise early, and catch the first beams of the sun, as she wandered -over the dewy lawn, where the lowing cattle cropped the -flowery herbage, and the milkmaid sung her plaintive ditty.</p> - -<p>With her father she took long walks about the adjacent -country. He had visited every scene before, and now pointed -out whatever was worthy her attention: the spots where the -heroes of former ages had fallen, where the mighty stones of -their fame were raised, that the children of the North might -hereafter know the places where their fathers fought; that the -hunter, as he leaned upon a mossy tomb, might say, here -fought the heroes of other years, and their fame shall last -forever!</p> - -<p>Amanda, too, often rambled by herself, particularly among -the rocks, where were several natural grottos, strewed with -shells and seaweeds. Here, of a mild day, she loved to read, -and listen to the low murmurs of the tide. The opposite -Scottish hills, among which her mother first drew breath, often -attracted and fixed her attention, frequently drawing tears -from her eyes, by awaking in her mind the recollection of that -mother’s sufferings.</p> - -<p>On a morning, when she sat at work in her apartment, -Ellen, who was considered more as a friend than a servant, -sometimes sat with her; the conversation not unfrequently -turned on nurse Edwin’s cottage, from which Ellen, with an -arch simplicity, would advert to Tudor Hall, thence naturally -to Lord Mortimer, and conclude with poor Chip, exclaiming: -“What a pity true love should ever be crossed!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /><p> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Some take him for a tool</span> -<span class="i0">That knaves do work with, called a fool;</span> -<span class="i0">Fools are known by looking wise,</span> -<span class="i0">As men find woodcocks by their eyes.”—<span class="smcap">Hudibras.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The solitude of Castle Carberry was interrupted in less -than a fortnight by visits and invitations from the neighboring -families. The first they accepted was to dinner at Mr. Kilcorban’s. -He was a man of large fortune, which, in the opinion -of many, compensated for the want of polished manners, and a -cultivated mind; but others, of a more liberal way of thinking, -could not possibly excuse those deficiencies, which were more -apparent from his pretending to every excellence; and more -intolerable from his deeming himself authorized, by his wealth -and consequence, to say and do almost whatever he pleased. -His lady was, like himself, a compound of ignorance, pride, -and vanity. Their offspring was numerous, and the three who -were sufficiently old to make their appearance, were considered, -by their parents and themselves, as the very models of elegance -and perfection. The young heir had been sent to the University; -but, permitted to be his own master, he had profited little -by his residence there. Enough, however, perhaps he thought -for a man of fortune, who wanted not professional knowledge. -His face was coarse, his person inelegant, and his taste in -adorning himself preposterously ridiculous. Fashion, Hoyle, -and the looking-glass, were his chief studies, and, by his family -and self, he was considered quite the thing.</p> - -<p>The young ladies were supposed to be very accomplished, -because they had instructors in almost every branch of education; -but, in reality, they understood little more than the -names of what they were attempted to be taught. Nature had -not been lavish of her gifts. Of this, however, they were -conscious, and patched, powdered, and painted in the very -extremity of the mode. Their mornings were generally spent -in rolling about in a coach and six with their mamma, collecting -news and paying visits; their evenings were constantly devoted -to company, without which they declared they could not -exist. They sometimes affected languor and sentiment, talked -of friendship, and professed for numbers, the most sincere; yet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> -to the very girls they pretended to regard, delighted in exhibiting -their finery, if certain they could not purchase the same, and -would feel mortified by seeing it.</p> - -<p>Mr. Kilcorban had indulged his family in a trip to Bath one -autumn, and, in so doing, had afforded a never-failing subject -for conversation; upon every occasion this delightful excursion -was mentioned—the novelties they saw, the admiration they -excited, the elegant intimacies they formed, the amazing sum -they expended, were all described and exaggerated.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock, an ancient widow, was at present on a visit -to them. She had known Fitzalan in his youth, and now, with -pleasure, renewed her intimacy with him; and the account she -gave of his family and connections, prepossessed the neighborhood -in his favor. She was a shrewd, sensible woman; the -dignity of her person commanded respect, but the sarcastic -expression of her countenance prevented her conciliating esteem.</p> - -<p>An old chariot belonging to the Earl of Cherbury, which -had been for years unemployed in the coach-house, was brought -forth, for the purpose of conveying Fitzalan and his daughter -on their visits. After a good deal of rubbing and washing, it -was found tolerably decent, and they proceeded in it to Mr. -Kilcorban’s, which was about two miles from Castle Carberry. -A numerous party was already assembled. While Amanda was -paying her compliments to Mrs. Kilcorban and Lady Greystock, -a general whisper relative to her took place among the younger -part of the company, who had formed themselves into a group -quite distant from the rest. One gentleman swore, “she was a -devilish fine girl!” He was seconded in the remark by another, -who extolled her complexion. “You are a simpleton,” -cried a young lady, who was reckoned a great wit; “I would -engage for half a crown to get as fine a color in Dublin.” Her -companions laughed, and declared she only spoke truth in saying -so. Mr. Bryan Kilcorban, who leaned on her chair, said, -“A bill should be brought into the house to tax such complexions; -for kill me,” continued he, “the ladies are so irresistible -from nature, it is quite unconscionable to call in art as -an auxiliary.” He then stalked over to Amanda, who sat by -Lady Greystock; lolling over her chair, he declared, “he thought -the tedious hours would never elapse till again blessed with her -presence.” “Of her,” he said, “it was sufficient to have but -one glimpse to make him pant for the second.” A summons to -dinner relieved her from this nonsense. Luxury and ostentation -were conspicuous in the fare and decorations of the table, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> -Amanda never felt any hours so tedious as those she passed at -it. When the ladies returned to the drawing-room, the Miss -Kilcorbans, and their companions, began to examine and -admire her dress. “What a pretty pattern this gown is worked -in!” said one. “What a sweet, becoming cap this is,” cried a -second. “Well, certainly the English milliners have a great -deal of taste, my dear,” said Miss Kilcorban, whispering to -Amanda. “I have a monstrous favor to ask of you,” drawing -her at the same instant to the window. “I am sure,” said -Amanda, “any in my power to grant I shall with pleasure.” -“Oh! really, then, it is in your power. It is only to refuse the -pattern of your cap to any girls who may ask you for it, and to -give it me and my sister. You cannot conceive how we dote on -being the first in the fashion, one is so stared at, and so envied. -I detest anything when it becomes common. You cannot think -how we are teased every summer, when we return from Dublin, -for fashions; but we always make it a point to refuse. I must -tell you a delightful trick I played a friend of mine. She -received a large present of the most beautiful muslins from -India, which she laid by till I returned from town, supposing I -would let her see my things, as I always told her I was -extremely fond of her. Well, I lent her a gown, which was -quite old-fashioned, but assured her it was the very newest -mode. She accordingly had her beautiful muslins cut in imitation -of it, and so spoiled them from making any other habit. -Well, we met at an assize ball, where all the elegant people of -the county were assembled, and, I declare, I never saw so -ridiculous a figure as she made. When she found herself unlike -every one in the room, I really thought she would have fainted, -and that my poor sister and I should have expired with laughing. -Poor thing! the tears absolutely trickled down her -cheeks. Do not you think it was a charming trick?” “Very -much so,” said Amanda; “I think it gave a striking specimen -of your humor.” “Well, my dear,” exclaimed Miss Kilcorban, -without minding the marked emphasis of Amanda’s last words, -“if you allow us, my sister and I will call on you to-morrow to -look over your things.” “It would be giving yourselves a great -deal of unnecessary trouble,” replied Amanda, coolly, who did -not by any means relish this forward proposal; “my things can -boast of little but simplicity, and I am always my own milliner.” -“Really! well, I protest you have a great deal of taste; my -maid, who is very handy, would, I think, be able to make up -things in pretty much the same style, if you were obliging -enough to give her patterns. If you do, perhaps you will add<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> -to the favor, and allow us to say they are the newest Bath -fashions. Was you ever at Bath?” “No.” “Oh! then I assure -you, you have a monstrous pleasure to come; it is the -sweetest place on earth—quite a paradise! I declare I thought -I should have died with grief at leaving it. Papa has been inexorable -ever since to our entreaties for a second trip. He -says the first cost too much money. Indeed, it was an enormous -sum; only think how much.” “I am the worst person in -the world,” said Amanda, “for guessing,” sick of her impertinent -volubility, and moving from the window. The evening was -fine, and the grounds about the house beautiful; she therefore -proposed a walk. At this proposal, the young ladies, who had -hitherto been in deep confab, looked at each other, and remained -silent for some minutes. Miss Kilcorban, then, who -had no notion of gratifying the inclination of her guest, by the -sacrifice of her own, said, “it blew a little, and that her hair -would be ruined, and the Marchelle powder blown from it by -such a walk.” Another young lady, looking down at her white -satin slippers, vowed “she would not venture into the grass for -worlds.” A third declared, “when once dressed, she could not -bear to be tumbled.” Amanda had too much politeness to repeat -her wish, and it was, therefore, unanimously agreed upon -among the fair coterie, that they should continue in the -drawing-room, to be in statu quo for the reappearance of the -beaux.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock now beckoned to our heroine to take a seat -by her. She gladly obeyed. “Well, my dear,” said her ladyship, -“I hope you have had enough of these country misses—those -would-be misses of the ton.” Amanda smiled assentingly. -“Heaven defend me, or any one I like,” continued her ladyship, -“from their clack! The confusion of Babel was, I really -believe, inferior to that their tongues create, yet some people -have the absurdity to reckon these girls accomplished. Poor -Mrs. Kilcorban torments one with the perfections of her daughters; -against they are disposed of, which she imagines will be -very soon, she has a new brood of graces training up to bring -out. Mercy on me! what a set of hoydens. I would lay my -life, at this very instant they are galloping about the nursery -like a parcel of wild colts, tearing or tormenting an unfortunate -French governess, who was formerly fille de chambre to a -woman of quality, and does not understand even the grammatical -part of her own language.” “Mrs. Kilcorban’s opinion -of her children,” said Amanda, “is natural, considering the -partiality of a parent.” “Yes; but not more bearable on that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> -account,” replied her ladyship; “and I should endeavor to -open her eyes to her folly, if I thought her acquaintances would -forgive my depriving them of such a fund of amusement.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Brian Kilcorban, with some gentlemen, now entered -the room, and advanced to Amanda. “So,” said he, “you -have got by the dowager; hang me, but I would let my beard -grow, if all women resembled her in their dispositions.” “By -the way of appearing sagacious, I suppose,” said her ladyship, -who was extremely quick, and had caught the last words. -“Alas! poor youth, no embellishments on the exterior would -ever be able to make us believe the tenement within well -furnished.” Her ladyship was now summoned to a whist-table, -and Miss Kilcorban immediately took her vacant seat. “My -dear creature!” said she, “are you not bored to death? Lady -Greystock is a queer piece, I can assure you. I suppose she -was asking some favor from you, such as to work her an apron -or handkerchief. She is noted everywhere for requesting such -little jobs, as she calls them; indeed, we should never put up -with the trouble she gives us, but that she is vastly rich, and -papa’s relation, and has no one so nearly connected with her -as we are.” “All very good reasons for your complaisance,” -replied Amanda; “but should you not be more careful in concealing -them?” “Oh, Lord! no; every one knows them as -well as we do ourselves. She was here last summer, and took -a fancy to the pattern of an apron of mine; and made me the -reasonable request of working one like it for her. All this she -pretended was to prevent my being idle. Well, I said I would, -and wrote up to the Moravian House in Dublin, where I had -got mine, for one exactly like it. In due time I received and -presented it to the dowager, certain that, in return I should -receive a few of her diamond pins, which she had often heard -me admire. They are the prettiest I ever saw, and quite unfit -for her, but she had the cruelty to disappoint me.” “Upon -my faith!” cried Mrs. Kilcorban, who had taken a chair at the -other side of Amanda, and listened with evident pleasure to -her daughter’s voluble speech, “Lady Greystock is an odd -being; I never met with any one like her in all my travels -through England, Ireland, and Wales; but she is a great -orator, and possesses the gift of the gab in a wonderful degree.”</p> - -<p>"Ah, indeed,” thought Amanda; “and you and your fair -daughters resemble her in that respect.” After tea, she was -prevailed on to sit down to commerce; but she soon grew as -tired of the party as of the game, and lost on purpose to be -released. She had hoped for a little more chat with Lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> -Greystock; but her ladyship was passionately fond of cards, -and at all times would have preferred the pleasures of a card-table -to the eloquence of a Cicero. Kilcorban, on finding her -disengaged, tormented her with many absurd compliments. A -challenge to a brag-table at length relieved her from his nonsense, -and she loitered about the card-tables till they broke up -for supper.</p> - -<p>Amanda always expressed to her father her sentiments of -any company she had been in; and those she now delivered, -on quitting the party, perfectly coincided with his. He laughed -at the account which the Kilcorbans had given of Lady Greystock, -to whom he knew they paid the most extravagant flattery, -in hopes of obtaining some of her large fortune.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Remote from man, with God they passed their days,</span> -<span class="i0">Prayer all their business, all their pleasure praise.”—<span class="smcap">Parnell.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The following evening they were engaged to spend at a -farmer’s. The invitation was given with such humility, yet -pressed with such warmth, that they could not avoid accepting -it, and accordingly, soon after dinner, walked to the house, -which was about a mile from Castle Carberry. It was a low -thatched building—every appendage to it bespoke neatness -and comfort. It was situated in a beautiful meadow, enclosed -from the road by a hawthorn hedge, and on the opposite side -lay an extensive common, on which stood the stupendous and -venerable ruins of an abbey, called St. Catherine’s. They -appeared a melancholy monument of the power of time over -strength and grandeur; and while they attracted the observation -of the curious, excited a sigh in the bosom of sensibility.</p> - -<p>The farmer’s family consisted of three daughters and two -sons, who were now dressed in their best array. They had -assembled a number of their neighbors, among whom was a -little fat priest, called Father O’Gallaghan—considered the life -of every party—and a blind piper. The room was small, and -crowded with furniture as well as company. It was only divided -from the kitchen by a short passage, and the steam of hot cakes, -and the smoke of a turf fire, which issued thence, soon rendered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> -it distressingly warm. Amanda got as near the window as -possible, but still could not procure sufficient air; and as everything -for tea was not quite ready, asked one of the Miss O’Flannaghans -if she would accompany her to St. Catherine’s. She -answered in the affirmative. The priest, who had been smirking -at her ever since her entrance, now shook his fat sides, and -said he wished he could get her initiated there; “for it would -do my soul good,” cried he, “to confess such a pretty little -creature as you are. Though faith, I believe I should find you -like Paddy McDenough, who used to come to confession every -Easter, though the devil a thing the poor man had to confess -about at all at all. So, says I to him, Paddy, my jewel, says I, -I believe I must make a saint of you, and lay you on the altar.” -“Oh! honey, father!” cried he, “not yet awhile, till I get a -new suit of clothes on, which I shall by next Michaelmas.” -Amanda left them all laughing at this story, and her father -engaged in conversation with some farmers, who were desiring -his interest with Lord Cherbury, for new leases on moderate -terms.</p> - -<p>Amanda had about a quarter of a mile to walk across the -common; the ground was marshy and uneven, and numerous -stumps of trees denoted its having once been a noble forest, of -which no memorial but these stumps, and a few tall trees immediately -near the abbey, remained, that stretched their venerable -arms around it, as if to shade that ruin whose progress they had -witnessed, and which Amanda found well worthy of inspection. -She was equally astonished at its elegance and extent; with -sacred awe traversing the spacious cloisters, the former walks -of holy meditation, she pursued her way through winding passages, -where vestiges of cells were yet discernible, over whose -mouldering arches the grass waved in rank luxuriance, and the -creeping ivy spread its gloomy foliage, and viewed with reverence -the graves of those who had once inhabited them; they surrounded -that of the founder’s, which was distinguished by a -cross, and Miss O’Flannaghan related the traditions that were -current concerning him. He was a holy monk who had the -care of a pious lady’s conscience; she, on her death-bed, had a -remarkable dream, or vision, in which she thought an angel -appeared, and charged her to bequeath her wealth to her confessor, -who would, no doubt, make a much better use of it than -those she designed it for. She obeyed the sacred injunction, -and the good man immediately laid the foundation of this abbey, -which he called after his benefactress, and to which he, and the -community he belonged to, removed. The chapel was roofless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> -but still retained many relics of superstitious piety, which had -escaped, in a tolerable degree, both time and weather. Saints -and martyrs were curiously cut over the places where the altars -and cisterns for holy water had once stood, to which Amanda -passed through a long succession of elegant arches, among -which were a number of tombstones, with curious devices, and -unintelligible inscriptions. Half hid by grass and weeds, on a -flag, which she perceived must have been lately placed there, -she saw some faded flowers strewn, and looking at her companion, -saw a tear dropping from her on them. She gently -asked the cause of it, and heard a favorite brother was interred -there. The girl moved from the spot, but Amanda, detained -by an irrepressible emotion, stayed a minute longer to contemplate -the awful scene. All was silent, sad, and solitary; the -grass-grown aisles looked long untrodden by human foot, the -green and mouldering walls appeared ready to crumble into -atoms, and the wind, which howled through their crevices, -sounded to the ear of fancy as sighs of sorrow for the desolation -of the place. Full of moralizing melancholy, the young, the -lovely Amanda, hung over the grave of her companion’s youthful -brother; and taking up the withered flower, wet with the -tear of sisterly affection, dropped another on it, and cried, -“Oh! how fit an emblem is this of life! how illustrative of -these words—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">‘Man comes forth as a flower in the field, and is soon cut down.’“</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Miss O’Flannaghan now led her through some more windings, -when, suddenly emerging from them, she found herself, to -her great surprise, in a large garden, entirely encompassed by -the ruins, and in the centre of it stood a long low building, -which her companion informed her was a convent; a folding -door at the side opened into the chapel, which they entered, -and found a nun praying.</p> - -<p>Amanda drew back, fearful of disturbing her; but Miss -O’Flannaghan accosted her without ceremony, and the nun returned -the salutation with the most cordial good-humor. She -was fifty, as Amanda afterwards heard, for she never could, -from her appearance, have conceived her to be so much. Her -skin was fair, and perfectly free from wrinkle; the bloom and -down upon her cheeks as bright and as soft as that upon a -peach; though her accent at one proclaimed her country, it was -not unharmonious; and the cheerful obligingness of her manner -amply compensated the want of elegance. She wore the -religious habit of the house, which was a loose flannel dress,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> -bound round her waist by a girdle, from which hung her beads -and a cross; a veil of the same stuff descended to the ground, -and a mob cap, and forehead cloth, quite concealed her hair.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> -Miss O’Flannaghan presented Amanda to her as a stranger, who -wished to see everything curious in the chapel. “Ah! my -honey,” cried she, “I am sorry she has come at a time when -she will see us all in the dismals, for you know we are in mourning -for our prioress (the altar was hung in black): but, my dear -(turning to Amanda), do you mean to come here next Sunday? -for if you do, you will find us all bright again.” Upon Amanda’s -answering in the negative, she continued, “Faith, and I am -sorry for that, for I have taken a great fancy to you, and when -I like a person, I always wish them as great a chance of happiness -as I have myself.” Amanda, smiling, said, she believed -none could desire a greater, and the nun obligingly proceeded -to show her all the relics and finery of the chapel; among the -former was a head belonging to one of the eleven thousand -virgin martyrs, and the latter, a chest full of rich silks, which -pious ladies had given for the purpose of dressing the altar. -Pulling a drawer from under it, she displayed a quantity of artificial -flowers, which she said were made by the sisters and their -scholars. Amanda wished to make a recompense for the -trouble she had given, and finding they were to be sold, purchased -a number, and having given some to Miss O’Flannaghan, -whom she observed viewing them with a wishful eye, she left -the rest with the nun, promising to call for them the next day. -“Ay, do,” said she, “and you may be sure of a sincere welcome. -You will see a set of happy poor creatures, and none happier -than myself. I entered the convent at ten; I took the vows at -fifteen, and from that time to the present, which is a long stretch, -I have passed a contented life, thanks be to our blessed lady!” -raising her sparkling eyes to heaven. They ascended a few steps -to the place where the community sat. It was divided from the -body of the chapel by a slight railing. Here stood the organ. -The nun sighed as she looked at it. “Poor sister Agatha,” -cried she, “we shall never get such another organist. She was -always fit indeed for the heavenly choir. Oh! my dear,” turning -to Amanda, “had you known her, you would have loved -her. She was our late prioress, and elected to that office at -twenty-nine, which is reckoned an early age for it, on account of -the cleverness it requires. She had held it but two years when -she died, and we never were so comfortable as during her time, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>she managed so well. The mourning in the chapel, as I have -already told you, will be over for her next Sunday; but that -which is in our hearts will not be so speedily removed.” Miss -O’Flannaghan now reminded Amanda it was time to return, to -which, with secret reluctance, she consented. The nun pressed -her to stay to tea; but, on hearing of her engagement, only reminded -her of the promised visit. In their walk back, her companion -informed Amanda that the society consisted of twelve -nuns. Their little fortunes, though sunk in one common fund, -were insufficient to supply their necessities, which compelled -them to keep a day-school, in which the neighboring children -were instructed in reading, writing, plain-work, embroidery, and -artificial flowers. She also added, that the nuns were allowed -to go out, but few availed themselves of that liberty, and that, -except in fasting, they were strangers to the austerities practised -in foreign convents.</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The Abbey and the Nun, which the Author has attempted to describe, were such as -she really saw, but in a different part of Ireland from that which she has mentioned.</p></div> - -<p>For such a society Amanda thought nothing could be better -adapted than their present situation. Sheltered by the ruins, -like the living entombed among the dead, their wishes, like their -views, were bounded by the mouldering walls, as no object appeared -beyond them which could tempt their wandering from -their usual limits. The dreary common, which met their view, -could not be more bleak and inhospitable than the world in -general would have proved to these children of poverty and -nature.</p> - -<p>Father O’Gallaghan met the ladies at the door, and, familiarly -taking Amanda’s hand, said, “Why, you have stayed long -enough to be made a nun of. Here,” said he, “the cakes are -buttered, the tea made, and we are all waiting for you. Ah! -you little rogue,” smirking in her face, “by the head of St. -Patrick, those twinklers of yours were not given for the good of -your soul. Here you are come to play pell-mell among the -hearts of the honest Irish lads. Ah, the devil a doubt but you -will have mischief enough to answer for by and by, and then I -suppose you will be coming to me to confess and absolve you; -but remember, my little honey, if you do, I must be paid beforehand.” -Amanda disengaged her hand, and entered the parlor, -where the company, by a display of pocket-handkerchiefs on -their laps, seemed prepared to make a downright meal of the -good things before them. The Miss O’Flannaghans, from the -toils of the tea-table, at last grew as red as the ribbon with which -they were profusely ornamented. The table at length removed, -the chairs arranged, and benches placed in the passage for the -old folks, the signal for a dance was given by the piper’s playing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> -an Irish jig. The farmer’s eldest son, habited in his sky-blue -coat, his hair combed sleek on his forehead, and his complexion -as bright as a full-blown poppy, advanced to our heroine, and -begged, with much modesty, and many bows, she would do him -the favor to stand up with him. She hesitated a little, when -Father O’Gallaghan, giving her a tap, or rather slap, on the -shoulder, made her start suddenly from her seat. He laughed -heartily at this, declaring he liked to see a girl alive and merry. -As he could not join in the dance, he consoled himself with being -master of the ceremonies, and insisted on Amanda’s dancing -and leading off the priest in his boots. She felt little inclined -to comply; but she was one of those who can sacrifice their -own inclination to that of others. Being directed in the figure -by the priest, she went down the dance, but the floor being an -earthen one, by the time she had concluded it, she begged they -would excuse her sitting the remainder of the evening, she felt -so extremely fatigued. She and Fitzalan would gladly have -declined staying supper, but this they found impossible, without -either greatly mortifying, or absolutely offending their hospitable -entertainers.</p> - -<p>The table was covered with a profusion of good country fare, -and none seemed to enjoy it more truly than the priest. In -the intervals of eating, his jests flew about in every direction. -The scope he gave to his vivacity exhilarated the rest, so that, -like Falstaff, he was not only witty himself, but a promoter of -wit in others. “Pray, father,” said a young man to him, “what -do you give in return for all the good cheer you get?” “My -blessing, to be sure,” replied he. “What better could I give?” -“Ay, so you may think, but that is not the case with us all, I -promise you. It is so pithy, I must tell you a story about that -same thing called a priest’s blessing. A poor man went one -day to a priest, who had the name of being very rich and very -charitable; but as all we hear is not gospel, so the poor man -doubted a little the truth of the latter report, and resolved on -trying him. ‘Father,’ says he, ‘I have met with great losses. -My cabin was burned, my pigs stolen, and my cow fell into a -ditch and broke her neck; so I am come to ask your reverence, -for the love of heaven, to lend me a crown.’ ‘A crown!’ repeated -the angry and astonished priest. ‘O! you rogue, where -do you think I could get money to lend, except, like yourself, I -had pilfered and stolen?’ ‘O! that is neither here nor there,’ -replied the man. ‘You know I cleared the score on my conscience -with you long ago, so tell me, father, if you will lend me -half a crown?’ ‘No, nor a shilling.’ ‘Well, a farthing, then;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> -anything from such a good man as you.’ ‘No,’ said the priest, -‘not a mite.’ ‘Mayn’t I have your blessing?’ then asked the -man. ‘Oh! that you shall, and welcome,’ replied he, smiling. -‘Why, then, father,’ returned the other, ‘I would refuse it if you -forced it upon me; for, do you see, had it been worth one farthing, -you would have refused it to me.’”</p> - -<p>“You have put me in mind of a very curious story,” exclaimed -another young man, as this one concluded his. “A -young knight went into a chapel in Spain one morning, where -he observed a monk standing in a supplicating attitude, with a -box in his hand. He asked him what this was for, and learned, -to collect money for praying the souls of fifty Christians out of -purgatory, whom the Moors had murdered. The knight threw -a piece of money into the box, and the monk, after repeating a -short prayer, exclaimed, ‘There is one soul redeemed.’ The -knight threw in a second, and the priest, after the same ceremony, -cried, ‘There is another free.’ Thus they both went on, -one giving, and the other praying, till, by the monk’s account, -all the souls were free. ‘Are you sure of this?’ inquired the -knight. ‘Ay,’ replied the priest, ‘they are all assembled together -at the gate of heaven, which St. Peter gladly opened for -them, and they are now joyfully seated in Paradise.’ ‘From -whence they cannot be removed, I suppose,’ said the knight. -‘Removed!’ repeated the astonished priest. ‘No, the world -itself might be easier moved.’ ‘Then, if you please, holy father, -return me my ducats; they have accomplished the purpose for -which they were given, and, as I am only a poor cavalier, without -a chance of being as happily situated, at least for some -years, as the souls we have mutually contributed to release, I -stand in great need of them.’”</p> - -<p>Fitzalan was surprised at the freedom with which they treated -the priest; but he laughed as merrily as the rest at their stories, -for he knew that, though they sometimes allowed themselves a -little latitude, they neither wished nor attempted to shake off -his power.</p> - -<p>Fitzalan and Amanda withdrew as early as possible from -the party, which, if it wanted every other charm, had that of -novelty, at least to them. The next morning Amanda repaired -to the convent, and inquired for Sister Mary, the good-natured -nun she had seen the preceding evening. She immediately -made her appearance, and was delighted at seeing Amanda. -She conducted her to the school-room, where the rest of the -nuns and the pupils were assembled; and Amanda was delighted -with the content and regularity which appeared in the society,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> -as well as the obliging eagerness they showed to gratify her -curiosity. They led her through the house, which contained a -number of apartments, every nun having one to herself, furnished -with a bed, chair, table, and crucifix, and then to the -parlor, where their new prioress sat. She was a woman far advanced -in life. Had a painter wanted to personify benevolence, -he might have chosen her for a model—so soft, so benignant -was her countenance. Sorrow, as well as time, had marked it -deeply; but the mild expression of her eyes announced the -most perfect resignation to that sorrow. She received Amanda -with the truest politeness and most friendly warmth; and -Amanda felt impressed with real reverence for her, whilst she -acknowledged in her mind there could not be a happier situation -for her than her present. She thought it a pity the world -had been deprived of a woman who would have proved such -an ornament to it. Sister Mary disappeared, but returned in -a few minutes with cake and currant-wine, which she forced -Amanda to take. The good sister was enchanted with her -young visitor, and having no idea of concealing her feelings, -she openly expressed her admiration. “Dear mother,” said -she, addressing the prioress, “is she not a lovely creature? -What pretty eyes she has got, and what sweet little hands! -Oh, if our blessed lady would but touch her heart, and make -her become one of us, I should be so happy.” The prioress -smiled; she was not so great an enthusiast as Sister Mary. -“It would be a pity,” said she, “so sweet a flower should be -hid amidst the ruins of St. Catherine’s.”</p> - -<p>Amanda made an addition to the flowers; she was thanked -by the nuns, and entreated to favor them often with a visit. -Just as she reached Castle Carberry, she saw the Kilcorbans’ -carriage stop at it, from which Lady Greystock and the young -ladies alighted. They both spoke at once, and so extremely fast -that Amanda scarcely understood what they said. They declared -a thousand impertinent visitors had prevented their coming -the preceding morning and looking at the things she had -obligingly promised to show them. Amanda recollected no -such promise, but would not contradict them, and permitted -their taking what patterns they liked. Lady Greystock smiled -sarcastically at her young kinswomen, and expressed a wish to -see the castle. Amanda led her through it. Her ladyship was -particularly pleased with the dressing-room. Here the young -ladies, with rude and eager curiosity, examined everything; -but her ladyship, who was full as curious as themselves, could -not condemn freedoms she took herself. Observing a petticoat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> -in a tambour-frame, she admired the pattern; and hearing it -was designed by Amanda, extolled her fine taste, and declared -she should of all things like to have one worked in the same. -This hint was too plain to pass unnoticed. Amanda wished to -oblige, particularly any one advanced in life, and told her ladyship -she would work one for her. Lady Greystock smiled most -graciously at this, and pressing her hand, declared she was a -charming girl. The Miss Kilcorbans winked slyly, and, taking -her hand in turn, assured her they had conceived a most ardent -friendship for her, and hoped she would often favor them with -her company. Amanda answered those insincere professions -with cool civility, and the visitors departed.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Oh! fields, oh! woods, when, when, shall I be made</span> -<span class="i0">The happy tenant of your shade!”—<span class="smcap">Cowley</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Solitude to Amanda was a luxury, as it afforded her opportunities -of indulging the ideas on which her heart delighted to -dwell; she yet believed she should see Lord Mortimer, and -that Lord Cherbury’s sanctioning their attachment would remove -the delicate scruples of her father. From soothing his -passing hours, beguiling her own with the accomplishments she -possessed, and indulging the tender suggestions of hope, a -pleasure arose she thought ill exchanged for the trifling gayety -of the parties she was frequently invited to; she was never at -a loss for amusement within Castle Carberry, or about its domain; -the garden became the object of her peculiar care; its -situation was romantic, and long neglect had added to its -natural wildness. Amanda in many places discovered vestiges -of taste, and wished to restore all to primeval beauty. The -fruit-trees were matted together, the alleys grass-grown, and -the flowers choked with weeds; on one side lay a small wilderness, -which surrounded a gothic temple, and on the other green -slopes with masses of naked rock projecting through them; -a flight of rugged steps, cut in the living rock, led to a cave on -the summit of one of the highest, a cross rudely carved upon -the wall, and the remains of a matted couch, denoted this having -formerly been a hermitage; it overhung the sea, and all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> -about it were tremendous crags, against which the waves beat -with violence. Over a low-arched door was a smooth stone, -with the following lines engraved upon it:—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i7">“The pilgrim oft</span> -<span class="i0">At dead of night, amid his orisons hears</span> -<span class="i0">Aghast the voice of time—disparting towers</span> -<span class="i0">Tumbling all precipitate down, dashed</span> -<span class="i0">Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon.”—<span class="smcap">Dyer</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Under Amanda’s superintending care, the garden soon lost -its rude appearance, a new couch was procured for the hermitage, -which she ornamented with shells and sea-weeds, rendering -it a most delightful recess; the trees were pruned, the -alleys cleared of opposing brambles, and over the wall of the -gothic temple she hung the flowers she had purchased at St. -Catherine’s, in fanciful wreaths.</p> - -<p>She often ascended the devious path of the mountain, -which stretched beyond Castle Carberry, and beheld the waves -glittering in the sunbeams, from which its foliage sheltered -her. But no visionary pleasures, no delightful rambles, no -domestic avocations made her forgetful to the calls of benevolence; -she visited the haunts of poverty, and relieved its necessities -to the utmost of her power; the wretchedness so -often conspicuous among many of the lower rank, filled her -not only with compassion, but surprise, as she had imagined -that liberty and a fruitful soil were generally attended with -comfort and prosperity. Her father, to whom she communicated -this idea, informed her that the indigence of the peasants -proceeded in a great degree from the emigration of their land-lords. -“Their wealth,” said he, “is spent in foreign lands, -instead of enriching those from whence it was drawn; policy -should sometimes induce them to visit their estates; the revenue -of half a year spent on them would necessarily benefit -the poor wretches whose labors have contributed to raise it; -and by exciting their gratitude, add inclination to industry, and -consequently augment their profits.</p> - -<p>“The clouds which are formed by mists and exhalations, -return to the places from whence they were drawn in fertilizing -showers and refreshing dews, and almost every plant enriches -the soil from which it sprung. Nature, indeed, in all her -works, is a glorious precedent to man; but while enslaved by -dissipation, he cannot follow her example, and what exquisite -sources of enjoyment does he lose—to enlighten the toils of -labor, to cheer the child of poverty, to raise the drooping head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> -of merit—oh! how superior to the revels of dissipation, or the -ostentation of wealth.</p> - -<p>“Real happiness is forsaken for a gaudy phantom called -pleasure; she is seldom grasped but for a moment—yet in -that moment has power to fix envenomed stings within the -breast. The heart which delights in domestic joys, which -rises in pious gratitude to heaven, which melts at human woe, -can alone experience true pleasure. The fortitude with which -the peasants bear their sufferings should cure discontent of its -murmurs; they support adversity without complaining, and -those who possess a pile of turf against the severity of the winter, -a small strip of ground planted with cabbage and potatoes, -a cow, a pig, and some poultry, think themselves completely -happy, though one wretched hovel shelters all alike.”</p> - -<p>Oh! how rapturous! thought Amanda—the idea of Lord -Mortimer’s feeling recurring to her mind—to change such -scenes; to see the clay-built hovel vanish, and a dwelling of -neatness and convenience rise in its stead; to wander, continued -she, with him whose soul is fraught with sensibility, and view -the projects of benevolence realized by the hand of charity; -see the faded cheek of misery regain the glow of health,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“The desert blossom as the rose,”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>and content and cheerfulness sport beneath its shades.</p> - -<p>From such an ecstatic reverie as this, Amanda was roused -one morning by the entrance of the Kilcorbans and Lady -Greystock into the dressing-room where she was working. -“Oh! my dear!” cried the eldest of the young ladies, “we -have such enchanting news to tell you. Only think, who is -coming down here immediately—your uncle and aunt and -cousin. An express came this morning from Dublin, where -they now are, to the steward at Ulster Lodge, to have everything -prepared against next week for them.” “I declare,” said -Miss Alicia, “I shall quite envy you the delightful amusement -you will have with them.” Amanda blushed, and felt a little -confused. “You will have no reason, then, I fancy,” replied -she, “for I really do not know them.” “Oh, Lord!” exclaimed -Mrs. Kilcorban, “well, that is very comical, not to -know your own relations; but perhaps they always lived in -Scotland, and you were afraid to cross the sea to pay them a -visit.” “If that was the only fear she had,” said Lady Greystock, -with a satirical smile, “she could easily have surmounted -it: besides, would it not have held good with respect to one -place as well as another?” “Well, I never thought of that,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> -cried Mrs. Kilcorban: “but pray, miss, may I ask the reason -why you do not know them by letter?” “It can be of very -little consequence to you, madam,” replied Amanda, coolly, -“to hear it.” “They say Lady Euphrasia Sutherland is very -accomplished,” exclaimed Miss Kilcorban; “so a correspondence -with her would have been delightful. I dare say you -write sweetly yourself; so if ever you leave Castle Carberry, -I beg you will favor me with letters, for of all things, I doat -on a sentimental correspondence.” “No wonder,” said Lady -Greystock, “you are so particularly well qualified to support -one.” “But, my dear!” resumed Miss Kilcorban, “we are -to give the most enchanting ball that ever was given in this -world! Papa says we shall have full liberty to do as we please -respecting it.” “It will be a troublesome affair, I am afraid,” -said Mrs. Kilcorban. “We are to have confectioners and -French cooks from Dublin,” continued her daughter, without -minding this interruption. “Everything is to be quite in -style and prepared against the third night of the marquis and -marchioness’s arrival; so, my dear, you and your papa will -hold yourselves in readiness for our summons.” Amanda -bowed. “My sister and I are to have dancing dresses from -town, but I will not give you an idea of the manner in which -we have ordered them to be made. I assure you, you will be -absolutely surprised and charmed when you see them. All -the elegant men in the country will be at our entertainment. -I dare say you will be vastly busy preparing for it.” “Nature,” -said Lady Greystock, “has been too bounteous to Miss Fitzalan, -to render such preparations necessary.” “Oh, Lord!” -cried the young ladies, with a toss of their heads, “Miss Fitzalan -is not such a fool, I suppose, as to wish to appear unlike -every one else in her dress, but,” rising with their mamma, and -saluting her much more formally than they had done at their -entrance, “she is the best judge of that.”</p> - -<p>Fitzalan had never seen the marchioness since his marriage, -nor did he ever again wish to behold her. The inhumanity -with which she had treated her lovely sister—the malice with -which she had augmented her father’s resentment against the -poor sufferer, had so strongly prepossessed his mind with ideas -of the selfishness and implacability of hers, as to excite sentiments -of distaste and aversion for her. He considered her -as the usurper of his children’s rights—as accessory to the -death of his adored Malvina, and consequently the author of -the agonies he endured—agonies which time, aided by religion, -could scarcely conquer.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Oh love, how are thy precious, sweetest minutes</span> -<span class="i0">Thus ever crossed, thus vexed with disappointments;</span> -<span class="i0">Now pride, now fickleness, fantastic quarrels,</span> -<span class="i0">And sullen coldness give us pain by turns.”—<span class="smcap">Rowe</span>.</span> -</div></div> - - -<p>At the expected time, the marquis and his family arrived -with great splendor at Ulster Lodge, which was immediately -crowded with visitors of the first consequence in the county, -among whom were the Kilcorbans, whose affluent fortune gave -them great respectability. Mr. Kilcorban wished, indeed, to -be first in paying his compliments to the marquis, who had a -borough in his disposal he was desirous of being returned for. -Disappointed the last time he set up as one of the candidates -for the county, this was his only chance of entering that house -he had long been ambitious for a seat in. He knew, indeed, -his oratorical powers were not very great—often saying, he -had not the gift of the gab like many of the honorable gentlemen; -but then he could stamp and stare, and look up to the -gods and goddesses<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> for their approbation, with the best of -them; and, besides, his being a member of parliament would -increase his consequence, at least in the country.</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Ladies were admitted to the gallery of the Irish House of Commons.</p></div> - -<p>The female part of his family went from Ulster Lodge to -Castle Carberry, which they entered with a more consequential -air than ever, as if they derived new consequence from the -visit they had been paying. Instead of flying up to Amanda, -as usual, the young ladies swam into the room, with what they -imagined, a most bewitching elegance, and, making a sliding -curtsey, flung themselves upon a sofa, exactly opposite a -glass, and alternately viewed themselves, and pursued their -remarks on Lady Euphrasia’s dress. “Well, certainly, Alicia,” -said Miss Kilcorban, “I will have a morning gown made in -imitation of her ladyship’s : that frill of fine lace about the -neck is the most becoming thing in nature; and the pale blue -lining sweetly adapted for a delicate complexion.” “I think, -Charlotte,” cried Miss Alicia, “I will have my tambour muslin -in the same style, but lined with pink to set off the work.”</p> - -<p>“This aunt of yours, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Kilcor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>ban, -“is really a personable-looking woman enough, and her -daughter a pretty little sort of body.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! they are charming creatures,” cried both the young -ladies; “so elegant, so irresistibly genteel.”</p> - -<p>“Your ideas and mine, then,” said Lady Greystock, “differ -widely about elegance and irresistibility, if you ascribe either -to the ladies in question. Mr. Kilcorban,” continued she, -turning to Amanda, “feared, I believe, my Lord Marquis would -fly across the sea in a few hours; and that he might catch him -ere he took wing, never ceased tormenting us, from the time -breakfast was over till we entered the carriage, to make haste, -though he might have known it was quite too early for fine -folks to be visible.</p> - -<p>“Well, we posted off to Ulster Lodge, as if life and death -depended on our dispatch. Mr. Kilcorban was ushered into -the marquis’s study, and we into an empty room, to amuse -ourselves, if we pleased, with portraits of the marquis’s ancestors; -whilst bells in all quarters were tingling—maids and -footmen running up and down stairs—and cats, dogs, monkeys, -and parrots, which I found composed part of the travelling -retinue, were scratching, barking, chattering, and screaming, in -a room contiguous to the one we occupied. At length a fine, -perfumed jessamy made his appearance, and saying the ladies -were ready to have the honor of receiving us, skipped up stairs -like a harlequin. The marchioness advanced about two steps -from her couch to receive us, and Lady Euphrasia half rose -from her seat, and after contemplating us for a minute, as if to -know whether we were to be considered as human creatures or -not, sunk back into her former attitude of elegant languor, and -continued her conversation with a young nobleman who had -accompanied them from England.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I hope you will allow he is a divine creature,” exclaimed -Miss Kilcorban, in an accent of rapture. “Oh! what -eyes he has,” cried her sister; “what an harmonious voice! -I really never beheld any one so exquisitely handsome!”</p> - -<p>“Lord Mortimer, indeed,” said Lady Greystock—Amanda -started, blushed, turned pale, panted as if for breath, and -stared as if in amazement. “Bless me, Miss Fitzalan,” asked -her ladyship, “are you ill?” “No, madam,” replied Amanda, -in a trembling voice; “’tis only—’tis only a little palpitation of -the heart I am subject to. I have interrupted your ladyship; -pray proceed.” “Well,” continued Lady Greystock, “I was -saying that Lord Mortimer was one of the most elegant and -engaging young men I had ever beheld. His expressive eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> -seemed to reprove the folly of his fair companion; and her -neglect made him doubly assiduous, which to me was a most -convincing proof of a noble mind.”</p> - -<p>How did the heart of Amanda swell with pleasure at this -warm eulogium on Lord Mortimer! The tear of delight, of -refined affection, sprung to her eye, and could scarcely be prevented -falling.</p> - -<p>“Lord, madam,” cried Miss Kilcorban, whose pride was -mortified at Amanda’s hearing of the cool reception they had -met with, “I can’t conceive the reason you ascribe such rudeness -and conceit to Lady Euphrasia; ’tis really quite a misconstruction -of the etiquette necessary to be observed by people -of rank.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad, my dear,” replied Lady Greystock, “you are -now beginning to profit by the many lessons I have given you -on humility.”</p> - -<p>“I assure you, Miss,” said Mrs. Kilcorban, “I did not -forget to tell the marchioness she had a niece in the neighborhood. -I thought, indeed, she seemed a little shy on the -subject; so I suppose there has been a difference in the families, -particularly as you don’t visit her; but, at our ball, perhaps, -everything may be settled.” Amanda made no reply to this -speech, and the ladies departed.</p> - -<p>Her bosom, as may well be supposed, was agitated with the -most violent perturbations on hearing of Lord Mortimer’s being -in the neighborhood. The pleasure she felt at the first intelligence -gradually subsided on reflecting he was an inmate, -probably a friend, of those relations who had contributed to -the destruction of her mother; and who, from the character she -had heard of them, it was not uncharitable to think, would feel -no great regret, if her children experienced a destiny equally -severe. Might they not infuse some prejudices against her -into his bosom; to know she was the child of the unfortunate -Malvina, would be enough to provoke their enmity; or, if they -were silent, might not Lady Euphrasia, adorned with every -advantage of rank and fortune, have won, or at least soon win, -his affections?</p> - -<p>Yet scarcely did these ideas obtrude, ere she reproached -herself for them as injurious to Lord Mortimer, from whose -noble nature she thought she might believe his constancy never -would be shaken, except she herself gave him reason to relinquish -it.</p> - -<p>She now cheered her desponding spirits, by recalling the -ideas she had long indulged with delight, as her residence was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> -still a secret to the Edwins, whose letters to their daughter -were, by Fitzalan’s orders, constantly directed to a distant town -from whence hers, in return, were sent. She concluded chance -had informed Lord Mortimer of it, and flattered herself, that to -avoid the suspicion which a solitary journey to Ireland might -create in the mind of Lord Cherbury, he had availed himself of -the Marquis’s party, and come to try whether she was unchanged, -and her father would sanction their attachment, ere -he avowed it to the earl.</p> - -<p>Whilst fluctuating between hope and fear, Ellen, all pale -and breathless, ran into the room, exclaiming, “He is come! -he is come! Lord Mortimer is come!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, heavens!” sighed Amanda, sinking back in her chair -and dropping her trembling hands before her. Ellen, alarmed, -blamed herself for her precipitation, and, flying to a cabinet -snatched a bottle of lavender water from it, which she plentifully -sprinkled over her, and then assisted her to a window. “I -was so flurried,” cried the good-natured girl, as she saw her -mistress recovering, “I did not know what I was about. -Heaven knows, the sight of poor Chip himself could not have -given me more pleasure. I was crossing the hall when I saw -his lortship alighting; and to be sure, if one of the old warriors -had stepped out of his niche—and the tefil take them all, I say, -for they grin so horribly they frighten me out of my wits if I go -through the hall of a dark evening—so if one of them old -fellows, as I was saying, had jumped out, I could not have -peen more startled, and pack I ran into the little parlor, and -there I heard his lortship inquiring for my master; and to be -sure the sound of his voice did my heart good, for he is an old -friend, as one may say. So as soon as he went into the study, -I stole up stairs; and one may guess what he and my master -are talking about, I think.”</p> - -<p>The emotion of Amanda increased. She trembled so she -could not stand. She felt as if her destiny, her future happiness, -depended on this minute. In vain she endeavored to regain -composure. Her spirits were wound up to the highest pitch of -expectation, and the agitations inseparable from such a state -were not to be repressed.</p> - -<p>She continued near an hour in this situation, when the voice -of Mortimer struck her ear. She started up, and, standing in -the centre of the room, saw him walking down the lawn with -her father, who left him when he had reached the gate, where -his servants and horses were. The chill of disappointment -pervaded the heart of Amanda, and a shower of tears fell from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> -her. Ellen, who had remained in the room, was almost as -much disappointed as her mistress. She muttered something -about the inconstancy of men. They were all, for her part, she -believed, alike; all like Mr. Chip—captious on every occasion. -The dinner-bell now summoned Amanda. She dried her eyes, -and tied on a little straw hat to conceal their redness. With -much confusion she appeared before her father. His penetrating -eye was instantly struck with her agitation and pallid looks, -and he conjectured she knew of the visit he had received. On -receiving that visit, he wondered not at the strength of her -attachment. The noble and ingenuous air of Lord Mortimer -had immediately prepossessed Fitzalan in his favor. He saw -him adorned with all those perfections which are calculated to -make a strong and permanent impression on a heart of sensibility, -and he gave a sigh to the cruel necessity which compelled -him to separate two beings of such congenial loveliness; but -as that necessity neither was or could be overcome, he rejoiced -that Lord Mortimer, instead of visiting him on account of his -daughter, had merely come on affairs relative to the castle, and -had inquired for her with a coolness which seemed to declare -his love totally subdued. Not the smallest hint relative to the -letter in which he had proposed for her dropped from him, and -Fitzalan concluded his affections were transferred to some object -more the favorite of fortune than his portionless Amanda.</p> - -<p>This object, he was inclined to believe, was Lady Euphrasia -Sutherland, from what Lord Cherbury had said concerning the -splendid alliance he had in view for his son, and from Lord -Mortimer’s accompanying the Roslin family to Ireland.</p> - -<p>He felt he had not fortitude to mention those conjectures -to Amanda. He rather wished she should imbibe them from -her own observation; and pride, he then trusted, would come -to her aid, and stimulate her to overcome her attachment. -Dinner passed in silence. When the servant was withdrawn, -he resolved to relieve the anxiety which her looks informed -him pressed upon her heart, by mentioning the visit of Lord -Mortimer. He came, he told her, merely to see the state the -castle was in, and thus proceeded: “Lord Mortimer is, indeed, -an elegant and sensible young man, and will do honor to the -house from which he is descended. He had long wished, he -told me, to visit this estate, which was endeared to him by the -remembrance of his juvenile days, but particularly by its being -the place of his mother’s nativity, and her favorite residence; -and the opportunity of travelling with an agreeable party, had -determined him no longer to defer gratifying this wish.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He mentioned his mother in terms of the truest respect -and tenderness; and his softened voice, his tearful eye, proclaimed -his heart the mansion of sensibility. His virtues, like -his praises, will do honor to her memory. He had been told -the castle was in a very ruinous state, and was agreeably surprised -to find it in as good order as could be expected from -its ancient date. He desired to see the garden, which had -been laid out under the direction of his mother. He expected -not to have found a vestige of her taste remaining, and was -consequently charmed to find himself mistaken. Every spot -appeared to remind him of some happy hour, especially the -gothic temple. ‘How many happy minutes have I passed in -this place,’ said his lordship, after a silence for some time, -‘with the best of women.’—Upon my word, Amanda,” continued -Fitzalan, “you have ornamented it in a very fanciful -manner. I really thought his lordship would have stolen some -of your lilies or roses, he examined them so accurately.” -Amanda blushed, and her father still perceiving expectation in -her eyes, thus went on: “His lordship looked at some of the -adjacent grounds; and as he has mentioned what improvements -he thought necessary to be made in them, I fancy he -will not repeat his visit, or stay much longer in the kingdom.”</p> - -<p>In a few minutes after this conversation Fitzalan repaired -to his library, and Amanda to the garden. She hastened to -the temple. Never had she before thought it so picturesque, -or such an addition to the landscape. The silence of Lord -Mortimer on entering it, she did not, like her father, believe -proceeded altogether from retracing scenes of former happiness -with his mother. “No,” said she, “in this spot he also, perhaps, -thought of Amanda.”</p> - -<p>True, he had mentioned her with indifference to her father, -but that might (and she would flatter herself it did) proceed -from resentment, excited by her precipitate flight from Wales, -at a period when his received addresses gave him a right to information -about all her actions, and by her total neglect of him -since. Their first interview, she trusted, would effect a reconciliation, -by producing an explanation. Her father then, she -flattered herself, tender as he was, depending on her for happiness, -and prepossessed in Lord Mortimer’s favor, would no -longer oppose their attachment, but allow Lord Cherbury to be -informed of it, who she doubted not, would, in this as well as -every other instance, prove himself truly feeling and disinterested.</p> - -<p>Thus did Amanda, by encouraging ideas agreeable to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> -wishes, try to soften the disappointment she had experienced -in the morning. Fitzalan, on meeting his daughter at tea, was -not surprised to hear she had been in the gothic temple, but he -was to see her wear so cheerful an appearance. He was no -stranger to the human heart, and he was convinced some flattering -illusion could alone have enabled her to shake off the -sadness with which, but an hour before, she had been oppressed. -The sooner such an illusion was removed, the better; -and to allow her to see Lord Mortimer, he imagined would -be the most effectual measure for such a purpose.</p> - -<p>The more he reflected on that young nobleman’s manner, -and what he himself had heard from Lord Cherbury, the more -he was convinced Lady Euphrasia Sutherland was not only the -object destined for Lord Mortimer, but the one who now possessed -his affections; and believed his visit to Castle Carberry -had been purposely made, to announce the alteration of his -sentiments by the coldness of his conduct, and check any -hopes which his appearance in the neighborhood might have -created.</p> - -<p>He had hesitated about Amanda’s accepting the invitation -to the Kilcorban’s ball; but he now determined she should go, -impressed with the idea of her being there convinced of the -change in Lord Mortimer’s sentiments—a conviction he deemed -necessary to produce one in her own.</p> - -<p>Amanda impatiently longed for this night, which she believed -would realize either her hopes or fears.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“A crimson blush her beauteous face o’erspread,</span> -<span class="i0">Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red;</span> -<span class="i0">The driving colors, never at a stay,</span> -<span class="i0">Run here and there, and flush and fade away;</span> -<span class="i0">Delightful change! thus Indian ivory shows,</span> -<span class="i0">With which the bordering paint of purple glows,</span> -<span class="i0">Or lilies damasked by the neighboring rose.”—<span class="smcap">Dryden</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The wished-for night at length arrived, and Amanda arrayed -herself for it with a fluttering heart. The reflection of -her mirror did not depress her spirits; hope had increased the -brilliancy of her eyes, and given an additional glow to her -complexion. Ellen, who delighted in the charms of her dear -young lady, declared many of the Irish ladies would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> -reason to envy her that night; and Fitzalan when he entered -the parlor was struck with her surpassing loveliness. He -gazed on her with a rapture that brought tears into his eyes, -and felt a secret pride at the idea of the marchioness beholding -this sweet descendant of her neglected sister—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Into such beauty spread and blown so fair,</span> -<span class="i0">Though poverty’s cold wind, and crushing rain,</span> -<span class="i0">Beat keen and heavy on her tender years.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>“No,” said he to himself, “the titled Euphrasia, if she -equals, cannot at least surpass my Amanda—meekness and -innocence dwell upon the brow of my child; but the haughty -marchioness will teach pride to lower upon Lady Euphrasia.”</p> - -<p>Amanda, on reaching Grangeville, found the avenue full of -carriages. The lights dispersed through the house gave it -quite the appearance of an illumination. It seemed, indeed, -the mansion of gayety and splendor. Her knees trembled as -she ascended the stairs. She wished for time to compose herself, -but the door opened, her name was announced, and Mrs. -Kilcorban came forward to receive her. The room, though -spacious, was extremely crowded. It was decorated in a fanciful -manner with festoons of flowers, intermingled with variegated -lamps. Immediately over the entrance was the orchestra, -and opposite to it sat the marchioness and her party. The -heart of Amanda beat, if possible, with increased quickness on -the approach of Mrs. Kilcorban, and her voice was lost in her -emotions. Recollecting, however, that the scrutinizing eyes of -Lord Mortimer, and her imperious relations, were now on her, -she almost immediately recovered composure, and with her -usual elegance walked up the room. Most of the company -were strangers to her, and she heard a general buzz of “Who -is she?” accompanied with expressions of admiration from the -gentlemen, among whom were the officers of a garrison town -near Grangeville. Confused by the notice she attracted, she -hastened to the first seat she found vacant, which was near the -marchioness.</p> - -<p>Universal, indeed, was the admiration she had excited -among the male part of the company, by her beauty, unaffected -graces, and simplicity of dress.</p> - -<p>She wore a robe of plain white lutestring, and a crape turban, -ornamented with a plume of drooping feathers. She had -no appearance of finery, except a chain of pearls about her -bosom, from which hung her mother’s picture, and a light -wreath of embroidered laurel, intermingled with silver blossoms,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> -round her petticoat. Her hair, in its own native and glossy -hue, floated on her shoulders, and partly shaded a cheek where -the purity of the lily was tinted with the softest bloom of the -rose. On gaining a seat, her confusion subsided. She looked -up, and the first eyes she met were those of Lord Mortimer -(who leaned on Lady Euphrasia Sutherland’s chair), fastened -on her face with a scrutinizing earnestness, as if he wished to -penetrate the recesses of her heart, and discover whether he -yet retained a place in it. She blushed, and looking from him, -perceived she was an object of critical attention to the marchioness -and Lady Euphrasia. There was a malignant expression -in their countenances, which absolutely shocked her; and -she felt a sensation of horror at beholding the former, who had -so largely contributed to the sorrows of her mother. “Can it -be possible,” said Lady Euphrasia, replying to a young and -elegant officer who stood by her, in a tone of affectation, and -with an impertinent sneer, “that you think her handsome?” -“Handsome,” exclaimed he with warmth, as if involuntarily -repeating her ladyship’s word, “I think her bewitchingly irresistible. -They told me I was coming to the land of saints; -but,” glancing his sparkling eyes around, and fixing them on -Amanda; “I find it is the land of goddesses.”</p> - -<p>The marchioness haughtily frowned—Lady Euphrasia -smiled satirically, tossed her head, and played with her fan. -The propensities to envy and ill-nature, which the marchioness -had shown in her youth, were not less visible in age. As they -were then excited on her own account, so were they now on -her daughter’s. To engross praise and admiration for her, she -wished beauty blasted, and merit extirpated; nor did she ever -fail, when in her power, to depreciate one, and cast an invidious -cloud of calumny over the other. She beheld Amanda with -envy and hatred. Notwithstanding her partiality to her daughter, -she could not avoid seeing her vast inferiority, in point of -personal charms, to her young relation. True, Lady Euphrasia -possessed a fortune, which would always insure her attention; -but it was that unimpassioned and studied attention selfishness -dictates, the mere tribute of flattery. How different from the -spontaneous attention which Amanda excited, who, though -portionless and untitled, was beheld with admiration, followed -with praise, and courted with assiduity!</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia’s mind was the counterpart of her mother’s ; -but in figure she resembled her father. Her stature was low, -her features contracted, and though of the same age as Amanda, -their harsh expression made her appear much older.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> -Though blessed with the abundant gifts of fortune, she was -unhappy, if, from any one’s manner, she conceived that they -thought nature had not been quite so liberal to her. In the -domestic circle, constant flattery kept her in good-humor; but -when out, she was frequently chagrined at seeing women, infinitely -below her in rank and fortune, more noticed than herself.</p> - -<p>At the ball she supposed she should have appeared as little -less, at least, than a demi-goddess. Art and fashion were exhausted -in adorning her, and she entered the room with all the -insolence of conscious rank and affectation of beauty. As she -walked she appeared scarcely able to support her delicate frame, -and her languishing eyes were half closed. She could, however, -see there was a number of pretty women present, and -felt disconcerted. The respect, however, which she was paid, -a little revived her; and having contrived to detain Lord Mortimer -by her chair and Sir Charles Bingley, the young officer -already mentioned, who was colonel of a regiment quartered -in an adjacent town, she soon felt her spirits uncommonly -exhilarated by the attentions of two of the most elegant men -in the room; and like a proud sultana in the midst of her -slaves, was enjoying the compliments she extorted from them -by her prefatory speeches, when the door opened, and Amanda, -like an angel of light, appeared to dissolve the mists of vanity -and self-importance. Lord Mortimer was silent, but his speaking -eyes confessed his feelings. Sir Charles Bingley, who had -no secret motive to conceal his, openly avowed his admiration, -to which Lady Euphrasia replied as has been already mentioned.</p> - -<p>All the rapture Sir Charles expressed Lord Mortimer felt. -His soul seemed on the wing to fly to Amanda—to utter its -feelings—to discover hers and chide her for her conduct. This -first emotion of tenderness, however, quickly subsided, on recollecting -what that conduct had been—how cruelly, how ungratefully -she had used him. Fled in the very moment of hope -and expectation, leaving him a prey to distrust, anxiety, and -regret, he dreaded some fatal mystery—some improper attachment -(experience had rendered him suspicious), which neither -she nor her father could avow; for never did he imagine that -the scrupulous delicacy of Fitzalan alone had effected their -separation. He still adored Amanda; he neither could nor -desired to drive her from his thoughts, except well assured she -was unworthy of being harbored in them, and felt unutterable -impatience to have her mysterious conduct explained. From -Tudor Hall he had repaired to London, restless and unhappy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> -Soon after his arrival there, the marquis proposed his accompanying -him to Ireland. This he declined, having reason to -think Lord Cherbury meditated an alliance for him with his -family. The earl expressed regret at his refusal. He said he -wished he would join the marquis’s party, as he wanted his -opinion relative to the state of Castle Carberry, where a man -of integrity then resided, who would have any alterations or -repairs he might think necessary executed in the most eligible -manner. He mentioned the name of Fitzalan. Lord Mortimer -was surprised and agitated. He concealed his emotions, however, -and with apparent carelessness, asked a few questions -about him, and found that he was indeed the father of Amanda. -She was not mentioned, nor did he dare to inquire concerning -her; but he immediately declared that since his father wished -it so much, he would accompany the marquis. This was extremely -pleasing to that nobleman, and he and Lord Cherbury -had in reality agreed upon a union between him and Lady -Euphrasia, and meant soon openly to avow their intention. -Lord Mortimer suspected, and Lady Euphrasia was already -apprised of it; and from vanity, was pleased at the idea of -being connected with a man so universally admired. Love was -out of the question, for she had not sufficient sensibility to experience -it.</p> - -<p>He, cautious of creating hopes which he never meant to -realize, treated her only with the attention which common -politeness demanded, and on every occasion seemed to prefer -the marchioness’s conversation to hers, intending by this conduct -to crush the projected scheme in embryo, and spare himself -the mortification of openly rejecting it. Had his heart -even been disengaged, Lady Euphrasia could never have been -his choice. If Amanda in reality proved as amiable as he had -once reason to believe her, he considered himself bound, by -every tie of honor as well as love, to fulfil the engagement he -had entered into with her. He resolved, however, to resist -every plea of tenderness in her favor, except he was thoroughly -convinced she still deserved it. He went to Castle Carberry -purposely to make a display of indifference, and prevent any -ideas being entertained of his having followed her to Ireland. -He deemed himself justifiable in touching her sensibility (if, -indeed, she possessed any for him) by an appearance of coldness -and inattention; but determined, after a little retaliation -of this kind on her, for the pain she had made him endure, to -come to an explanation, and be guided by its result relative to -his conduct in future to her.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> - -<p>The character of a perfect stranger was the one he was to -support throughout the evening; but her loveliness, and the -gallantry of Sir Charles Bingley, tempted him a thousand times -to break through the restraint he had imposed on himself.</p> - -<p>The marchioness and Lady Euphrasia were not the only -persons displeased by the charms of Amanda. The Miss Kilcorbans -saw, with evident mortification, the admiration she excited, -which they had flattered themselves with chiefly engrossing; -their disappointment was doubly severe, after the pain, -trouble, and expense they had undergone in ornamenting their -persons; after the suggestions of their vanity, and the flattering -encomiums of their mamma, who presided herself at their -toilet, every moment exclaiming, “Well, well, heaven help the -men to-night, girls!”</p> - -<p>They fluttered across the room to Amanda, sweeping at -least two yards of painted tiffany after them; assured her they -were extremely glad to see her, but were afraid she was unwell, -as she never looked so ill. Amanda assured them she was -conscious of no indisposition, and the harmony of her features -remained undisturbed. Miss Kilcorban, in a half whisper, declared -the marchioness had never smiled since she had entered -the room, and feared her mamma had committed a great mistake -in inviting them together. The rudeness of this speech -shocked Amanda. An indignant swell heaved her bosom, and -she was about replying to it as it deserved, when Miss Alicia -stopped her by protesting she believed Lord Mortimer dying -for Lady Euphrasia. Amanda involuntarily raised her eyes at -this speech; but, instead of Lord Mortimer, beheld Sir Charles -Bingley, who was standing behind the young ladies. “Am I -pardonable,” cried he, smiling, “for disturbing so charming a -trio? but a soldier is taught never to neglect a good opportunity: -and one so propitious as the present for the wish of my -heart might not again offer.” The Miss Kilcorbans bridled up -at this speech; plied their fans and smiled most graciously -on him, certainly concluding he meant to engage one or other -for the first set. Passing gently between them, he bowed gracefully -to Amanda, and requested the honor of her hand. She -gave an assenting smile, and he seated himself beside her till -the dancing commenced. The sisters cast a malignant glance -over them, and swam off with a contemptuous indifference.</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia had expected Sir Charles and Lord -Mortimer would have been competitors for her hand, and was -infinitely provoked by the desertion of the former to her lovely -cousin. He was a fashionable and animated young man, whom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> -she had often honored with her notice in England, and wished -to enlist in the train of her supposed adorers. Lord Mortimer -could scarcely restore her good-humor by engaging her. Almost -immediately after him, young Kilcorban advanced for the same -purpose, and Lord Mortimer sincerely regretted he had been -beforehand with him. The little fop was quite chagrined at -finding her ladyship engaged; but entreated the next set he -might have the supreme honor and ecstatic felicity of her hand. -This, with the most impertinent affectation, she promised, if -able to endure the fatigue of another dance.</p> - -<p>Amanda was next couple to Lady Euphrasia, and endeavored -therefore to calm her spirits, which the rudeness of Miss Kilcorban -had discomposed, and attend to the lively conversation -of Sir Charles, who was extremely pleasing and entertaining. -Lord Mortimer watched them with jealous attention. His -wandering glances were soon noticed by Lady Euphrasia, and -her frowns and sarcastic speeches evinced her displeasure at -them. He tried to recollect himself, and act as politeness -required. She, not satisfied with fixing his attention, endeavored -to attract Sir Charles’s. She spoke to him across Amanda; -but all her efforts were here ineffectual. He spoke and laughed -with her ladyship, but his eyes could not be withdrawn from the -angelic countenance of his partner. Amanda’s hand trembled -as, in turning, she presented it to Lord Mortimer; but, though -he extended his, he did not touch it. There was a slight in -this which pierced Amanda’s heart. She sighed, unconscious -of doing so herself. Not so Sir Charles. He asked her, -smiling, to where, or whom, that sigh was wafted. This made -Amanda recall her wandering thoughts. She assumed an air -of sprightliness, and went down the dance with much animation. -When finished, Sir Charles led her to a seat near the one Lady -Euphrasia and Lord Mortimer occupied. She saw the eyes of -his lordship often directed towards her, and her heart fluttered -at the pleasing probability of being asked to dance by him. -Sir Charles regretted that the old-fashioned custom of not -changing partners was over, and declared he could not leave -her till she had promised him her hand for the third set. This -she could not refuse, and he left her with reluctance, as the -gentlemen were again standing up, to seek a partner. At the -same moment Lord Mortimer quitted Lady Euphrasia. Oh! -how the bosom of Amanda throbbed when she saw him approach -and look at her. He paused. A faintishness came -over her. He cast another glance on her, and passed on. Her -eye followed him, and she saw him take out Miss Kilcorban.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> -This, indeed, was a disappointment. Propriety, she thought, -demanded his dancing the first set with Lady Euphrasia, but, if -not totally indifferent, surely he would not have neglected engaging -her for the second. “Yes,” said she to herself, “he -has totally forgotten me. Lady Euphrasia is now the object, -and he only pays attention to those who can contribute to her -amusement.” Several gentlemen endeavored to prevail on her -to dance, but she pleaded fatigue, and sat solitary on a window, -apparently regarding the gay assembly, but in reality too much -engrossed by painful thoughts to do so. The woods, silvered -by the beams of the moon, recalled the venerable shades of -Tudor Hall to memory, where she had so often rambled by the -same pale beams, and heard vows of unchangeable regard—vows -registered in her heart, yet now without the hope of -having them fulfilled. The dancing over, the company repaired -to another room for refreshments. Amanda, absorbed in thought, -heeded not their almost total desertion, till young Kilcorban, -capering up to her, declared she looked as lonesome as a -hermit in his cell, and, laughing in her face, turned off with a -careless impertinence. He had not noticed her before that -night. He was indeed one of those little fluttering insects who -bask in the rays of fortune, and court alone her favorites. Elated -by an acquaintance with the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, -he particularly neglected Amanda, not only from deeming them -more worthy of his attention, but from perceiving he could -take no steps more certain of gaining their favor. His words -made Amanda sensible of the singularity of her situation. She -arose immediately, and went to the other room. Every seat -was already occupied. Near the door sat Lady Euphrasia and -the Miss Kilcorbans. Lord Mortimer leaned on the back of -her ladyship’s chair, and young Kilcorban occupied one by -her side, which he never attempted offering to Amanda. She -stood, therefore, most unpleasantly by the door, and was exceedingly -confused at hearing a great many, in a whispering way, -remarking the strangeness of her not being noticed by so near -a relation as the Marchioness of Roslin. A general titter at -her situation prevailed among Lady Euphrasia’s party, Lord -Mortimer excepted. “Upon my word,” said young Kilcorban, -looking at Amanda, “some ladies study attitudes which would -be as well let alone.” “For the study of propriety,” replied -her ladyship, who appeared to have unbended from her haughtiness, -“she would do admirably for the figure of Hope.” “If -she had but an anchor to recline on,” rejoined he. “Yes,” -answered her ladyship, “with her floating locks and die-away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> -glances.” “Or else, Patience on a monument,” cried he. -“Only she has no grief to smile at,” returned Lady Euphrasia. -“Pardon me there,” said he; “she has the grief—not, indeed, -that I believe she would smile at it—of being totally eclipsed -by your ladyship.” “Or, what do you think,” cried Lord -Mortimer, whose eyes sparkled with indignation during this -dialogue, “of likening her to Wisdom, pitying the follies of -human kind, and smiling to see the shafts of malice recoiling -from the bosom of innocence and modesty, with contempt, on -those who levelled them at it?”</p> - -<p>Amanda heard not these words, which were delivered in -rather a low voice. Her heart swelled with indignation at the -impertinence directed to her, and she would have quitted the -room but that the passage was too much crowded for her to pass. -Sir Charles Bingley, occupied in attending the young lady with -whom he had danced, observed not Amanda till the moment. -He instantly flew to her. “Alone—and standing!” said he; -“why did I not see you before?—you look fatigued.” She was -pale with emotion. “Kilcorban,” continued he, “I must suppose -you did not see Miss Fitzalan, or your seat would not have -been kept.” Then catching him by the arm, he raised him -nimbly from his chair, and directly carried it to Amanda; and -having procured her refreshments, seated himself at her feet, -exclaiming, “this is my throne, let kings come bow to it.” Her -lovely and unaffected graces had excited Sir Charles’s admiration; -but it was the neglect with which he saw her treated, diffused -such a soothing tenderness through his manner as he now -displayed. It hurt his sensibility, and had she even been plain -in her appearance, would have rendered her the peculiar object -of his attention. He detested the marchioness and her daughter -for their rancorous envy, as much as he despised the Kilcorbans -for their mean insolence. The marchioness told him -a long tale of the shocking conduct of Amanda’s parents, whose -ill qualities she declared her looks announced her to possess, -and endeavored to depreciate her in his favor; but that was -impossible.</p> - -<p>“Lord!” said Lady Euphrasia, rising as she spoke, “let -me pass; this scene is sickening.” Lord Mortimer remained -behind her. He loitered about the room, and his looks were -often directed towards Amanda. Her hopes began to revive. -The lustre rekindled in her eyes, and a soft blush again stole -over her cheek. Though engaged to Sir Charles, she felt she -should be pleased to have Lord Mortimer make an overture for -her hand. The company were now returning to the ball-room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> -and Sir Charles took her hand to lead her after them. At that -moment Lord Mortimer approached. Amanda paused as if to -adjust some part of her dress. He passed on to a very beautiful -girl, whom he immediately engaged, and led from the room. -She followed them with her eyes, and continued without moving, -till the fervent pressure Sir Charles gave her hand, restored her -to recollection.</p> - -<p>When the set with him was finished, she would have left the -house directly, had her servant been there; but after putting -up the horses, he had returned to Castle Carberry, and she did -not expect him till a very late hour. She declared her resolution -of dancing no more, and Sir Charles having avowed the -same, they repaired to the card-room, as the least crowded place -they could find. Lady Greystock was playing at the table, with -the marquis and marchioness. She beckoned Amanda to her, -and having had no opportunity of speaking before, expressed -her pleasure at then seeing her. The marquis examined -her through his spectacles. The marchioness frowned, and -declared, “she would take care in future, to avoid parties -subject to such disagreeable intruders.” This speech was too -pointed not to be remarked. Amanda wished to appear undisturbed, -but her emotions grew too powerful to be suppressed, -and she was obliged to move hastily from the table. Sir Charles -followed her. “Cursed malignity,” cried he, endeavoring to -screen her from observation, while tears trickled down her cheeks; -“but, my dear Miss Fitzalan, was your beauty and merit less -conspicuous, you would have escaped it; ’tis the vice of little -minds to hate that excellence they cannot reach.” “It is cruel, -it is shocking,” said Amanda, “to suffer enmity to outlive the -object who excited it, and to hate the offspring on account of -the parent—the original of this picture,” and she looked at her -mother’s, “merited not such conduct.” Sir Charles gazed on -it;—it was wet with the tears of Amanda. He wiped them -off, and pressing the handkerchief to his lips, put it in his -bosom.</p> - -<p>At this instant Lord Mortimer appeared. He had, indeed, -been for some time an unnoticed observer of the progress of this -<i>tete-��-tete</i>. As soon as he perceived he had attracted their regard, -he quitted the room.</p> - -<p>“His lordship is like a troubled spirit to-night, wandering to -and fro,” said Sir Charles; “I really believe everything is not -right between him and Lady Euphrasia.” “Something, then,” -cried Amanda, “is in agitation between him and her ladyship?” -“So says the world,” replied Sir Charles, “but I do not always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> -give implicit credit to its reports. I have known Lord Mortimer -this long time; and from my knowledge of him, should never -have supposed Lady Euphrasia Sutherland a woman capable of -pleasing him; nay, to give my real opinion, I think him quite -uninterested about her ladyship. I will not say so much as to -all the other females present. I really imagined several times -to-night, from his glances to you, he was on the point of requesting -an introduction, which would not have pleased me perfectly. -Mortimer possesses more graces than those which merely meet -the eye, and is a rival I should by no means like to have.”</p> - -<p>Amanda, confused by this discourse, endeavored to change -it, and at last succeeded. They conversed pleasantly together -on different subjects, till they went to supper, when Sir Charles -still continued his attention. Lord Mortimer was, or at least -appeared to be, entirely engrossed with Lady Euphrasia, who -from time to time tittered with the Miss Kilcorbans, and looked -satirically at Amanda. On quitting the supper-room, she found -her servant in the hall, and immediately desired him to have the -carriage drawn up. Sir Charles, who held her hand, requested -her to stay a little longer, yet acknowledged it was self alone -which dictated the request, as he knew she would not promote -her own pleasure by complying with it. As he handed her -into the carriage, he told her he should soon follow her example -in retiring, as the scene, so lately delightful, in losing her, would -lose all its charms. He entreated, and obtained permission, to -wait on her the next morning.</p> - -<p>How different was now the appearance of Amanda, to what -it had been at her departure from Castle Carberry! Pale, -trembling, and languid, her father received her into his arms—for, -till she returned, he could not think of going to rest—and -instantly guessed the cause of her dejection. His heart mourned -for the pangs inflicted on his child’s. When she beheld him -gazing on her with mingled woe and tenderness, she tried to -recruit her spirits; and after relating a few particulars of the -ball, answered the minute inquiries he made relative to the conduct -of the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. He appeared -unutterably affected on hearing it. “Merciful power,” exclaimed -he, “what dispositions! But you are too lovely, too -like your mother, my Amanda, in every perfection, to escape -their malice. Oh! may it never injure you as it did her. May -that Providence, whose protection I daily implore for the sweet -child of my love, the source of earthly comfort, render every -wish, every scheme which may be formed against her, abortive; -and oh! may it yet bless me with the sight of her happiness.”</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> - -<p>Amanda retired to her chamber, inexpressibly affected by -the language of her father. “Yes,” cried she, her heart swelling -with pity and gratitude to him, “my sorrow in future shall -be concealed, to avoid exciting his. The pain inflicted by thy -inconstancy, Mortimer, shall be hid within the recesses of my -heart, and never shall the peace of my father be disturbed by -knowing the loss of mine.”</p> - -<p>The gray dawn was now beginning to advance, but Amanda -had no inclination for repose. As she stood at the window, -she heard the solemn stillness of the scene frequently interrupted -by the distant noise of carriages, carrying home the weary -sons and daughters of dissipation. “But a few hours ago,” -said she, “and how gay, how animated was my soul; how dull, -how cheerless now! Oh! Mortimer, but a few hours ago, and -I believed myself the beloved of thine heart, but the flattering -illusion is now over, and I no longer shall hope, or thou deceive.” -She changed her clothes, and, flinging herself on the bed, from -mere fatigue, at length sunk into a slumber.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart,</span> -<span class="i0">Attended on his throne by all his guard</span> -<span class="i0">Of furious wishes, fears, and nice suspicions.”—<span class="smcap">Otway</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The next morning brought Sir Charles Bingley to Castle -Carberry. Fitzalan was out, but Amanda received him in her -dressing-room. He told her, with evident concern, he was on -the point of setting off for the metropolis, to embark from -thence immediately for England, having received letters that -morning, which recalled him there. He regretted that their -intimacy, or rather friendship, as with insinuating softness he -entreated permission to call it, was interrupted at its very commencement—declared -it gave him more pain than she could -imagine, or he express—and that his return to Ireland would -be expedited, for the purpose of renewing it, and requested he -might be flattered with an assurance of not being totally forgotten -during his absence. Amanda answered him as if she -supposed mere politeness had dictated the request. Her -father, she said, she was sure, would be happy to see him, if -he returned again to their neighborhood. At his entrance, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> -said he could stay but a few minutes, yet he remained about two -hours, and when he arose to depart, declared he had reason to -think the castle an enchanted one. He found it difficult to -get from it; “yet, unlike the knights of old,” continued he, “I -wish not to break the spell which detained me in it.”</p> - -<p>Day after day elapsed, and no Lord Mortimer appeared. -Amanda, indeed, heard frequently of him, and always as the -admirer of Lady Euphrasia. Frequently, too, she heard about -the family at Ulster Lodge, their superb entertainments, and -those given in the neighborhood to them. The Kilcorbans -seemed to have given her up entirely. Lady Greystock was -the only one of the family who continued to pay her any attention. -She called once or twice at Castle Carberry to see -whether her apron was finished, and tell all the news she had -picked up, to Amanda. The resolution which Amanda had -formed of concealing her melancholy from her father, she supported -tolerably well, but she only indulged it more freely in -solitude. The idea of Lord Mortimer’s union with Lady Euphrasia -haunted her imagination and embittered every moment. -“Yes,” she would exclaim (as she wandered through the garden, -which had been converted from a rude wilderness into a -scene of beauty by her superintending care), “I have planted -flowers, but another shall enjoy their sweets. I have planted -roses for Mortimer to strew in the path of Lady Euphrasia;—I -have adorned the landscape, and she shall enjoy its beauty!”</p> - -<p>About three weeks after the ball, as she sat at work one -morning in the dressing-room, beguiling her thoughts with a -little plaintive song, she heard the door softly open behind -her: she supposed it to be Ellen; but not finding any one advance, -turned round and perceived not Ellen indeed, but Lord -Mortimer himself. She started from her chair:—the work -dropped from her hands, and she had neither power to speak -or move.</p> - -<p>“I fear I have surprised and alarmed you,” said Lord Mortimer. -“I ask pardon for my intrusion, but I was informed I -should find Mr. Fitzalan here.”</p> - -<p>“He is in the study, I believe, my lord,” replied Amanda, -coolly, and with restored composure. “I will go and inform -him your lordship wishes to see him.”</p> - -<p>“No,” exclaimed he, “I will not suffer you to have so much -trouble: my business is not so urgent as to require my seeing -him immediately.” He reseated Amanda, and drew a chair -near her.</p> - -<p>She pretended to be busy with her work, whilst the eyes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> -Lord Mortimer were cast round the room, as if viewing well-known -objects, which at once pleased and pained his sensibility, -by awakening the memory of past delightful days. -“This room,” said he, softly sighing, “I well remember; it -was the favorite retirement of one of the most amiable of -women.”</p> - -<p>“So I have heard,” replied Amanda, “the virtues of Lady -Cherbury are remembered with the truest gratitude by many in -the vicinity of the castle.”</p> - -<p>“I think,” cried Lord Mortimer, gazing upon Amanda with -the softest tenderness, “the apartment is still occupied by a -kindred spirit.”</p> - -<p>Amanda’s eyes were instantly bent on the ground, and a -gentle sigh heaved her bosom; but it was rather the sigh of -regret than pleasure; with such an accent as this Lord Mortimer -was wont to address her at Tudor Hall, but she had now -reason to think it only assumed, for the purpose of discovering -whether she yet retained any sensibility for him. Had he not -treated her with the most pointed neglect? was he not the declared -admirer of Lady Euphrasia? had he not confessed, on -entering the room, he came to seek not her, but her father? -These ideas rushing through her mind, determined her to continue -no longer with him; delicacy, as well as pride, urged her -to this, for she feared, if she longer listened to his insinuating -language, it might lead her to betray the feelings of her heart; -she therefore arose, and said she would acquaint her father his -lordship waited for him.</p> - -<p>“Cold, insensible Amanda,” cried he, snatching her hand, -to prevent her departing, “is it thus you leave me? when we -parted in Wales, I could not have believed we should ever have -had such a meeting as this.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not, my lord,” replied she, somewhat haughtily, -“but we have both thought more prudently since that period.”</p> - -<p>“Then why,” said he, “did not prudence teach you to shun -a conduct which could create suspicion?”</p> - -<p>“Suspicion, my lord!” repeated Amanda, with a kind of -horror in her look.</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” cried he, “the word is disagreeable; but, -Miss Fitzalan, when you reflect on the manner in which you -have acted to me;—your precipitate, your clandestine departure, -at the very period when a mutual acknowledgment of reciprocal -feelings should have been attended with the most explicit -candor on both sides, you cannot wonder at unpleasant -conjectures and tormenting doubts obtruding on my mind.”</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Is it possible, my lord,” said Amanda, “you never conceived -the reason of my departure? Is it possible reflection -never pointed it out?”</p> - -<p>“Never, I solemnly assure you; nor shall I be happy till I -know it.” He paused, as if for a reply; but Amanda, agitated -by his words, had not power to speak. Whilst he stood silent, -trembling, and apparently embarrassed, she heard her father’s -voice, as he ascended the stairs. This instantly restored hers. -“I must go, my lord,” cried she, starting, and struggling to -withdraw her hand. “Promise then to meet me,” he said, -“this evening at St. Catherine’s, by seven, or I will not let you -go. My soul will be in tortures till I have your actions explained.” -“I do promise,” said Amanda. Lord Mortimer -released her, and she retired into her chamber just time enough -to avoid her father.</p> - -<p>Again her hopes began to revive. Again she believed she -was not mistaken in supposing Lord Mortimer had come into -Ireland on her account. His being mentioned as the admirer -of Lady Euphrasia, she supposed owing to his being a resident -in the house with her. About herself, had he been indifferent, -he never could have betrayed such emotions. His looks, as -well as language, expressed the feelings of a heart tenderly attached -and truly distressed. Lest any circumstance had happened, -which would prevent a renewal of that attachment, she -felt as much impatience as he manifested, to give the desired -explanation of her conduct.</p> - -<p>His lordship was scarcely gone, ere Lady Greystock made -her appearance. Amanda supposed, as usual, she only came -to pay a flying visit: how great then was her mortification and -surprise, when her ladyship told her she was come to spend the -day quite in the family way with her, as the ladies of Grangeville -were so busy preparing for a splendid entertainment they -were to be at the ensuing day, that they had excluded all visitors, -and rendered the house quite disagreeable.</p> - -<p>Amanda endeavored to appear pleased, but to converse she -found almost impossible, her thoughts were so engrossed by an -absent object. Happily her ladyship was so very loquacious -herself, as at all times to require a listener more than a speaker. -She was, therefore, well satisfied with the taciturnity of her fair -companion. Amanda tried to derive some comfort from the -hope that her ladyship would depart early in the evening, to -which she flattered herself she would be induced by the idea of -a comfortable whist party at home. But six o’clock struck, and -she manifested no inclination to move. Amanda was in agony.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> -Her cheek was flushed with agitation. She rose and walked to -the window, to conceal her emotion, whilst her father and Lady -Greystock were conversing. The former at last said, he had -some letters to write, and begged her ladyship to excuse his -absence for a few minutes. This she most graciously promised -to do, and pulling out her knitting, requested Amanda to read -to her till tea-time. Amanda took up a book, but was so confused, -she scarcely knew what, or how she read.</p> - -<p>“Softly, softly, my dear child,” at last exclaimed her ladyship, -whose attention could by no means keep pace with the -rapid manner in which she read. “I protest you post on with -as much expedition as my Lady Blerner’s poneys on the circular.” -Amanda blushed, and began to read slowly; but when -the clock struck seven her feelings could be no longer repressed. -"Good Heaven!” cried she, letting the book drop from her -hand, and starting from her chair, “this is too much.” “Bless -me! my dear!” said Lady Greystock, staring at her, “what is -the matter?” “Only a slight headache, madam,” answered -Amanda, continuing to walk about the room.</p> - -<p>Her busy fancy represented Lord Mortimer, now impatiently -waiting for her—thinking in every sound which echoed among -the desolate ruins of St. Catherine’s he heard her footsteps; -his soul melting with tenderness at the idea of a perfect reconciliation, -which an unsatisfied doubt only retarded. What would -he infer from her not keeping an appointment so ardently desired, -so solemnly promised, but that she was unable to remove -that doubt to his satisfaction. Perhaps he would not credit the -reason she could assign for breaking her engagement. Perhaps -piqued at her doing so, he would not afford her an opportunity -of accounting for it, or the apparent mystery of her late -conduct. To retain his doubts would be to lose his tenderness, -and, at last, perhaps, expel her from his heart. She thought of -sending Ellen to acquaint him with the occasion of her detention -at home; but this idea existed but for a moment. An appointment -she concealed from her father she could not bear to -divulge to any other person; it would be a breach of duty and -delicacy, she thought. “No,” said she to herself, “I will not, -from the thoughtlessness and impetuosity which lead so many -of my sex astray, overstep the bounds of propriety, and to reinstate -myself in the esteem of one person lose that of others; -and, above all, that of my own heart. If Lord Mortimer refuses -to hear my justification, he will act neither agreeably to -candor or justice, and pride must aid in repelling my regret.” -“You look strangely, indeed, my dear,” said Lady Greystock,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> -who was attentively watching her, whilst those ideas were rising -in her mind. Amanda recollected the remarks which might be -made on her behavior; and apologizing for the manner in which -she had acted, took her seat with some degree of composure. -Fitzalan soon after entered the room, and tea was made; when -over, Lady Greystock declared they were a snug party for three-handed -whist. Amanda would gladly have excused herself from -being of the party, but politeness made her conceal her reluctance; -but extreme dejection was noticed both by Fitzalan and -her ladyship. The latter imputed it to regret, at not being permitted -by her father to accept an invitation she had received -for a ball the ensuing evening.</p> - -<p>“Don’t fret about it, my dear creature,” said she, laying -down her cards, to administer the consolation she supposed -Amanda required; “’tis not by frequenting balls and public -places a girl always stands the best chance of being provided -for; I, for my part, have been married three times, yet never -made a conquest of any one of my husbands in a public place. -No, it was the privacy of my life partly obtained for me so -many proofs of good fortune.” Fitzalan and Amanda laughed. -“I shall never be dissatisfied with staying at home,” said the -latter, “though without either expecting or desiring to have my -retirement recompensed as your ladyship’s was.” “One prize -will satisfy you then,” said Fitzalan. “Ah!” cried Lady Greystock, -“it is Lady Euphrasia Sutherland will obtain the capital -one. I don’t know where such another young man as Lord -Mortimer is to be found.” “Then your ladyship supposes,” -said Fitzalan, “there is some truth in the reports circulated, -relative to him and Lady Euphrasia.” “I assure you there is,” -said she; “and I think the connection will be a very eligible -one. Their births, their fortunes, are equal.” But ah, thought -Amanda, how unlike their dispositions. “I dare say,” proceeded -her ladyship, “Lady Euphrasia will have changed her -title before this time next year.”</p> - -<p>Fitzalan glanced at Amanda: her face was deadly pale, and -she put him and Lady Greystock out in the game by the errors -she committed. At last the carriage from Grangeville arrived, -and broke up a party Amanda could not much longer have supported. -Her father perceived the painful efforts she made to -conceal her distress. He pitied her from his soul, and, pretending -to think she was only indisposed, entreated her to retire -to her chamber. Amanda gladly complied with this -entreaty, and began to meditate on what Lady Greystock had -said. Was there not a probability of its being true? Might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -not the indifference Lord Mortimer had manifested on his first -arrival in the neighborhood have really originated from a change -of affections? Might not the tenderness he displayed in the -morning have been concerted with the hope of its inducing her -to gratify his curiosity, by relating the reason of her journey -from Wales, or please his vanity by tempting her to give some -proof of attachment? But she soon receded from this idea. -Lady Greystock was not infallible in her judgment. Reports -of approaching nuptials, Amanda knew, had often been raised -without any foundation for them. The present report, relative -to Lord Mortimer and Lady Euphrasia, might be one of that -nature. She could not believe him so egregiously vain, or so -deliberately base, as to counterfeit tenderness merely for the -purpose of having his curiosity or vanity gratified. She felt, -however, truly unhappy, and could derive no consolation but -from the hope that her suspense, at least, would soon be -terminated.</p> - -<p>She passed a restless night; nor was her morning more -composed. She could not settle to any of her usual avocations. -Every step she heard, she started in expectation of instantly -seeing Lord Mortimer; but he did not appear. After dinner -she walked out alone, and took the road to St. Catherine’s. -When she reached the ruins, she felt fatigued, and sat down -upon a flag in the chapel to rest herself. “Here,” said she, -pensively leaning her head upon her hand, “Mortimer waited -for me; perhaps with tender impatience. Here, too, he perhaps -accused me of neglect or deceit.” She heard a rustling -behind her, and turning, perceived Sister Mary.</p> - -<p>“You are welcome, my dear soul,” cried the good-natured -nun, running forward, and sitting down by her; “but why did -you not come in to see us?” continued she, affectionately kissing -her. Amanda said, “such was her intention, but feeling a little -indisposed, she had remained in the air, in hopes of growing -better.” “Oh, Jesu!” cried the sister, “you do indeed look ill, -I must go and get you a cordial from our prioress, who is quite -a doctress, I assure you.”</p> - -<p>Amanda caught her gown as she was running away, and assured -her she was better.</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” said she, resuming her seat, “I must tell you -of an odd thing which happened here last night. I came out -to walk about the ruins between the lights—that is, as one may -say, when it is neither dark or light. As the air was cold, I -wrapped my veil about me, and had just turned the cloisters, -when I heard a quick foot pacing after me. Well, I, supposing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> -it to be one of the sisters, walked slowly, that she might easily -overtake me. But you may guess my surprise when I was overtaken, -not by one of them indeed, but by one of the finest and -most beautiful young men I ever beheld. Lord, how he did start -when he saw me, just for all the world as if I was a ghost; he -looked quite wild, and flew off muttering something to himself. -Well, I thought all this strange, and was making all the haste I -could to the convent, when he appeared again coming from -under that broken arch; and he bowed and smiled so sweetly, -and held his hat in his hand so respectfully, whilst he begged -my pardon for the alarm he had given me; and then he blushed -and strove to hide his confusion with his handkerchief, while -he asked me if I had seen here a young lady about the ruins -that evening, as a particular friend had informed him she would -be there, and desired him to escort her home. ‘Why, my dear -sir,’ says I, ‘I have been about this place the whole evening, -and there has neither been man, woman, nor child, but you and -myself; so the young lady changed her mind, and took another -ramble.’ ‘So I suppose,’ said he, and he looked so pale, and -so melancholy, I could not help thinking it was a sweetheart he -had been seeking; so by way of giving him a bit of comfort, -‘Sir,’ says I, ‘if you will leave any marks of the young lady you -were seeking with me, I will watch here myself a little longer -for her; and if she comes I will tell her how uneasy you were -at not finding her, and be sure to dispatch her after you.’ ‘No, -he thanked me,’ he said, ‘but it was of very little consequence -his not meeting her, or indeed whether he ever met her again,’ -and went away.” “Did he?” said Amanda. “Bless me!” -exclaimed the nun, “you are worse, instead of better.”</p> - -<p>Amanda acknowledged she was, and rising, requested she -would excuse her not paying her compliments that evening at -the nunnery.</p> - -<p>Sister Mary pressed her to drink tea with the prioress, or at -least take some of her excellent cordial; but Amanda refused -both requests, and the affectionate nun saw her depart with -reluctance.</p> - -<p>Scarcely had she regained the road, ere a coach and six, -preceded and followed by a number of attendants, approached -with such quickness that she was obliged to step aside to avoid -it. Looking in at the window as it passed, she saw Lord -Mortimer and Lady Euphrasia seated in it, opposite to each -other; she saw they both perceived her, and that Lady -Euphrasia laughed, and put her head forward to stare impertinently -at her. Amanda was mortified that they had seen her:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> -there was something at that moment humiliating in the contrast -between their situation and hers—she, dejected and solitary, -they adorned and attended with all the advantages of fortune. -But in the estimation of a liberal mind, cried she, the want of -such advantage can never lessen me—such a mind as I flatter -myself Lord Mortimer possesses. Ah! if he thinks as I do, he -would prefer a lonely ramble in the desolate spot I have just -quitted, to all the parade and magnificence he is about witnessing. -The night passed heavily away. The idea of Lord -Mortimer’s devoting all his attention to Lady Euphrasia, could -not be driven from her mind.</p> - -<p>The next morning, the first object she saw, on going to the -window, was a large frigate lying at anchor near the castle. -Ellen entered her chamber, and sighing heavily, as she always -did, indeed, at the sight of a ship, said, “she wished it contained -her wandering sailor.” Amanda indulged a hope that Lord -Mortimer would appear in the course of the day, but she was -disappointed. She retired, after tea, in the evening to her -dressing-room, and seated in the window, enjoyed a calm and -beautiful scene. Not a cloud concealed the bright azure of the -firmament; the moon spread a line of silvery radiance over the -waves, that stole with a melancholy murmur upon the shore; -and the silence which reigned around was only interrupted by -the faint noise of the mariners on board the frigate, and their -evening drum. At last Amanda heard the paddling of oars, -and perceived a large boat coming from the ship, rowed by -sailors in white shirts and trousers, their voices keeping time to -their oars. The appearance they made was picturesque, and -Amanda watched them till the boat disappeared among the -rocks. The supper-bell soon after summoned her from the -window; but scarcely had she retired to her chamber for the -night, ere Ellen, smiling, trembling, and apparently overcome -with joy, appeared.</p> - -<p>“I have seen him,” cried she, hastily; “oh, madam, I have -seen poor Chip himself, and he is as kind and as true-hearted -as ever. I went this evening to the village to see old Norah, to -whom you sent the linen, for she is a pleasing kind of poty, and -does not laugh like the rest at one for their Welsh tongue; so -when I was returning home, and at a goot tistance from her -cabin, I saw a great number of men coming towards me, all -dressed in white. To pe sure, as I heerd a great teal apout the -white poys, I thought these were nothing else, and I did so -quake and tremble, for there was neither hole, or bush, or tree -on the spot, that would have sheltered one of the little tiny<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> -fairies of Penmaenmawr. Well, they came on, shouting and -laughing, and merrier than I thought such rogues ought to be; -and the moment they espied me, they gathered round me, and -began pulling me about; so I gave a great scream, and tirectly -a voice (Lort, how my heart jumped at it) cried out, ‘that is -Ellen;’ and to pe sure poor Chip soon had me in his arms; -and then I heard they were sailors from the frigate, come to get -fresh provisions at the village; so I turned pack with them, and -they had a great bowl of whiskey punch, and a whole sight of -cakes, and Chip told me all his adventures; and he was so glad -when he heard I lived with you, pecause he said you were a -sweet, mild young laty, and he was sure you would sometimes -remind me of him; and he hopes soon to get his tischarge, and -then—” “You are to be married,” said Amanda, interpreting -the blushes and hesitation of Ellen. “Yes, matam, and I assure -you Chip is not altered for the worse py a seafaring life. -His voice, inteed, is a little of the roughest, but he told me -that was owing to his learning the poatswain’s whistle. Poor -fellow, he sails to-morrow night. The ship is on the Irish -station, and they are to coast it to Dublin.”</p> - -<p>“Happy Ellen!” said Amanda, as she retired from her -chamber, “thy perturbations and disquietudes are over; assured -of the affection of thy village swain, peace and cheerfulness -will resume their empire in thy breast.”</p> - -<p>The next evening at twilight, Amanda went down to the -beach with her father to see the fishermen drawing their seines -on shore, on which their hopes, and the comfort of their families, -depended. Whilst Fitzalan conversed with them, Amanda -seated herself on a low rock to observe their motions. In the -murmur of the waves there was a gentle melancholy, in unison -with her present feelings. From a pensive meditation, which -had gradually rendered her inattentive to the scene before her, -she was suddenly roused by voices behind her. She started -from her seat, for in one of them she imagined she distinguished -the accent of Lord Mortimer. Nor was she mistaken. He -was descending a winding path near her, accompanied by a -naval officer. To pass without seeing her was impossible; and -as he approached her, he stopped, apparently hesitating whether -or not he should address her. In a few minutes his hesitation -ended, with waving his handkerchief, as if to bid her adieu, -whilst he proceeded to a small boat which had been for some -time lying in a creek among the rocks, and which, on receiving -him and his companion, immediately rowed to the frigate. -Amanda trembled. Her heart beat violently. Ellen had in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>formed -her the frigate was to sail that night; and what could -induce Lord Mortimer to visit it at such an hour, except an intention -of departing in it.</p> - -<p>Uncertainty is dreadful. She grew sick with anxiety before -her father returned to the castle. On entering it, she immediately -repaired to her chamber, and calling Ellen hastily, demanded -if Chip’s intelligence was true?</p> - -<p>“Alas! yes,” said Ellen, weeping violently; “and I know -the reason you inquire. You saw Lord Mortimer going to the -ship. I saw him myself, as I stood on the beech talking to Chip, -who was one of the sailors that came in the boat for his lortship -and the captain; and to be sure the sight left my eyes when I -saw my lort departing, pecause I knew he was going away in -anger at the treatment he supposed he received from you.”</p> - -<p>“From me?” exclaimed Amanda.</p> - -<p>“Oh! you will never forgive me for acting so padly as I -have done by you,” sobbed Ellen; “put inteed the sight of poor -Chip drove everything from my memory put himself. Last -night, as I was going to Norah’s, I overtook Lort Mortimer on -the road, who was walking quite sorrowfully, as I may say, py -himself; so to pe sure I thought I could do no less in good -manners than drop him a curtsey as I passed; so up he came -to me directly: ‘And, my good girl, how are you?’ said he; -and he smiled so sweetly, and looked so handsome; and then -he took my hand, and to pe sure his hand was as soft as any -velvet. ‘And pray, Ellen,’ said he, ‘is Miss Fitzalan at -home, and disengaged?’ I told him you was, and Cot knows, -my Lort, said I, and melancholy enough, too. I left her in the -tressing-room window, looking out at the waves, and listening -to the winds. ‘Well, hasten home,’ cried he, ‘and tell her she -will oblige me greatly py meeting me immediately at the rocks -peyond the castle.’ I promised him I would, and he put, nay, -inteed, forced five guineas into my hand, and turned off another -road, charging me not to forget; put as I was so near Norah’s, -I thought I might just step in to see how she did, and when I -left her, I met poor Chip, and Lort knows I am afraid he would -have made me forget my own tear father and mother.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Ellen!” cried Amanda, “how could you serve me -so?” “Oh, tear!” said Ellen, redoubling her tears, “I am -certainly one of the most unfortunate girls in the world; put, -Lort, now, Miss Amanda, why should you be so sorrowful; for -certain my lort loves you too well to pe always angry. There -is poor Chip now, though he thought I loved Parson Howel, -he never forgot me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> -Ellen’s efforts at consolation were not successful, and -Amanda dismissed her, that, unnoticed and unrestrained, she -might indulge the tears which flowed at the idea of a long, a -lasting separation, perhaps, from Lord Mortimer. Offended, -justly offended, as she supposed, with her, the probability was -she would be banished from his thoughts, or, if remembered, -at least without esteem or tenderness: thus might his heart -soon be qualified for making another choice. She walked to -the window, and saw the ship already under weigh. She saw -the white sails fluttering in the breeze, and heard the shouts of -the mariners. “Oh, Mortimer!” cried she, “is it thus we -part? is it thus the expectations you raised in my heart are -disappointed? You go hence, and deem Amanda unworthy a -farewell. You gaze, perhaps, at this moment on Castle Carberry, -without breathing one sigh for its inhabitants. Ah, had -you loved sincerely, never would the impulse of resentment -have conquered the emotion of tenderness. No, Mortimer, -you deceived me, and perhaps yourself, in saying I was dear to -you. Had I been so, never could you have acted in this -manner.” Her eyes followed the course of the vessel, till it -appeared like a speck in the horizon. “He is gone,” said she, -weeping afresh, and withdrawing herself from the window; “he -is gone, and if ever I meet him again, it will probably be as the -husband of Lady Euphrasia.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Think’s t thou I’ll make a life of jealousy,</span> -<span class="i0">To follow still the changes of the moon</span> -<span class="i0">With fresh surmises? No; to be once in doubt</span> -<span class="i0">Is to be resolved. But yet</span> -<span class="i0">I’ll see before I doubt: when I doubt, prove,</span> -<span class="i0">And on the proof there is no more but this—</span> -<span class="i0">Away at once with love or jealousy.”—<span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Lord Mortimer had, in reality, departed with sentiments -very unfavorable to Amanda. He had waited impatiently at -St. Catherine’s, in the fond expectation of having all his doubts -removed by a candid explanation of the motives which caused -her precipitate journey from Wales. His soul sighed for a reconciliation: -his tenderness was redoubled by being so long restrained. -The idea of folding his beloved Amanda to his -bosom, and hearing that she deserved all the tenderness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> -sensibility which glowed in that bosom for her, gave him the -highest pleasure; but when the appointed hour passed, and no -Amanda appeared, language cannot express his disappointment. -Almost distracted by it, he ventured to inquire concerning her -from Sister Mary; and, long after the friendly nun had retired -to the convent, continued to wander about the ruins, till the -shadows of night had enveloped every object from his view. -“She fears to come, then,” exclaimed he, quitting the desolate -spot, oppressed with the keenest anguish; “she fears to come, -because she cannot satisfy my doubts. I witnessed her agitation, -her embarrassment, this morning, when I hinted at them. -The mystery which separated us will not be explained, and it is -in vain to think we shall ever meet, as I once flattered myself -we should.”</p> - -<p>This thought seemed to strike at all his hopes. The distress -and disorder of his mind was depicted on his countenance, -and escaped not the observation and raillery of the marchioness -and Lady Euphrasia; but their raillery was in vain, and unanswered -by him; he was absorbed in a train of pensive reflections, -which they had neither power to remove or disturb.</p> - -<p>Most unwillingly he accompanied them the ensuing day to -a splendid entertainment given purposely for them in the -neighborhood. The unexpected sight of Amanda, as she stood -on a little elevated bank, to avoid the carriage, caused a sudden -emotion of surprise and delight in his bosom. The utmost -powers of eloquence could not have pleaded her cause so successfully -as her own appearance at that minute did. The languor -of her face, its mild and seraphic expression, her pensive -attitude, and the timid modesty with which she seemed shrinking -from observation, all touched the sensibility of Lord Mortimer, -awakened his softest feelings, revived his hopes, and made -him resolve to seek another opportunity of demanding an explanation -from her. The sudden color which flushed his cheeks, -and the sparkling of his eyes, as he looked from the carriage, -attracted the notice of his companions. They smiled maliciously -at each other, and Lady Euphrasia declared, “She -supposed the girl was stationed there to try and attract admiration, -which, perhaps, her silly old father had told her she merited—or -else to meet with adventures.” Lord Mortimer drew -in his head, and the contrast between her ladyship and the fair -being he had been looking at, never struck him so forcibly as -at that moment, and lessened one as much as it elevated the -other in his estimation.</p> - -<p>He wandered near the castle the next evening, in hopes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> -meeting Amanda. His disappointment was diminished by seeing -Ellen, who he was confident, would be faithful to the message -intrusted to her. With this confidence he hastened to the -rocks, every moment expecting the appearance of Amanda. -Her image, as it appeared to him the preceding day, dwelt upon -his imagination, and he forcibly felt how essential to his peace -was a reconciliation with her. An hour elapsed, and his tenderness -again began to give way to resentment. It was not Ellen, -but Amanda he doubted. He traversed the beach in an agony -of impatience and anxiety; a feverish heat pervaded his frame, -and he trembled with agitation. At length he heard the distant -sound of the supper-bell at Ulster Lodge, which never rang -till a late hour. All hopes of seeing Amanda were now given -up, and every intention of meeting her at a future period relinquished. -She avoided him designedly, it was evident. He -would have cursed himself for betraying such anxiety about her, -and his wounded pride revolted from the idea of seeking another -interview. “No! Amanda!” he exclaimed, as he passed -the castle, “you can no longer have any claim upon me. Mysterious -appearances in the most candid mind will raise suspicions. -In giving you an opportunity for accounting for such -appearances, I did all that candor, tenderness, sensibility, and -honor could dictate; and, instead of again making efforts to -converse with you, I must now make others, which, I trust, will -be more successful, entirely to forget you.”</p> - -<p>The next morning he accompanied the marquis in his barge -to the frigate, where he was agreeably surprised to find in the -commander an old friend of his, Captain Somerville, who returned -to Ulster Lodge with his visitors, and there, in a half -jesting, half serious manner, asked Lord Mortimer to accompany -him on his intended cruise. This his lordship instantly -promised he would, with pleasure. He was completely tired -of the Roslin family, and was, besides, glad of an opportunity -of convincing Amanda he was not quite so fascinated to her as -she perhaps believed, by his quitting the neighborhood ere -their departure. As he descended to the boat, the sight of -Amanda shook his resolution. She seemed destined to cross -his path, merely to give him disquietude. An ardent wish -sprung in his heart to address her, but it was instantly suppressed, -by reflecting how premeditately she had avoided him; -pride, therefore, prompted him to pass her in silence; yet, as -the boat receded from the shore, his eyes were riveted to the -spot on which she stood, and when he could no longer see her -white gown fluttering in the wind, he gave a sigh to the remem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>brance -of the happy days he had passed with her at Tudor -Hall; and another to the idea, that such hours would never -more be enjoyed by him.</p> - -<p>The family at Ulster Lodge were both mortified and disappointed -by his departure, though he, perceiving their displeasure, -had endeavored to lessen it, by promising to wait their arrival -in Dublin, and return with them to England. His departure -seemed a tacit intimation that he was not as much attached to -Lady Euphrasia as they wished him to be. A suspicion of this -nature had, indeed, for some time pervaded their minds, and -also that his affections were elsewhere disposed of: they had -reason to believe that the person who possessed them dwelt in -the vicinity of the lodge, from the great alteration which took -place in his manner, immediately after his arrival at it. In -hopes of discovering who this was, they watched him critically -at all the parties he frequented with them, but soon found -it was not the present, but the absent objects had the power of -exciting emotions in him. At the name of Amanda Fitzalan or -her father they observed him color, and frequently saw him -contemplate Castle Carberry, as if it contained a being infinitely -dear to him; to Amanda, therefore, they feared he was attached, -and supposed the attachment commenced at the Kilcorbans’ -ball, where they had noticed his impassioned glances at this -hated, because too lovely relation. The most unbounded rage -took possession of their souls; they regretted ever having come -to Ireland, where they supposed Lord Mortimer had first seen -Amanda, as Lord Cherbury had mentioned the children of -Fitzalan being strangers to him or his family. They knew the -passions of Lord Cherbury were impetuous, and that ambition -was the leading principle of his soul. Anxious for an alliance -between his family and theirs, they knew he would ill brook -any obstacle which should be thrown in the way of its completion, -and therefore resolved, if Lord Mortimer, at their next -meeting, appeared averse to the wishes of his father, to acquaint -the earl with the occasion of his son’s disinclination, and represent -Fitzalan and his daughter as aiding and abetting each other, -in an insidious scheme to entangle the affections of Lord Mortimer, -and draw him into a marriage; a scheme which, to a man of -the world (as they knew Lord Cherbury to be), would appear so -very probable as to gain implicit credit. This they knew would -convert the esteem he felt for Fitzalan into hatred and contempt; -his favor would consequently be withdrawn, and the -father and child again sunk into indigent obscurity. To think -that Amanda, by dire necessity, should be reduced to servitude;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> -to think the elegance of her form should be disguised by the -garb of poverty, and the charms of her face faded by misery, -were ideas so grateful, so ecstatic to their hearts, that to have -them realized, they felt they could with pleasure relinquish the -attentions of Lord Mortimer, to have a pretext for injuring -Fitzalan with his father: though not quite assured their suspicions -were well founded, they would never have hesitated communicating -them as such to Lord Cherbury; but for their own -satisfaction they wished to know what reason they had to entertain -them. Lady Greystock was the only person they observed -on a footing of intimacy with Amanda, and through her -means flattered themselves they might make the desired discovery. -They therefore began to unbend from their haughtiness, -and make overtures for an intimacy with her; overtures which -she received with delight, and in their present attention forgot -their past neglect, which had given her such disgust. As they -became intimate with her, they were much amused by a shrewd -manner she possessed of telling stories, and placing the foibles -and imperfections of their visitors in the most conspicuous -and ludicrous light; particularly of such visitors as were not -agreeable to them. With the foibles of human nature she was -well acquainted, also with the art of turning those foibles to -her own advantage. She perceived the egregious vanity of -the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, and by administering -large portions of what Sterne styles the delicious essence of the -soul, to them, soon became an immense favorite. After an injunction -of secrecy, the marchioness communicated her fears -relative to Lord Mortimer and Amanda, which, she pretended, -regard for one and pity for the other, had excited; as an attachment -either of an honorable or dishonorable nature, she knew -Lord Cherbury would never pardon. To know, therefore, how -far matters had proceeded between them, would be some satisfaction, -and might, perhaps, be the means of preventing the ill -consequences she dreaded. Lady Greystock was not to be imposed -on; she perceived it was not pity for Amanda, but envy -and jealousy, which had excited the fears of the marchioness. -If Lord Mortimer was attached to Amanda, from his sentiments -and manner, she was convinced it was an attachment of the -purest nature. She carefully concealed her thoughts, however, -affected to enter into all the alarms of the marchioness, and, -as she saw she was expected to do, promised all in her power -should be done for discovering what attachment subsisted between -his lordship and Miss Fitzalan. For this purpose she -began to grow constant in her visits at Castle Carberry, often<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> -spending whole days in the most familiar manner with Amanda, -and endeavoring, by various methods, to beguile her of the -secrets of her heart. Sometimes she rallied her on her melancholy; -sometimes expressed pity for it in strains of the most -soothing tenderness; would frequently relate little fictitious and -embellished anecdotes of her own youth, in which she said she -had suffered the most exquisite misery, from an unfortunate entanglement; -would then advert to Lord Mortimer; express her -wonder at his precipitate departure, and her admiration of his -virtues, declaring if ever Lady Euphrasia gained his heart, which -she much doubted, she must be considered as one of the most -fortunate of women.</p> - -<p>Delicacy sealed the lips of Amanda and guarded her secret. -She believed her passion to be hopeless, and felt that to be offered -consolation on such a subject, would, to her feelings, be truly -humiliating. But though she could command her words, she -could not her feelings, and they were visibly expressed in her -countenance. She blushed whenever Lord Mortimer was mentioned; -looked shocked if a union between him and Lady -Euphrasia was hinted at; and smiled if a probability was suggested -of its never taking place. Lady Greystock, at last, -relinquished her attempts at betraying Amanda into a confession -of her sentiments; indeed, she thought such a confession -not very requisite, as her countenance pretty clearly developed -what they were; and she deemed herself authorized to inform -the marchioness that she was sure something had passed between -Lord Mortimer and Amanda, though what she could not -discover, from the circumspection of the latter. The marchioness -was enraged, and more determined than ever on involving -Amanda in destruction, if Lord Mortimer hesitated a -moment in obeying the wishes of his father, by uniting himself -to Lady Euphrasia.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“And to be plain, ’tis not your person</span> -<span class="i0">My stomach’s set so sharp and fierce on:</span> -<span class="i0">But ’tis your better part, your riches.</span> -<span class="i0">That my enamored heart bewitches.”—<span class="smcap">Hudibras.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>A month after the departure of Lord Mortimer the Roslin -family left Ulster Lodge. Amanda sighed, as she saw them -pass, at the idea of the approaching meeting, which might, perhaps, -soon be followed by an event that would render her fond -remembrance of Lord Mortimer improper. Many of the -families about the castle were already gone to town for the -winter. Those who remained in the country till after Christmas, -among whom were the Kilcorbans, had so entirely neglected -Amanda, from the time the marchioness arrived in the -neighborhood, that they could not think of renewing their visits, -confident as they were, from the proper dignity of her and -Fitzalan’s manner, that they would be unwelcome.</p> - -<p>The weather was now often too severe to permit Amanda -to take her usual rambles; and the solitude of the castle was -heightened by her own melancholy ideas, as well as by the -dreariness of the season. No more the magic hand of hope -sketched scenes of flattering brightness, to dissipate the gloominess -of the present ones. The prospects of Amanda’s heart -were as dreary, as desolate, as those she viewed from the windows -of the castle. Her usual avocations no longer yielded -delight. Every idea, every occupation, was embittered by the -reflection of being lessened in the estimation of Lord Mortimer. -Her health declined with her peace, and again Fitzalan had -the anguish of seeing sorrow nipping his lovely blossom. The -rose forsook her cheek, and her form assumed a fragile delicacy, -which threatened the demolition of his earthly happiness. -He was not ignorant of the cause of her dejection, but he -would not shock her feelings by hinting it. Every effort -which tenderness could suggest, he essayed to cheer her, but -without any durable effect; for though she smiled when he expressed -a wish to see her cheerful, it was a smile transient as -the gleamings of a wintry sun, and which only rendered the -succeeding gloom more conspicuous.</p> - -<p>At this period of distress, Lady Greystock, who continued<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> -her visits at the castle, made a proposal, which Fitzalan eagerly -embraced. This was to take Amanda with her to London, -whither she was obliged to go directly, about a lawsuit carrying -on between her and the nephew of her late husband.</p> - -<p>Change of scene, Fitzalan trusted, would remove from -Amanda’s mind the dejection which oppressed it, and consequently -aid the restoration of her health. Of Lord Mortimer’s -renewing his addresses, he had not the slightest apprehension, -as he neglected the opportunities he might have had in the -country for such a purpose. Fitzalan, it may be remembered -knew not that his lordship had ever deviated from his indifference, -and he believed it occasioned by a transfer of his affections -to Lady Euphrasia. He was also ignorant of the great -intimacy between the Roslin family and Lady Greystock, and -consequently of the probability there was, from such an intimacy, -of Amanda’s being often in the way of Lord Mortimer. -If she met him, he was confident it would be as the husband -or favored lover of Lady Euphrasia; and, in either of these -characters, he was certain, from the rectitude and purity of her -principles, she would be more than ever impressed with the -necessity of conquering her attachment; whilst the pain attending -such a conviction would be lessened, and probably soon -removed by surrounding objects, and the gay scenes she must -engage in from being the companion of Lady Greystock, who -had a numerous and elegant acquaintance in London.</p> - -<p>Her ladyship appeared to him, as she did to many others, -a pleasing, rational woman—one to whose care his heart’s best -treasure might safely be consigned. He was induced to accept -her protection for his Amanda, not only on account of -her present but future welfare. His own health was extremely -delicate. He deemed his life very precarious, and flattered -himself Lady Greystock, by having his beloved girl under her -care, would grow so attached to her, as to prove a friend if he -should be snatched away ere his newly-obtained independence -enabled him to make a provision for her. In indulging this -hope, his heart could not reproach him for anything mean or -selfish. Her ladyship had frequently assured him all her relations -were very distant ones, and in affluent circumstances, so -that if his Amanda received any proof of kindness from her, -she could neither injure nor encroach on the rights of others.</p> - -<p>This, however, was not the case, though carefully concealed -from him, as well as many others, by her ladyship. Her -education had either given birth to, or strengthened, the artful -propensities of her disposition. She had been one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> -numerous offspring of a gentleman in the southern part of Ireland, -whose wife, a complete housewife, knowing his inability -of giving his daughters fortunes, determined to bring them up -so as to save one for their future husbands.</p> - -<p>At the age of nineteen, Miss Bridget, by her reputation for -domestic cleverness, attracted the notice of a man of easy independence -in the neighborhood, who, being a perfect Nimrod, -wanted somebody to manage those concerns at home, which -he neglected for the field and kennel; and in obtaining Miss -Bridget, he procured this valuable acquisition. His love of -sport, with his life, was fatally terminated the second year of -his marriage, by his attempting to leap a five-bar gate. A -good jointure devolved to his widow, and the office of consoling -her to the rector of the parish, a little fat elderly man, who -might have sat very well for the picture of Boniface. So successful -were his arguments, that he not only expelled sorrow -from her heart, but introduced himself into it, and had the -felicity of receiving her hand as soon as her weeds were laid -aside. Four years they lived in uninterrupted peace, but too -free an enjoyment of the good things of this life undermined -the constitution of the rector. He was ordered to Bath, where -his mortal career was shortly terminated, and his whole fortune -was left to his wife.</p> - -<p>In the house where she lodged was an ancient baronet, who -had never been married. His fortune was considerable, but -his manner so strange and whimsical, that he appeared incapable -of enjoying the advantages it would have afforded to -others. Notwithstanding his oddities, he was compassionate; -and as the fair relict was unaccompanied by a friend, he waited -on her for the purpose of offering consolation, and any service -in his power. This attention instantly inspired her with an -idea of trying to make him feel tenderer sentiments than those -of pity for her. His title and fortune were so attractive, that -neither his capricious disposition, nor the disparity of their -ages, he being sixty, and she only eight-and-twenty, could prevent -her ardently desiring a connection between them. Her -efforts to effect this were long unsuccessful; but perseverance -will almost work miracles. Her constant good-humor, and -unremitted solicitude about him, who was in general an invalid, -at last made an impression on his flinty heart, and in a fit of -sudden gratitude he offered her his hand, which was eagerly -accepted.</p> - -<p>The presumptive heir to the baronet’s large possessions -was the son and only child of a deceased sister. At the period<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> -this unexpected alliance took place, he was about twenty, -pleasing in his person, and engaging in his manner, and tenderly -beloved by his uncle. This love, Lady Greystock saw, -if it continued, would frustrate her wish of possessing the -baronet’s whole property. Various schemes fluctuated in her -mind relative to the manner in which she should lay the foundation -for Rushbrook’s ruin. Ere she could determine on -one, chance discovered a secret which completely aided her -intentions.</p> - -<p>In the neighborhood of the baronet’s country residence, -Rushbrook had formed an attachment for the daughter of a -man against whom his uncle entertained the most inveterate -enmity. A union with this girl, she was well convinced, would -ruin him. She therefore gave him to understand she knew of -his attachment, and sincerely pitied his situation, encouraging -his love by the most flattering eulogiums on his adored Emily; -declared her regret that hearts so congenial should be separated; -and at last intimated that if they wished to unite, she -was convinced she would soon be able to obtain Sir Geoffry’s -forgiveness for such a step. Her artful insinuations hurried -the unsuspicious pair into the snare she had spread for them. -The consequence of this was what she expected.</p> - -<p>Sir Geoffry’s rage was unappeasable, and he solemnly vowed -never more to behold his nephew. Lady Greystock wished to -preserve, if possible, appearances to the world, and prevailed -on him to give her five hundred pounds for Rushbrook, to which -she added five of her own, and presented the notes to him, with -an assurance of pleading his cause whenever she found a favorable -opportunity for doing so.</p> - -<p>He purchased an ensigncy in a regiment on the point of -embarking for America, where he felt he would rather encounter -distress than among those who had known him in affluence.</p> - -<p>Her ladyship now redoubled her attention to Sir Geoffry, -and at last prepossessed him so strongly with the idea of her -affection for him, that he made a will, bequeathing her his whole -fortune, which she flattered herself with soon enjoying. But the -constitution of Sir Geoffry was stronger than she imagined, and -policy obliged her to adhere to a conduct which had gained his -favor, as she knew the least alteration of it would, to his capricious -temper, be sufficient to make him crush all her hopes.</p> - -<p>Fifteen years passed in this manner, when a friend of Rushbrook’s -advised him no longer to be deluded by the promises -Lady Greystock still continued to make, of interceding in his -favor, but to write himself to his uncle for forgiveness, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> -the duty he owed his family, and the distress of his situation, -should prompt him to immediately. Rushbrook accordingly -wrote a most pathetic letter, and his friend, as he had promised, -delivered it himself to the baronet. The contents of the letter, -and the remonstrance of his visitor, produced a great change -in the sentiments of the baronet. Tenderness for a nephew he -had adopted as his heir from his infancy began to revive, and -he seriously reflected, that by leaving his fortune to Lady Greystock, -he should enrich a family unconnected with him, whilst -the last branch of his own was left to obscurity and wretchedness. -Pride recoiled from such an idea, and he told the gentleman -he would consider about a reconciliation with his nephew.</p> - -<p>The conversation between them, which Lady Greystock had contrived -to overhear, filled her with dismay; but this was increased -almost to distraction, when an attorney being sent for, -she repaired again to her hiding-place, and heard a new will -dictated entirely in Rushbrook’s favor.</p> - -<p>Sir Geoffry was soon prevailed on to see his nephew, but -Mrs. Rushbrook and the children were not suffered to appear -before him. They were, however, supplied with everything requisite -for making a genteel appearance, and accompanying the -regiment (again ordered abroad) with comfort.</p> - -<p>Soon after their departure, Sir Geoffry sunk into a sudden -state of insensibility, from which no hopes of his ever recovering -could be entertained. The situation was propitious to the -designs of Lady Greystock; none but creatures of her own -were admitted to his chamber. An attorney was sent for, who -had often transacted business for her, relative to her affairs in -Ireland; and a good bribe easily prevailed on him to draw up -a will she dictated, similar to that before made in her favor. -The baronet was raised in her arms, whilst the attorney guided -his almost lifeless hand in signing it; and two clerks set their -names as witnesses. Sir Geoffry expired almost immediately -after this scheme was executed.</p> - -<p>Rushbrook’s friend, who had been appointed to act for him, -if this event took place whilst he was abroad, now appeared. -A will found in Sir Geoffry’s cabinet was read, by which it appeared -Mr. Rushbrook was his sole heir. The exultation of -the peruser, however, was of short continuance; her ladyship’s -attorney appeared, and declared the will was rendered null by -one of later date, which he had drawn up in Sir Geoffry’s last -moments, by his express desire. Consternation and surprise -pervaded the mind of Rushbrook’s friend; he saw the will was -too well attested for him to dispute it, yet he suspected foul<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> -play, and lost no time in communicating his suspicion to Rushbrook.</p> - -<p>Her ladyship settled her affairs most expeditiously and returned -with delight to her native country, after a very long absence -from it. Most of her near relations were dead, but she -had many distant ones, who, prompted by the knowledge of -her large fortune, eagerly reminded her of their affinity, and -vied with each other in paying her attention. This was extremely -pleasing to her ladyship, who was fond of pleasure at -other people’s expense. For herself she had laid down rules -of the most rigid economy, which she strictly adhered to. -From the many invitations she received she was seldom a resident -in her own house; she judged of others by herself, and -ascribed the attentions she received to their real source, self-interest, -which she laughed secretly to think she should disappoint.</p> - -<p>She was remarkable (as Miss Kilcorban informed Amanda) -for asking young people to do little matters for her, such as making -her millinery, working ruffles, aprons, and handkerchiefs.</p> - -<p>The tranquillity she enjoyed for two years after Sir Geoffry’s -death was a little interrupted by his nephew’s arrival from -America, and commencing a suit directly against her by the -advice of his friends and some eminent lawyers, on the supposition -that the will by which she inherited had been made -when his uncle was in a state of imbecility.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock, however, received but a trifling shock from -this; she knew he had no money to carry on such an affair, -and that his advocates would lose their zeal in his cause, when -convinced of the state of his finances. On being obliged to -go to London to attend the suit, it immediately occurred that -Amanda would be a most pleasing companion to take along -with her, as she would not only enliven the hours she must sometimes -pass at home, but do a number of little things in the -way of dress, which would save a great deal of expense.</p> - -<p>Amanda, on the first proposal of accompanying her, warmly -opposed it; she felt unutterable reluctance to leave her father, and -assured him she would, by exerting herself, prove that a change -of scene was not requisite for restoring her cheerfulness. -Fitzalan knew her sincerity in making this promise, but he also -knew her inability of performing it; his happiness, he declared, -depended on her complying with this request: he even said his -own health would probably be established by it, as during her -absence he would partake of the amusements of the country, -which he had hitherto declined on her account. This asser<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>tion -prevailed on her to consent, and immediate preparations -were made for her journey, as the invitation had not been given -till within a few days of her ladyship’s intended departure. As -she went by Holyhead, Fitzalan determined on sending Ellen -to her parents till Amanda returned from England, which determination -pleased Ellen exceedingly, as she longed to see her -family, and tell them particulars of Chip. As the hour approached -for quitting her father, the regret and reluctance of -Amanda increased; nor were his feelings less oppressive, -though better concealed: but when the moment of parting -came, they could no longer be suppressed; he held her with a -trembling grasp to his heart, as if life would forsake it. On -her departure, the gloom on his mind seemed like a presentiment -of evil; he repented forcing her from him, and scarcely -could he refrain from saying they must not part.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock, who in every scene and every situation -preserved her composure, hinted to him the injury he was doing -his daughter by such emotions; and mentioned how short their -separation would be, and what benefit would accrue to Amanda -from it.</p> - -<p>This last consideration recalled to his mind instantly composed -him, and he handed them to her ladyship’s chariot, which -was followed by a hired chaise containing her woman and -Ellen; he then sighed her a last adieu, returned to his solitary -habitation to pray, and in spite of all his efforts, weep for his -darling child.</p> - -<p>Amanda’s tears streamed down her pale cheek, and never -did she experience a pang of such sorrow as that she felt, -when, the chaise descending a hill, she caught the last glimpse -of Castle Carberry.</p> - -<p>She perceived, however, that her ladyship had no relish for -a gloomy companion, and therefore endeavored to recover her -spirits, and enter into conversation.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock had a number of friends in that part of -Ireland, and therefore never stopped at an inn.</p> - -<p>“I always, my dear,” said she to Amanda, “make use of -the friendship professed for me, and thus endeavor to render -the great road of life delightful.”</p> - -<p>They arrived the third day in Sackville Street, where her -ladyship had a house, and two days after embarked for England. -They slept the first night they landed at Holyhead, and -the next morning pursued their journey.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“A song, a flower, a name, at once restore</span> -<span class="i0">Those long-connected scenes when first they moved</span> -<span class="i0">The attention————.”—<span class="smcap">Akenside</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The dejection of Amanda gradually declined, as the idea -of seeing Lord Mortimer again revived. It revived not, however, -without hopes, fears, and agitations. Sometimes she imagined -she should find him devoted to Lady Euphrasia; then -again believed his honor and sincerity would not allow him to -give her up so suddenly, and that this apparent indifference -proceeded from resentment, which would vanish if an opportunity -once offered (and she trusted there would) for explaining -her conduct. She endeavored to calm the emotions these -ideas gave rise to, by reflecting that a short time now would -most probably terminate her suspense.</p> - -<p>They stopped for the night, about five o’clock, at an inn -about a mile from Tudor Hall. After dinner, Amanda informed -Lady Greystock she wished to accompany Ellen to her parents. -To this her ladyship made no objection, on finding she did not -want the carriage. She charged her, however, not to forget -the hour of tea, by which time she would be refreshed by a nap, -and ready to engage her at a game of picquet.</p> - -<p>They set out unattended, as Ellen refused the ostler’s offer -of carrying her portmanteau, saying she would send for it the -next day. This she did by Amanda’s desire, who wished, unobserved, -to pursue a walk, in which she promised herself a -melancholy indulgence, from reviewing the well-known scenes -endeared by tender recollections.</p> - -<p>A mournful, yet not undelightful, sensation attends the contemplation -of scenes where we once enjoyed felicity—departed -joys are ever remembered with an enthusiasm of tenderness -which soothes the sorrow we experience for their loss.</p> - -<p>Such were the present feelings of Amanda; while Ellen, -undisturbed by regrets for the past, pointed out, with pleasure, -the dwellings of her intimates and friends. Yet when she came -to Chip’s deserted cottage, she stopped, and a tear stole from -her eye, accompanied at the same time by a smile, which seemed -to say, “though thou art now lonely and cheerless, the period -is approaching when comfort and gayety shall resume their sta<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>tions -within thee; when the blaze of thy fire and thy taper -shall not only diffuse cheerfulness within, but without, and give -a ray to the desolate or benighted traveller, to guide him to thy -hospitable shelter!”</p> - -<p>Amanda, leaning on Ellen’s arm, proceeded slowly in her -walk. The evening was delightful. The blue vault of heaven -was spangled with stars, and the air, without being severely -cold, was clear and refreshing. Their road, on one side, was -skirted with the high woods of Tudor Hall. Amanda gazed -on them with emotion; but when she came to the gate which -Lord Mortimer had opened for her departure at their first interview, -the softness of her heart, could no longer be resisted: -she stopped, leaned pensively upon it, and wept. The evergreens, -with which the woods abounded, prevented their wearing -a desolate appearance. She wished to have pierced into -their most sequestered gloom, but she had no time to indulge -this wish; nor did she, indeed believe her companion, who -was tinctured with superstitious fears, would have accompanied -her. “When the glow of vegetation again revives,” -said she to herself; “when the blossoms and the flowers again -spread their spangled foliage to the sun, and every shade -resounds with harmony, where, alas! will Amanda be?—far -distant, in all probability, from these delightful scenes, perhaps -neglected and forgotten by their master!”</p> - -<p>The awful murmurs of the wind rustling through the trees, -joined to the solemn sound of a neighboring waterfall, began -to excite fears in Ellen’s breast. She laid her trembling hand -on Amanda, and besought her, for the love of Cot, to hasten -to the cottage. The road still wound round the wood; and -lights from a small village, which lay on its borders, cast various -shadows upon the trees; whilst the hum of distant voices -floated upon the gale, and fancy pictured joyous groups of -rustics assembling round their fires, to enjoy refreshment after -the labors of the day.</p> - -<p>“Peaceful people,” said Amanda, “when the wants of nature -are satisfied, no care or trouble obtrudes upon your minds. -Tired, but not exhausted with the toils of the day, with preparing -the bosom of the earth for the ethereal mildness of the -spring, you seek and enjoy a calm repose.”</p> - -<p>In the lane which led to her nurse’s cottage, Amanda -paused for a moment. Down this lane Lord Mortimer had -once pursued her. She looked towards the mansion of Tudor -Hall. She endeavored to discern the library, but all was dark -and dismal, except the wing, which Ellen informed her was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -occupied by the domestics. Through the window of Edwin’s -cottage, they saw all the family seated round a blazing fire, -chatting and laughing. The transport of Ellen’s heart overcame -every idea of caution. She hastily unlatched the door, -and flung herself into her parents’ arms. Their surprise and -joy was unbounded, and Amanda was received and welcomed -with as much tenderness as their child, without ever asking the -reason of her sudden appearance. The first question was, -“Would she not stay with them?” and her answer filled them -with regret and disappointment. Perceiving them about procuring -her refreshments, “she declared she had not a minute -to stay. The time allotted for her walk was already exceeded, -and she feared Lady Greystock would be offended at being left -so long at an inn by herself.” She therefore hastily presented -some little presents she had brought for the family, and was -bidding them farewell, when poor Ellen, who, from so long -residing with her young lady, almost adored her, suddenly -flung herself into her arms, and clinging round her neck, as if -to prevent a separation, which, till the moment of its arrival, -she thought she could have supported, exclaimed:—</p> - -<p>“Oh, my tear young laty, we are going to part, and my -heart sinks within me at the idea. Even Chip himself, if he -was here, could not console me. I know you are not happy, -and that increases my sorrow. Your sweet cheek is pale, and -I have often seen you cry when you thought no poty was minding -you. If you who are so goot are not happy, how can a -peing like me hope to be so? Oh, may I soon pe plest with -seeing you return the mistress of Tudor Hall, married to the -sweetest, handsomest of noblemen, who, I know, in my soul, -loves you, as well inteed he may, for where would he see the -fellow of my young laty? Then Chip and I will be so happy, -for I am sure you and my lort will shelter our humble cottage.”</p> - -<p>Amanda pressed the affectionate girl to her breast, and -mingled tears with hers, while she softly whispered to her not -to hint at such an event; “but be assured, my dearest Ellen,” -continued she, “that I shall ever rejoice at your felicity, which, -to the utmost of my power, I would promote, and hope soon to -hear of your union with Chip.”</p> - -<p>“Alack-a-tay!” said her nurse; “are you going away, -when I thought you come to stay among us? and then, perhaps, -my lort would have come, and then there would have -peen such a happy meeting. Why, I verily thought he would -have gone distracted when he found you, as one may say, run -away; and to pe sure I did pity him, and should have made no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> -scruple to tell him where you were, had I known it myself, -which he suspected, for he offered me a sight of money if I -would discover. Then there is Parson Howel; why he has -peen like unto nothing put a ghost since you went away; and -he does so sigh, and he comes almost every tay to ask me -apout you, and whether I think or know Lord Mortimer is -with you. He will pe in such grief to think you were here -without his seeing you.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Amanda, endeavoring to appear cheerful, “we -may all yet have a happy meeting.”</p> - -<p>She then repeated her farewell, and, leaning on the arm of -old Edwin, returned to the inn, where she again bid him adieu; -and hastening to her ladyship, found her just awaking from a -comfortable slumber. They drank tea, and, after playing for -about an hour at picquet, retired to rest. Amanda, who enjoyed -but little repose, rose early in the morning, and, finding -her ladyship not quite ready, went down to the court to walk -about till she was; where, to her great surprise, the first object -she perceived was Howel, leaning pensively against a gate -opposite the house. He flew over, and, catching her hand, -exclaimed, “You are surprised, but, I trust, not displeased. I -could not resist such an opportunity of seeing you once more, -after all I have suffered from your precipitate journey, and the -probability of never more beholding you. I have been watching -here, in expectation of this happiness, since the first dawn -of day.”</p> - -<p>“I am sorry,” said Amanda, gravely, “your time was so ill -employed.”</p> - -<p>“How coldly you speak,” cried he. “Ah! could you read -my heart, you would see so little presumption in it, that you -would, I am confident, pity, though you could not relieve, its -feelings. Every spot you loved to frequent, I have haunted -since your departure. Your mother’s grave has often been the -scene of pensive meditation. Nor has it wanted its vernal -offering; the loveliest flowers of my garden I have wove into -wreaths, and hung them over it, in fond remembrance of her -angel daughter.”</p> - -<p>The plaintive sound of Howel’s voice, the dejection of his -countenance, excited the softest feelings of sensibility in -Amanda’s bosom. But she grew confused by the tenderness -of his expression, and, saying she was happy to see him, tried -to disengage her hand, that she might retire.</p> - -<p>“Surely,” exclaimed he, still detaining it a few moments, -“you might grant me without reluctance—you, who are going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> -to enjoy every happiness and pleasure, going to meet the favored——"</p> - -<p>Amanda anticipated the name he was about uttering, and -her confusion redoubled. She attempted again, yet in vain, to -withdraw her hand, and turned to see whether any one was -observing them. How great was her mortification, on perceiving -Lady Greystock leaning from a window, exactly over their -heads! She smiled significantly at Amanda, on being seen; -and, the carriage being ready, said, “She would attend her -below stairs.” Howel now relinquished Amanda’s hand. He -saw she looked displeased; and expressed such sorrow, accompanied -with such submissive apologies for offending her, that -she could not avoid according him her pardon. He handed -both her and Lady Greystock into the carriage, and looked a -melancholy adieu as it drove off.</p> - -<p>“Upon my word, a pretty smart young fellow!” said Lady -Greystock. “Though impatient this long time to set out, I -could not think of interrupting the interesting <i>tete-��-tete</i> I saw -between you and him. I suppose you have been a resident -in this part of the country before, from your seeming to know -this tender swain so well.”</p> - -<p>Amanda wished to avoid acknowledging this. If known, -she feared it would lead to a discovery, or at least excite a -suspicion of her intimacy with Lord Mortimer, which she was -desirous of concealing, while in this uncertainty concerning -him.</p> - -<p>“Your ladyship has heard, I believe,” replied she, “that -Ellen’s mother nursed me?” “Yes, my dear,” answered her -ladyship, with some smartness; “but if your acquaintance -even commenced with this youth in infancy, I fancy it has been -renewed since that period.”</p> - -<p>Amanda blushed deeply, and, to hide her confusion, pretended -to be looking at the prospect from the window. Lady -Greystock’s eyes pursued hers. Tudor Hall was conspicuous -from the road, and Amanda involuntarily sighed as she viewed it.</p> - -<p>“That is a fine domain,” said Lady Greystock; “I presume -you have visited it, and know its owner?”</p> - -<p>Amanda could not assert a falsehood, neither could she -evade the inquiries of Lady Greystock; and therefore not only -confessed its being the estate of Lord Mortimer, but her own -residence near it the preceding summer. Her ladyship immediately -conjectured it was then the attachment between her -and Lord Mortimer had commenced; and the blushes, the -hesitation, and the unwillingness of Amanda, in owning her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> -visit to Wales, all confirmed this conjecture. She tried, however, -to insinuate herself into her full confidence, by warm expressions -of esteem, and by hinting, that from the disposition -of Lord Mortimer, she could not believe he ever did, or ever -would, think seriously of Lady Euphrasia; this, she hoped, -would either induce or betray Amanda to open her whole -heart; but she was disappointed. She flattered herself, however, -with thinking she had discovered enough to satisfy the -marchioness, if she, as Lady Greystock feared she would, -expressed any disapprobation at seeing Amanda her companion. -She intended saying, that Fitzalan had absolutely forced -her under her protection.</p> - -<p>They arrived late in the evening of the third day at Pall -Mall, where her ladyship’s agent had previously taken lodgings -for them.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock, though immersed in business against the -approaching trial, neglected no means of amusement; and, the -day after her arrival, sent a card of inquiry to the Roslin -family, as the most eligible mode of informing them of it. The -next morning, as she expected, she received a visit from them. -Amanda was sitting in the window when the carriage drove up -to the door. She instantly arose, and left the room, determined -neither to expose herself to their impertinence, or appear -solicitous for their notice, by staying in their company -uninvited. Lady Greystock soon informed them of Amanda’s -having accompanied her to London; and they, as she expected, -expressed both surprise and displeasure at it. As she -had settled in her own mind, she, therefore, told them, “that -Fitzalan had urged her to take his daughter under her care, -with entreaties she could not resist. Entreaties,” she added, -with a significant look, “she believed he had good reason for -making.” She then related all she suspected, or rather had -discovered, relative to the attachment between Lord Mortimer -and Amanda having commenced the preceding summer in -Wales.</p> - -<p>The marchioness and Lady Euphrasia instantly concluded -she was sent to London for the purpose of having it completed -by a marriage. This, however, they determined to prevent. -The marchioness felt the most inveterate hatred against her; -and also, that, to prevent her being advantageously settled, -even if that settlement threatened not to interfere with the one -she had projected for her daughter, she could undertake almost -any project. Though she abhorred the idea of noticing her, -yet she was tempted now to do so, from the idea that it would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> -better enable her to watch her actions. This idea she communicated -in a hasty whisper to Lady Euphrasia, who, approving -it, she told Lady Greystock, “as Miss Fitzalan was her guest, -she would, on that account, permit her to be introduced to -them.” Amanda was accordingly sent for. On entering the -room, Lady Greystock took her hand, and presented her to -the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. The former, half rising, -with a coldness she could not conquer, said, “Whenever Lady -Greystock honored her with a visit, she should be happy to see -Miss Fitzalan along with her.” The latter only noticed her -by a slight bow; and when Amanda drew a chair near the -sofa on which she sat, or rather reclined, she continued staring -in her face, and alternately humming an Italian air, and caressing -a little dog she had brought with her. The unembarrassed -elegance of Amanda’s air and manner surprised and mortified -them, as they expected to have seen her covered with confusion, -at an introduction so unexpected. To their haughty souls, -nothing was more delightful than the awe and deference which -vulgar and illiberal minds are so apt to pay to rank and fortune. -They were provoked to see, in Amanda, conscious dignity, instead -of trembling diffidence. As she sat by Lady Euphrasia, -the marchioness could not help secretly confessing she was a -dangerous rival to her daughter; for never did her lovely -features and ingenuous countenance appear to such advantage, -as when contrasted to Lady Euphrasia’s. The Marchioness -withdrew soon after her entrance, unable longer to restrain the -malignant passions which envy had excited.</p> - -<p>Both she and Lady Euphrasia were convinced that to communicate -their suspicions at present to Lord Cherbury about -her and his son, would not answer the end proposed, for it -could be of little consequence, they reflected, to withdraw the -esteem of the father, if that of the son continued, who, independent -in his notions, and certain of the fortunes of his ancestors, -might not hesitate to gratify himself. The point, therefore, -was, by some deep-laid scheme, to ruin Amanda in the -estimation of Lord Mortimer; and if in the power of mortals to -contrive and execute such a scheme, they gave themselves -credit for being able to effect it.</p> - -<p>The blow at her fond hopes, they resolved, should be followed -by one against the peace of Fitzalan, on whom they -knew, whenever they pleased, they could draw the resentment -of Lord Cherbury. Thus should they completely triumph over -the lovely Amanda—plunge two beings they detested into -poverty and wretchedness—destroy expectations which inter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>fered -with their own, and secure an alliance with a man they -had long wished united to their family.</p> - -<p>From the unaltered indifference of Lord Mortimer to Lady -Euphrasia, they were convinced of his predilection for another, -flattering themselves that nothing but a prior attachment could -have rendered him insensible to the attractions of her ladyship. -To render the object of this attachment contemptible in his -sight, they believed would produce the transfer of affections -they so long desired. The haughty soul of Lady Euphrasia -would never have permitted her to think of accepting Lord -Mortimer after his neglect of her, but by the opportunity she -should have by such an acceptance of triumphing over Amanda. -From this idea, she entered warmly into all her mother’s plans.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury had never yet spoken explicitly to his son -concerning the union he had projected for him. He often, -indeed, dropped hints about it, which he always found either -neglected, or purposely misunderstood; and from these circumstances -was pretty sensible of the disinclination Lord Mortimer -felt to his wishes. He knew he entertained high notions of the -independence which a rational mind has a right to maintain, -and that in an affair of such consequence, as Mortimer frequently -said he considered a matrimonial connection to be, he -would neither be controlled by the opinion of others or merely -allured by the advantages of fortune.</p> - -<p>To avoid a disagreeable argument with a son he not only -loved, but respected, he sought rather, by indirect means, to -involve him in an entanglement with the Roslin family, than -come to an open explanation with him. For this purpose he -contrived parties as often as possible with them in public; -where, by Lord Mortimer’s being seen with Lady Euphrasia, -reports might be raised of an intended alliance between them—reports -which he himself propagated among some particular -friends, with a desire of having them circulated, but an injunction -of secrecy as to their author. These reports would, he -trusted, on reaching Lord Mortimer, lead to a discussion of the -affair; and then, he meant to say, as Lord Mortimer had -partly contributed to raise them himself by his attendance on -Lady Euphrasia, he could not possibly, with honor, recede -from realizing them; yet often did his lordship fear his scheme -would prove abortive—for he well knew the cool judgment and -keen penetration of his son. This fear always inspired him -with horror, for he had a motive for desiring the union which he -durst not avow.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer quickly indeed discerned what his father’s <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> -views were in promoting his attendance on Lady Euphrasia. -He therefore avoided her society whenever it was possible to -do so without absolute rudeness, and contradicted the reports -he almost continually heard of an intended alliance between -them in the most solemn manner. He had always disliked her, -but latterly that dislike was converted into hatred, from the -malevolence of her conduct towards Amanda; and he felt that, -even were his heart free, he never could devote it to her—or -give his hand where it must be unaccompanied with esteem. -He wished to avoid a disagreeable conversation with Lord -Cherbury, and flattered himself his unaltered indifference to -her ladyship would at length convince his lordship of the impossibility -of accomplishing his projected scheme; and that -consequently it would be dropped ere openly avowed, and he -saved the painful necessity of absolutely rejecting a proposal of -his father’s.</p> - -<p>In the evening Lady Greystock and Amanda received -cards for dinner the next day at the Marquis of Roslin’s. -Amanda made no objection to this invitation. Her father had -often declared, if the marchioness made an overture for an intimacy -with his children, he would not reject it, as he always -deemed family quarrels highly prejudicial to both parties, with -regard to the opinion of the world. Besides, had she objected -to it, she should either have been a restraint on Lady Greystock, -or left to total solitude; and the idea also stole upon -her mind that she should lose a chance of seeing Lord Mortimer, -whom she supposed a frequent guest of the marquis’s. Her -heart fluttered at the idea of soon beholding him, and the bright -glow of animation which overspread her countenance in consequence -of this idea attracted the observation of Lady Greystock, -who congratulated her on the alteration that was already visible -in her looks; and inferred from thence that she was so well -recovered of her fatigue as to be able to contrive a little trimming -for her against the next day. This Amanda cheerfully -undertook, and having a quick execution as well as an elegant -taste, soon made progress in it which delighted her ladyship, -who, to divert her while she worked, related some of the many -entertaining anecdotes with which her memory was stored.</p> - -<p>Though Amanda submitted her beautiful hair to the hands -of a friseur, she departed not from the elegant simplicity -always conspicuous in her dress. Her little ornaments were -all arranged with taste, and an anxious wish of appearing to -advantage. So lovely, indeed, did she appear to Lady Greystock, -that her ladyship began seriously to fear she should not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> -be forgiven by the marchioness or Lady Euphrasia, for having -introduced such an object to their parties.</p> - -<p>About six they reached Portman Square, and found a large -party assembled in the drawing-room. After the first compliments -were over and Amanda introduced to the marquis—not, -indeed, as a near relation, but an utter stranger—a gentleman -stepped up to the marchioness, and addressing her in a low -voice, was immediately presented by her to Amanda, as the -Earl of Cherbury.</p> - -<p>“My dear young lady,” said he, “allow me to express the -pleasure I feel at seeing the daughter of my worthy friend, Mr. -Fitzalan. Allow me also to increase that pleasure,” continued -he, taking her hand, and leading her to a very lovely girl who -sat at some distance, “by presenting Miss Fitzalan to Lady -Araminta Dormer, and desiring their friendship for each other.”</p> - -<p>Surprised, confused, yet delighted by notice so little expected, -the heart of Amanda heaved with emotion; her cheeks -mantled with blushes, and the tear of sensibility trembled in -her eye. She was not, however, so embarrassed as to be incapable -of expressing her acknowledgments to his lordship for -his attention, and also to assure him she had early been taught, -and sensibly felt, the claims he had upon her gratitude and -respect. He bowed, as if to prevent a further mention of obligations, -and left her seated by his daughter, who had expressed -her pleasure at being introduced to her, not in the -supercilious style of Lady Euphrasia, but in the sweet accents -of affability and tenderness.</p> - -<p>The conduct of Lord Cherbury had drawn all eyes upon -Amanda; and the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia regarded -her with peculiar malignancy. The idea, however, that they -could, whenever they pleased, deprive her of his notice, a little -lessened the jealousy and mortification it had excited.</p> - -<p>“Pray, who is this little creature,” exclaimed Miss Malcolm -(who was a relation of the Marquis’s, and, from being -extremely ugly, extremely rich, and extremely ill-natured, was -an immense favorite of Lady Euphrasia’s ), “that puts one in -mind of a country miss, on her first appearance at a country -assembly, blushing and trembling at every eye she meets?”</p> - -<p>“Some kind of a far-off relation of my mother’s,” replied -Lady Euphrasia, “whom that old dowager, Lady Greystock, -picked up in the wilds of Ireland, and has absolutely forced -upon our notice; though I assure you, from compassion, we -should have taken the poor creature long ago under our protection, -but for the shocking conduct of her family to the mar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>chioness, -and the symptoms she has already betrayed of following -their example. It is really ridiculous sending her to -London. I dare say her silly old father has exhausted all his -ways and means in trying to render her decent, comforting himself, -no doubt, with the hope of her entrapping some young -fool of quality, who may supply his wants as well as hers.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, I suppose all the stock in the farm was sold to dress -her out,” cried young Freelove, a little, trifling fop, who leaned -on the back of her ladyship’s chair. He was a ward of -Lord Cherbury, and his fortune considerable; but nature had -not been quite as bounteous to him as the blind goddess. Both -his mind and person were effeminate to a degree of insignificance. -All he aimed at was—being a man of fashion. His -manners, like his dress, were therefore regulated by it, and he -never attempted to approve of anything, or any creature, -till assured they were quite the ton. He had danced attendance -for some time on Lady Euphrasia, and she encouraged -his assiduities in hopes of effecting a change in Lord Mortimer’s -manner. But had his lordship even been a passionate -lover, poor Freelove was not calculated to inspire him with -jealousy. “I declare,” continued he, surveying Amanda -through an opera-glass which dangled from his button-hole, “if -her father has nothing to support him but the hope of her -making a conquest of importance, he will be in a sad way, -for, ’pon my soul, I can see nothing the girl has to recommend -her, except novelty; and that, you know, is a charm -which will lessen every day. All she can possibly expect, is -an establishment for a few months with some tasteless being -who may like the simplicity of her country look.”</p> - -<p>“And more than she merits,” exclaimed Miss Malcolm; “I -have no patience with such creatures forcing themselves into -society quite above them.”</p> - -<p>“I assure you,” said Lady Euphrasia, “you would be astonished -at her vanity and conceit, if you knew her. She considers -herself a first-rate beauty, though positively any one may -see she is quite the reverse, and pretends to the greatest gentleness -and simplicity. Then she has made some strange kind -of people (to be sure they must be) believe she is accomplished; -though, I dare say, if she can read tolerably, and -scrawl out a decent letter, ’tis the utmost she can do.”</p> - -<p>“We will quiz her after dinner about her accomplishments,” -said Freelove, “and have a little fun with her.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, do,” cried Miss Malcolm. “We will ask her to play -and sing,” said her ladyship; “for I assure you she pretends<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> -to excel in both; though, from her father’s poverty, I am certain -she can know little of either. I shall enjoy her confusion -of all things, when her ignorance is detected.”</p> - -<p>Whilst this conversation was passing, Amanda, in conversing -with Lady Araminta, experienced the purest pleasure. Her -ladyship was the “softened image" of Lord Mortimer. Her -voice was modulated to the same harmony as his, and Amanda -gazed and listened with rapture. On her confusion abating, -her eye had wandered round the room in quest of his lordship, -but he was not in it. At every stir, near the door, her heart -fluttered at the idea of seeing him; nor was this idea relinquished -till summoned to dinner. She fortunately procured a -seat next Lady Araminta, which prevented her thinking the -time spent at dinner tedious. In the evening the rooms were -crowded with company, but Lord Mortimer appeared not among -the brilliant assembly. Yet the pang of disappointment was -softened to Amanda by his absence, intimating that he was not -anxious for the society of Lady Euphrasia. True, business, or -a prior engagement, might have prevented his coming; but she, -as is natural, fixed on the idea most flattering to herself.</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia, in pursuance of the plan laid against Amanda, -led the way to the music-room, attended by a large party; -as Freelove had intimated to some of the beaux and belles, her -ladyship and he were going to quiz an ignorant Irish country -girl. Lady Euphrasia sat down to the harpsichord, that she -might have a better pretext for asking Amanda to play. Freelove -seated himself by the latter, and began a conversation -which, he thought, would effectually embarrass her; but it had -quite a contrary effect, rendering him so extremely ridiculous -as to excite a universal laugh at his expense.</p> - -<p>Amanda soon perceived his intention in addressing her; -and, also, that Lady Euphrasia and Miss Malcolm were privy -to it, having caught the significant looks which passed among -them. Though tremblingly alive to every feeling of modesty, -she had too much sense, and real nobleness of soul, to allow -the illiberal sallies of impertinence to divest her of composure.</p> - -<p>“Have you seen any of the curiosities of London, my dear?” -exclaimed Freelove, lolling back in his chair, and contemplating -the lustre of his buckles, unconscious of the ridicule he excited.</p> - -<p>“I think I have,” said Amanda, somewhat archly, and -glancing at him, “quite an original in its kind.” Her look, as -well as the emphasis on her words, excited another laugh at his -expense, which threw him into a momentary confusion.</p> - -<p>“I think,” said he, as he recovered from it, “the Monu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>ment -and the Tower would be prodigious fine sights to you, and -I make it a particular request that I may be included in your -party whenever you visit them, particularly the last place.”</p> - -<p>“And why,” replied Amanda, “should I take the trouble of -visiting wild beasts, when every day I may see animals equally -strange, and not half so mischievous?”</p> - -<p>Freelove, insensible as he was, could not mistake the meaning -of Amanda’s words, and he left her with a mortified air, -being, to use his own phrase, “completely done up.”</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia, now rising from the harpsichord, requested -Amanda to take her place at it, saying, with an ironical air, -"her performance (which indeed was shocking) would make -hers appear to amazing advantage.”</p> - -<p>Diffident of her own abilities, Amanda begged to be excused. -But when Miss Malcolm, with an earnestness even oppressive, -joined her entreaties to Lady Euphrasia’s she could no longer -refuse.</p> - -<p>“I suppose,” said her ladyship, following her to the instrument, -"these songs,” presenting her some trifling ones, “will -answer you better than the Italian music before you?”</p> - -<p>Amanda made no reply, but turned over the leaves of the -book to a lesson much more difficult than that Lady Euphrasia -had played. Her touch at first was tremulous and weak, but -she was too susceptible of the powers of harmony not soon to -be inspired by it; and gradually her style became so masterly -and elegant, as to excite universal admiration, except in the -bosoms of those who had hoped to place her in a ludicrous -situation. Their invidious scheme, instead of depressing, had -only served to render excellence conspicuous; and that mortification -they destined for another, fell upon themselves. When -the lesson was concluded, some gentlemen who either were, or -pretended to be, musical connoisseurs, entreated her to sing. -She chose a plaintive Italian air, and the exquisite taste and -sweetness with which she sung, equally astonished and delighted. -Nor was admiration confined to the accomplishments she displayed. -The soft expression of her countenance, which seemed -accordant to the harmonious sounds that issued from her lips, -was viewed with pleasure, and praised with energy; and she -rose from the harpsichord covered with blushes from the applause -which stole around her. The gentlemen gathered around -Lady Euphrasia, to inquire who the beautiful stranger was, and -she gave them pretty much the same account she had already -done to Miss Malcolm.</p> - -<p>The rage and disappointment of that young lady, and her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> -ladyship, could scarcely be concealed. “I declare, I never knew -anything so monstrously absurd,” exclaimed Lady Euphrasia, -“as to let a girl in her situation learn such things, except, indeed, -it was to qualify her for a governess, or an opera singer.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, I suppose,” said Miss Malcolm, “we shall soon hear -her quavering away at one of the theatres; for no person of -fashion would really intrust her children to so confident a -creature.”</p> - -<p>The fair object of their disquietude gladly accompanied -Lady Araminta into another room. Several gentlemen followed, -and crowded about her chair, offering that adulation which they -were accustomed to find acceptable at the shrine of beauty. -To Amanda, however, it was irksome, not only from its absurd -extravagance, but as it interrupted her conversation with Lady -Araminta. The marchioness, however, who critically watched -her motions, soon relieved her from the troublesome assiduities -of the beaux, by placing them at card-tables. Not, indeed, -from any good-natured motive, but she could not bear that -Amanda should have so much attention paid her, and flattered -herself she would be vexed by losing it.</p> - -<p>In the course of conversation, Lady Araminta mentioned -Ireland. She had a faint remembrance of Castle Carberry, she -said, and had been half tempted to accompany the marquis and -his family in their late excursion. Her brother, she added, had -almost made her promise to visit the castle with him the ensuing -summer. “You have seen Lord Mortimer, to be sure?” -continued her ladyship.</p> - -<p>“Yes, madam,” faltered Amanda, while her face was overspread -with a crimson hue. Her ladyship was too penetrating -not to perceive her confusion, and it gave rise to a conjecture -of something more than a slight acquaintance being between -his lordship and Amanda. The melancholy he had betrayed -on his return from Ireland had excited the raillery of her ladyship, -till convinced, by the discomposure he showed whenever -she attempted to inquire into the occasion of it, that it proceeded -from a source truly interesting to his feelings. She knew of -the alliance her father had projected for him with the Roslin -family—a project she never approved of, for Lady Euphrasia -was truly disagreeable to her; and a soul like Mortimer’s, tender, -liberal, and sincere, she knew could never experience the -smallest degree of happiness with a being so uncongenial in -every respect as was Lady Euphrasia to him. She loved her -brother with the truest tenderness, and secretly believed he was -attached in Ireland. She wished to gain his confidence, yet -would not solicit it, because she knew she had it not in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> -power essentially to serve him. Her arguments, she was convinced, -would have little weight with Lord Cherbury, who had -often expressed to her his anxiety for a connection with the -Roslin family. With the loveliness of Amanda’s person, with -the elegance of her manner, she was immediately charmed. As -she conversed with her, esteem was added to admiration, and -she believed that Mortimer would not have omitted mentioning -to her the beautiful daughter of his father’s agent, had he not -feared betraying too much emotion at her name. She appeared -to Lady Araminta just the kind of woman he would adore; just -the being that would answer all the ideas of perfection (romantic -ideas she had called them) which he had declared necessary -to captivate his heart. Lady Araminta already felt for her unspeakable -tenderness. In the softness of her looks, in the -sweetness of her voice, there were resistless charms; and she -felt, that if oppressed by sorrow, Amanda Fitzalan, above all -other beings, was the one she would select to give her consolation. -The confusion she betrayed at the mention of Mortimer, -made her ladyship suspect she was the cause of his dejection. -She involuntarily fastened her eyes upon her face, as if to penetrate -the recesses of her heart, yet with a tenderness which -seemed to say she would pity the secret she might then discover.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury, at this moment of embarrassment to -Amanda, approached. He said, “He had just been making a -request, and an apology to Lady Greystock, and was now come -to repeat them to her. The former was, to meet the marquis’s -family at his house the next day at dinner; and the latter was, -to excuse so unceremonious an invitation, which he had been -induced to make on Lady Araminta’s account, who was obliged -to leave town the day after the next, and had, therefore, no time -for the usual etiquette of visiting.”</p> - -<p>Amanda bowed. This invitation was more pleasing than -one of more form would have been. It seemed to indicate -friendship, and a desire to have the intimacy between her and -his daughter cultivated. It gave her also a hope of seeing Lord -Mortimer. All these suggestions inspired her with uncommon -animation, and she entered into a lively conversation with Lord -Cherbury, who had infinite vivacity in his look and manner. -Lady Araminta observed the attention he paid her with pleasure. -A prepossession in her favor, she trusted, might produce -pleasing consequences.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock at length rose to depart. Amanda received -an affectionate adieu from Lady Araminta; and Lord Cherbury -attended the ladies to their carriage. On driving off, Lady -Greystock observed, what a charming polite man his lordship<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> -was; and, in short, threw out such hints, and entered into such -a warm eulogium on his merits, that Amanda began to think he -would not find it very difficult to prevail on her ladyship to -enter once more the temple of Hymen.</p> - -<p>Amanda retired to her chamber in a state of greater happiness -than for a long period before she had experienced; but -it was a happiness which rather agitated than soothed the feelings, -particularly hers, which were so susceptible of every impression, -that</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“They turned at the touch of joy or woe,</span> -<span class="i0">And turning trembled too.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Her present happiness was the offspring of hope, and therefore -peculiarly liable to disappointment; a hope derived from -the attention of Lord Cherbury, and the tenderness of Lady -Araminta, that the fond wishes of her heart might yet be -realized; wishes, again believed from hearing of Lord Mortimer’s -dejection, which his sister had touched upon, and from -his absenting himself from the marquis’s, which were not uncongenial -to those he himself entertained. She sat down to -acquaint her father with the particulars of the day she had -passed: for her chief consolation in her absence from him, was, -in the idea of writing and hearing constantly. Her writing -finished, she sat by the fire, meditating on the interview she -expected would take place on the ensuing day, till the hoarse -voice of the watchmen, proclaiming past three o’clock, roused -her from her reverie. She smiled at the abstraction of her -thoughts, and retired to bed to dream of felicity.</p> - -<p>So calm were her slumbers—so delightful her dreams—that -Sol had long shot his timorous ray into her chamber ere she -awoke. Her spirits still continued serene and animated. On -descending to the drawing-room, she found Lady Greystock just -entering it. After breakfast, they went out in her ladyship’s -carriage to different parts of the town. All was new to Amanda, -who, during her former residence in it, had been entirely confined -to lodgings in a retired street. She wondered at, and was -amused by, the crowds continually passing and repassing. -About four they returned to dress. Amanda began the labors -of the toilet with a beating heart; nor were its quick pulsations -decreased on entering Lady Greystock’s carriage, which in a -few minutes conveyed her to Lord Cherbury’s house in St. -James’s Square. She followed her ladyship with tottering steps; -and the first object she saw on entering the drawing-room was -Mortimer standing near the door.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Begone my cares; I give you to the winds.”—<span class="smcap">Rowe</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>In the drawing-room were already assembled the marquis, -marchioness, Lady Euphrasia, Miss Malcolm, and Freelove. -Lady Araminta perceived in the hesitating voice of Amanda -the emotions which agitated her, and which were not diminished -when Lord Cherbury, taking her trembling hand, said—</p> - -<p>“Mortimer, I presume you have already seen Miss Fitzalan -in Ireland?”</p> - -<p>“I have, my lord,” replied Mortimer, bowing, and at the -same time approaching to pay his compliments.</p> - -<p>Every eye in the room, except Lord Cherbury’s and Freelove’s, -was now turned upon his lordship and Amanda, and -thought, in the expressive countenances of both, enough could -be read to confirm their suspicions of a mutual attachment subsisting -between them.</p> - -<p>Amanda, when seated, endeavored to recover from her confusion. -Miss Malcolm, to prevent Lord Mortimer’s taking a -seat by her, which she thought she perceived him inclined to -do, beckoned him to her, and contrived to engage him in trifling -chat, till they were summoned to dinner. On receiving his -hand, which he could not avoid offering, to lead her to the parlor, -she cast a look of exultation at Amanda. Lady Araminta, -perceiving all the gentlemen engaged, good-humoredly put her -arm within Amanda’s, and said she would be her chaperon on -the present occasion. Lord Mortimer quitted Miss Malcolm -the moment he had procured her a seat, though she desired -him to take one between her and Lady Euphrasia, and, passing -to the other side, placed himself by Amanda. This action -pleased her as much as it mortified them. It embarrassed her, -however, a little; but perceiving the scrutinizing earnestness -with which the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia regarded her, -she exerted her spirits, and was soon able to join in the general -conversation which Lord Mortimer promoted.</p> - -<p>The unexpected arrival of Amanda in London astonished, -and, notwithstanding his resentment, delighted him. His sister, -when they were alone in the morning, had mentioned her with -all the fervency of praise. Her plaudits gave to him a sensa<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>tion -of satisfied pride, which convinced him he was not less -than ever interested about Amanda. Since his return from -Ireland, he had been distracted by incertitude and anxiety -about her. The innocence, the purity, the tenderness she had -displayed, were perpetually recurring to his memory. It was -impossible, he thought, they could be feigned, and he began to -think the apparent mystery of her conduct she could have satisfactorily -explained—that designedly she had not avoided -him—and that, but for the impetuosity of his own passions, -which had induced his precipitate departure, he might, ere this, -have had all his doubts removed. Tortured with incessant -regret for this departure, he would have returned immediately -to Ireland, but at this period found it impossible to do so, without -exciting inquiries from Lord Cherbury, which, at present, -he did not choose to answer. He had planned an excursion -thither the ensuing summer with Lady Araminta, determined -no longer to endure his suspense. He now almost believed -the peculiar interposition of Providence had brought Amanda -to town, thus affording him another opportunity of having his -anxiety relieved, and the chief obstacle, perhaps to his, and he -flattered himself also, to her happiness, removed; for, if assured -her precipitate journey from Wales was occasioned by no -motive she need blush to avow, he felt he should be better enabled -to combat the difficulties he was convinced his father -would throw in the way of their union. Notwithstanding Lady -Araminta’s endeavors to gain his implicit confidence, he resolved -to withhold it from her, lest she should incur even the temporary -displeasure of Lord Cherbury, by the warm interest he -knew she would take in his affairs, if once informed of them.</p> - -<p>Amanda looked thinner and paler than when he had seen -her in Ireland—yet, if possible, more interesting from these -circumstances; and, from the soft glance she had involuntarily -directed towards him at her entrance, he was tempted to think -he had, in some degree, contributed to rob her lovely cheek of -its bloom; and this idea rendered her dearer than ever to him. -Scarcely could he restrain the rapture he felt on seeing her -within the necessary bounds; scarcely could he believe the -scene which had given rise to his happiness real. His heart, -at the moment melting with tenderness, sighed for the period -of explanation, which he trusted, which he hoped, would also -be the period of reconciliation.</p> - -<p>The gentlemen joined the ladies about teatime, and as no -additional company was expected, Lady Euphrasia proposed a -party to the Pantheon. This was at once agreed to. Amanda<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> -was delighted at the proposal, as it not only promised to gratify -her curiosity, but to give Lord Mortimer an opportunity -of addressing her, as she saw he wished, but vainly attempted, -at home. The marquis and Lord Cherbury declined going. -Lady Greystock, who had not ordered her carriage till a much -later hour, accepted a place in the marchioness’s.</p> - -<p>Neither Lady Euphrasia nor Miss Malcolm could bear the -idea of Lord Mortimer and Amanda going in the same carriage, -as the presence of Lady Araminta, they were convinced, would -not prevent their using an opportunity so propitious for conversing -as they wished. Lady Euphrasia, therefore, with sudden -eagerness, declared she and Miss Malcolm would resign -their seats in the marchioness’s carriage to Miss Fitzalan and -Freelove for the pleasure of accompanying Lady Araminta in -hers. The marchioness, who conjectured her daughter’s motive -for this new arrangement, seconded it, to the secret regret of -Amanda, and the visible chagrin of Lord Mortimer. Amanda, -however, consoled herself for this disappointment, by reflecting -on the pleasure she should enjoy in a few minutes, when freed -from the disagreeable observation of the marchioness and Lady -Euphrasia; her reflections were not in the least interrupted by -any conversation being addressed to her. The marchioness -and Lady Greystock chatted together, and Freelove amused -himself humming a song, as if for the purpose of mortifying -Amanda by his inattention. When the carriage stopped, he -assisted the former ladies out; but as if forgetting such a being -existed as Amanda, he went on with them. She was descending -the steps when Lord Mortimer pressed forward, and -snatching her hand, softly exclaimed: “We have met again, -and neither envy nor malice shall again separate us.” A -beautiful glow overspread the countenance of Amanda: her -hand trembled in his, and she felt, in that moment, recompensed -for her former disappointment, and elevated above the -little insolence of Freelove. Lord Mortimer handed her to his -sister, who was waiting to receive her, and they proceeded to -the room. Lady Euphrasia entered it with a temper unfitted for -enjoyment. She was convinced the whole soul of Mortimer -was devoted to Amanda, and she trembled from the violent and -malignant feelings that conviction excited. From the moment -he entered the carriage till he quitted it he had remained silent, -notwithstanding all her efforts and Miss Malcolm’s to force -him into conversation. He left them as soon as they reached -the Pantheon to watch the marchioness’s carriage, which followed -theirs, and on rejoining Amanda he attached himself en<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>tirely -to her, without any longer appearing anxious to conceal -his predilection for her. He had, indeed, forgotten the necessity -there was for concealing it; all his feelings, all his ideas, were -engrossed by ecstasy and tenderness. The novelty, the brilliancy -of the scene, excited surprise and pleasure in Amanda, and he -was delighted with the animated description she gave of the -effect it produced upon her mind. In her he found united, exalted -sense, lively fancy, and an uncorrupted taste: he forgot -that the eyes of jealousy and malevolence were on them; he -forgot every object but herself.</p> - -<p>But, alas! poor Amanda was doomed to disappointment -this evening. Lady Greystock, according to a hint she had -received, after a few rounds, stepped up to her, and declared -she must accompany her to a seat, as she was convinced her -health was yet too weak to bear much fatigue. Amanda assured -her she was not in the least fatigued, and that she would -prefer walking; besides, she had half-promised Lord Mortimer -to dance with him. This Lady Greystock absolutely declared -she would not consent to, though Lady Araminta, on whose -arm Amanda leaned, pleaded for her friend, assuring her ladyship -“she would take care Miss Fitzalan should not injure -herself.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, you young people,” said Lady Greystock, “are so -carried away with spirits, you never reflect on consequences; -but I declare, as she is intrusted to my care, I could not -answer it to my conscience to let her run into any kind of -danger.”</p> - -<p>Lady Araminta remonstrated with her ladyship, and Amanda -would have joined, but that she feared her real motive for -doing so would have been discovered. She perceived the party -were detained from proceeding on her account, and immediately -offered her arm to Lady Greystock, and accompanied her -and the marchioness to a seat. Lady Euphrasia, catching -hold of Lady Araminta’s arm, hurried her, at the same instant, -into the crowd; and Miss Malcolm, as if by chance, laid her -hand on Lord Mortimer, and thus compelled him to attend her -party. She saw him, however, in the course of the round, -prepared to fly off; but when they had completed it, to her -inexpressible joy, the situation of Amanda made him relinquish -his intention, as to converse with her was utterly impossible; -for the marchioness had placed her between Lady Greystock -and herself, and, under the pretence of frequently addressing -her ladyship, was continually leaning across Amanda, -so as to exclude her almost from observation, thus rendering her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> -situation, exclusive of the regret at being separated from Lord -Mortimer and Lady Araminta, highly disagreeable. The -marchioness enjoyed a malicious joy in the uneasiness she saw -she gave Amanda. She deemed it but a slight retaliation for -the uneasiness she had given Lady Euphrasia—a trifling punishment -for the admiration she had excited.</p> - -<p>Amanda, indeed, whilst surveying the scene around her with -wonder and delight, had herself been an object of critical attention -and inquiry. She was followed, universally admired, -and allowed to be the finest girl that had appeared for a long -season.</p> - -<p>Relieved of her presence, Lady Euphrasia’s spirits began to -revive, and her good-humor to return. She laughed maliciously -with Miss Malcolm at the disappointment of Lord Mortimer -and Amanda. After a few rounds, Sir Charles Bingley, in -company with another gentleman, passed them. He was, to -use Miss Malcolm’s own phrase, “an immense favorite with -her,” and she had long meditated and attempted the conquest -of his heart. The attention which politeness obliged him to -show, and the compliments she sometimes compelled him to -pay, she flattered herself, were intimations of the success of her -scheme. Lady Euphrasia, notwithstanding her intentions relative -to Lord Mortimer, and her professed friendship for Miss -Malcolm, felt an ardent desire to have Sir Charles enrolled in -the list of her admirers, and both ladies determined he should -not again pass without noticing them. They accordingly -watched his approach, and when they again met addressed him -in a manner that, to a man at all interested about either, -would have been truly flattering. As this, however, was not -the young baronet’s case, after paying his compliments in a -general way to the whole party, he was making his parting bow, -when his companion, pulling him by the sleeve, bid him observe a -beautiful girl sitting opposite to them. They had stopped near -the marchioness’s seat, and it was to Amanda Sir Charles’s eyes -were directed.</p> - -<p>“Gracious heaven!” cried he, starting, while his cheek was -suffused with a glow of pleasure; “can this be possible? Can -this in reality,” advancing to her seat, “be Miss Fitzalan? -This surely,” continued he, “is a meeting as fortunate as unexpected. -But for it, I should have been posting back to Ireland -in a day or two.”</p> - -<p>Amanda blushed deeply at his thus publicly declaring her -power of regulating his actions. Her confusion restored that -recollection his joyful surprise had deprived him of, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> -addressed the marchioness and Lady Greystock. The former -haughtily bowed, without speaking; and the latter, laughing -significantly, said, “she really imagined ecstasy on Miss -Fitzalan’s account had made him forget any one else was present.” -The situation of Amanda was tantalizing in an extreme -degree to Sir Charles. It precluded all conversation, and frequently -hid her from his view, as the marchioness and Lady -Greystock still continued their pretended whispers. Sir Charles -had some knowledge of the marchioness’s disposition, and -quickly perceived the motive of her present conduct.</p> - -<p>“Your ladyship is kind,” said he, “in trying to hide Miss -Fitzalan, as no doubt you are conscious ’tis not a slight heartache -she would give to some of the belles present this evening. -But why,” continued he, turning to Amanda, “do you prefer -sitting to walking?”</p> - -<p>Amanda made no answer; but a glance from her expressive -eyes to the ladies informed him of the reason.</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia and Miss Malcolm, provoked at the abrupt -departure of Sir Charles, had hurried on; but scarcely had they -proceeded a few yards ere envy and curiosity induced them to -turn back. Lady Araminta perceived their chagrin, and secretly -enjoyed it. Sir Charles, who had been looking impatiently -for their approach, the moment he perceived them, entreated -Amanda to join them.</p> - -<p>“Let me,” cried he, presenting his hand, “be your knight -on the present occasion, and deliver you from what may be -called absolute captivity.”</p> - -<p>She hesitated not to accept his offer. The continual buzz -in the room, with the passing and repassing of the company, -had made her head giddy. She deemed no apology requisite -to her companions; and, quitting her seat, hastened forward -to Lady Araminta, who had stopped for her. A crowd at -that moment, intervening between them, retarded her progress. -Sir Charles, pressing her hand with fervor, availed himself of -this opportunity to express his pleasure at their unexpected -meeting.</p> - -<p>“Ah! how little,” cried he, “did I imagine there was such -happiness in store for me this evening.”</p> - -<p>“Sir Charles,” said Amanda, endeavoring, though in vain, -to withdraw her hand, “you have learned the art of flattering -since your return to England.”</p> - -<p>“I wish,” cried he, “I had learned the art of expressing, as -I wish, the sentiments I feel.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer, who had made way through the crowd for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> -the ladies, at this instant appeared. He seemed to recoil at -the situation of Amanda, whose hand was yet detained in Sir -Charles’s, while the soft glow and confusion of her face gave at -least a suspicion of the language she was listening to.</p> - -<p>On rejoining the party she hoped again to have been joined -by Lord Mortimer; but, even if inclined for this, Sir Charles -totally prevented him. His lordship deserted them, yet almost -continually contrived to intercept the party, and his eyes were -always turned on Amanda and Sir Charles. He was really displeased -with her. He thought she might as well have left her -seat before as after Sir Charles’s appearance, and he resolved -to watch her closely. She was asked to dance by Sir Charles, -and several other gentlemen, but refused, and Lady Araminta, -on her account, followed her example. Lady Euphrasia and -Miss Malcolm either were too much discomposed, or not asked -by gentlemen they liked, to join the festive group.</p> - -<p>Amanda, from being disappointed, soon grew languid, and -endeavored to check, with more than usual seriousness, the -ardent expressions of Sir Charles, who repeatedly declared, “he -had hurried over the affairs which brought him to England -entirely on her account, as he thought every day an age until -they again met.”</p> - -<p>She was rejoiced when Lady Araminta proposed returning -home. Lady Euphrasia and Miss Malcolm had no longer a -desire to accompany her ladyship, as they believed Lord Mortimer -already gone, and she and Amanda therefore returned -alone. Sir Charles was invited to supper, an invitation he joyfully -accepted, and promised to follow her ladyship as soon as -he had apprised the party he came with of his intention.</p> - -<p>Lady Araminta and Amanda arrived some time before the -rest of the party. Her ladyship said, “that her leaving town was -to attend the nuptials of a particular friend,” and was expressing -her hopes, that on her return, she should often be favored -with the company of Amanda, when the door suddenly opened -and Lord Mortimer entered. He looked pleased and surprised, -and taking a seat on the sofa between them, exclaimed, as he -regarded them with unutterable tenderness, “surely one moment -like this is worth whole hours such as we have lately spent. -May I,” looking at Amanda, “say that chance is now as propitious -to me as it was some time ago to Sir Charles Bingley? -Tell me,” continued he, “were you not agreeably surprised -to-night?”</p> - -<p>“By the Pantheon, undoubtedly, my lord.”</p> - -<p>“And by Sir Charles Bingley?”</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No. He is too slight an acquaintance either to give -pleasure by his presence or pain by his absence.”</p> - -<p>This was just what Lord Mortimer wanted to hear. The -looks of Amanda, and, above all, the manner in which she had -received the attentions of Sir Charles, evinced her sincerity. The -shadow of jealousy removed, Lord Mortimer recovered all his -animation. Never does the mind feel so light, so truly happy, -as when a painful doubt is banished from it.</p> - -<p>“Miss Fitzalan,” said Lady Araminta, recurring to what -Amanda had just said, “can see few beings, like herself, capable -of exciting immediate esteem. For my own part, I cannot -persuade myself that she is an acquaintance of but two -days, I feel such an interest in her welfare, such a sisterly -regard.” She paused, and looked expressively on her brother -and Amanda. His fine eyes beamed the liveliest pleasure.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my sister,” cried he, “encourage that sisterly affection. -Who so worthy of possessing it as Miss Fitzalan? and who but -Amanda,” continued he, passing his arm round her waist, and -softly whispering to her, “shall have a right to claim it?”</p> - -<p>The stopping of the carriages now announced the return of -the party, and terminated a scene, which, if much longer protracted, -might, by increasing their agitation, have produced a -full discovery of their feelings. The ladies were attended by -Sir Charles and Freelove. The marquis and Lord Cherbury -had been out, but returned about this time; and soon after -supper the company departed—Lady Araminta tenderly bidding -Amanda farewell.</p> - -<p>The cares which had so long pressed upon the heart of -Amanda, and disturbed its peace, were now vanished. The -whisper of Lord Mortimer had assured her that she was not -only the object of his tenderest affection, but most serious attention. -The regard of Lady Araminta flattered her pride, as -it implied a tacit approbation of her brother’s choice.</p> - -<p>The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Lady Greystock -went out to her lawyer, and Amanda was sitting at work -in the dressing-room, when Sir Charles Bingley was announced. -He now expressed, if possible, more pleasure at seeing her than -he had done the preceding night; congratulated himself at finding -her alone, and repeatedly declared, from their first interview, -her image had never been absent from his mind. The particularity -and ardor of his expressions Amanda wished, and -endeavored, to repress. She had not the ridiculous and unfeeling -vanity to be delighted with an attachment she could not -return; besides his attentions were unpleasing, as she believed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> -they gave uneasiness to Lord Mortimer. She therefore answered -him with cold and studied caution, which, to his impetuous -feelings, was insupportable. Half resenting, half rallying it, he -snatched her hand, in spite of her efforts to prevent him, and -was declaring he could not bear it, when the door opened and -Lord Mortimer appeared. Had Amanda been encouraging the -regard of Sir Charles, she could not have betrayed more confusion. -Lord Mortimer retreated a few steps, in evident embarrassment; -then bowing coolly, again advanced and took a -seat. Sir Charles started up, with a look which seemed to say -he had been most unpleasantly interrupted, and walked about -the room. Amanda was the first who broke silence. She -asked, in a hesitating voice, “Whether Lady Araminta was yet -gone?” “No,” his lordship gravely replied; “but in a few -minutes she proposed setting out, and he meant to accompany -her part of the way.” “So, till her ladyship was ready,” cried -Sir Charles, with quickness, “that no time might be lost, you -come to Miss Fitzalan?”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer made no reply. He frowned, and rising -directly, slightly saluted Amanda, and retired.</p> - -<p>Convinced, as she was, that Lord Mortimer had made the -visit for the purpose of speaking more explicitly than he had -yet done, she could not entirely conceal her chagrin, or regard -Sir Charles without some displeasure. It had not, however, -the effect of making him shorten his visit. He continued with -her till Lady Greystock’s return, to whom he proposed a party -that evening for the opera, and obtained permission to wait -upon her ladyship at tea, with tickets, notwithstanding Amanda -declared her disinclination to going. She wished to avoid the -public, as well as private, attentions of Sir Charles; but both -she found impossible to do. The impression which the charms -of her mind and form had made on him was of too ardent, too -permanent a nature, to be erased by her coldness. Generous -and exalted in his notions, affluent and independent in his fortune, -he neither required any addition of wealth, nor was under -any control which could prevent his following his inclinations. -His heart was bent on a union with Amanda. Though hurt by -her indifference, he would not allow himself to be discouraged -by it. Time and perseverance, he trusted and believed, would -conquer it. Unaccustomed to disappointment, he could not, in -an affair which so materially concerned his happiness, bear the -idea of proving unsuccessful. Had Amanda’s heart been disengaged, -he would probably have succeeded as he wished; for -he was calculated to please, to inspire admiration and esteem;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> -and Amanda felt a real friendship for him, and sincerely grieved -that his ardent regard could not be reduced to as temperate a -medium as hers.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock had a numerous and brilliant acquaintance -in London, amongst whom she was continually engaged. Sir -Charles was well known to them, and therefore almost constantly -attended Amanda wherever she went. His unremitted -and particular attention excited universal observation; and he -was publicly declared the professed admirer of Lady Greystock’s -beautiful companion. The appellation was generally bestowed -on her by the gentlemen; as many of Lady Greystock’s female -intimates declared, from the appearance of the girl, as well as -her distressed situation, they wondered Sir Charles Bingley -could ever think about her, for her ladyship had represented -her as a person in the most indigent circumstances, on which -account she had taken her under her protection. All that envy, -hatred, and malice could suggest against her, Miss Malcolm said. -The marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, judging of her by themselves, -supposed that as she was not sure of Lord Mortimer she -would accept of Sir Charles; and though this measure would remove -all apprehensions relative to Lord Mortimer, yet the idea of -the wealth and consequence she would derive from it, almost distracted -them. Thus does envy sting the bosoms which harbor it.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer again resumed his reserve. He was frequently -in company with Amanda, but never even attempted to -pay her any attention; yet his eyes, which she often caught -riveted on her, though the moment she perceived them they -were withdrawn, seemed to say that the alteration in his manner -was not produced by any diminution of tenderness. He was, -indeed, determined to regulate his conduct by hers to Sir -Charles. Though pained and irritated by his assiduities, he had -too much pride to declare a prior claim to her regard—a woman -who could waver between two objects, he deemed unworthy of -either. He therefore resolved to leave Amanda free to act, and -put her constancy to a kind of test. Yet, notwithstanding all -his pride, we believe, if not pretty well convinced that this test -would have proved a source of triumph to himself, he never -would have submitted to it. The period for Lady Araminta’s -return was now arrived, and Amanda was anxiously expecting -her, when she heard from Lady Euphrasia that her ladyship had -been ill in the country, and would not therefore leave it for -some time. This was a severe disappointment to Amanda, who -had hoped, by her ladyship’s means, to have seen less of Sir -Charles and more of Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“And why should such, within herself, she cried,</span> -<span class="i0">Lock the lost wealth, a thousand want beside.”—<span class="smcap">Parnell</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Amanda was sitting alone in the drawing-room one morning, -when a gentleman was shown into it, to wait for Lady -Greystock. The stranger was about the middle period of life; -his dress announced him a military man, and his threadbare -coat seemed to declare that whatever laurels he had gathered, -they were barren ones. His form and face were interesting; -infirmity appeared to press upon one, and sorrow had deeply -marked the other, yet without despoiling it of a certain expression -which indicated the hilarity nature had once stamped upon -it. His temples were sunk, and his cheek faded to a sickly -hue. Amanda felt immediate respect and sensibility for the -interesting figure before her. The feelings of her soul, the -early lessons of her youth, had taught her to reverence distress; -and never, perhaps, did she think it so peculiarly affecting, as -when in a military garb.</p> - -<p>The day was uncommonly severe, and the stranger shivered -with the cold.</p> - -<p>“I declare, young lady,” cried he, as he took the chair which -Amanda had placed for him by the fire, “I think I should not -tremble more before an enemy, than I do before this day. I -don’t know but what it is as essential for a subaltern officer to -stand cold as well as fire.”</p> - -<p>Amanda smiled, and resumed her work. She was busily -employed making a trimming of artificial flowers for Lady -Greystock, to present to a young lady, from whose family she -had received some obligations. This was a cheap mode of -returning them, as Amanda’s materials were used.</p> - -<p>“Your employment is an entertaining one,” said the stranger, -“and your roses literally without thorns; such, no doubt, as -you expect to gather in your path through life.”</p> - -<p>“No,” replied Amanda, “I have no such expectation.”</p> - -<p>“And yet,” said he, “how few at your time of life, particularly -if possessed of your advantages, could make such a -declaration.”</p> - -<p>“Whoever had reflection undoubtedly would,” replied -Amanda.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> -“That I allow,” cried he; “but how few do we find with -reflection?—from the young it is banished, as the rigid tyrant -that would forbid the enjoyment of the pleasures they pant -after;—and from the old it is too often expelled, as an enemy -to that forgetfulness which can alone insure their tranquillity.”</p> - -<p>“But in both, I trust,” said Amanda, “you will allow there -are exceptions.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps there are; yet often, when conscience has no -reason to dread, sensibility has cause to fear reflection, which -not only revives the recollection of happy hours, but inspires -such a regret for their loss, as almost unfits the soul for any -exertions; ’tis indeed beautifully described in these lines—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Still importunate and vain,</span> -<span class="i0">To former joys recurring ever</span> -<span class="i0">And turning all the past to pain.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Amanda attentively watched him, and thought what he -said appeared particularly applicable to himself, as his countenance -assumed a more dejected expression. He revived, -however, in a few moments.</p> - -<p>“I have, my dear young lady,” continued he, smiling, “beguiled -you most soberly, as Lady Grace says, into conversation. -I have, however, given you an opportunity of amusing -your fancy by drawing a comparison between an old veteran -and a young soldier; but though you may allow him more -animation, I trust you will not do me so much injustice as to -allow him more taste: while he merely extolled the lustre of -your eyes, I should admire the mildness which tempered that -lustre; while he praised the glow of your cheek, I should -adore that sensibility which had power, in a moment, to augment -or diminish it.”</p> - -<p>At this instant Lady Greystock entered the room—she -entered it with the swell of importance, and a haughty expression -of contempt in her features.</p> - -<p>The stranger rose from his chair, and his paleness increased.</p> - -<p>“So, Mr. Rushbrook,” at last drawled out her ladyship. “So, -sir: but pray be seated,” waving her hand at the same time.</p> - -<p>Amanda now retired: she had lingered a few moments in -the room, under the pretence of putting her work out of her -ladyship’s way, to discover who the stranger was.</p> - -<p>Rushbrook had been represented to her as artful, treacherous, -and contemptible. His appearance was almost a sufficient -refutation of those charges, and she began to think they never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> -would have been laid against him by any other being than -Lady Greystock, from a desire of depreciating her adversary. -In her ladyship she had seen much to dislike since she resided -with her; she saw that the temper, like the person, is often -allowed to be in dishabille at home.</p> - -<p>She felt even warmly interested about Rushbrook; she -had heard of his large family; and, from his appearance, she -conjectured they must be in distress. There was a kind -of humorous sadness in his manner which affected her even -more than a settled melancholy perhaps would have done, as -it implied the efforts of a noble heart to repel sorrow; and if -there cannot be a more noble, neither, surely, can there be a -more affecting sight, than that of a good and brave man struggling -with adversity.</p> - -<p>As she leaned pensively against the window, reflecting on -the various inequalities of fortune, yet still believing they were -designed by a wise Providence, like hill and valley, mutually -to benefit each other, she saw Rushbrook cross the street; his -walk was the slow and lingering walk of dejection and disappointment. -He raised his hand to his eyes, Amanda supposed -to wipe away his tears, and her own fell at the supposition. -The severity of the day had increased; a heavy shower -of snow was falling, against which poor Rushbrook had no -shelter but his threadbare coat. Amanda was unutterably -affected; and when he disappeared from her sight, she fell -into a sentimental soliloquy, something in the style of Yorick.</p> - -<p>“Was I mistress,” exclaimed she, as she beheld the splendid -carriages passing and repassing,——"was I mistress of one of -those carriages, an old soldier like Rushbrook should not be -exposed to the inclemency of a wintry sky; neither should -his coat be threadbare, or his heart oppressed with anguish! -If I saw a tear upon his cheek I would say it had no business -there, for comfort was about revisiting him.” As she spoke, -the idea of Lord Mortimer occurred. Her tears were suspended, -and her cheek began to glow.</p> - -<p>“Yes, poor Rushbrook!” she exclaimed, “perhaps the -period is not far distant when a bounteous Providence, through -the hands of Amanda, may relieve thy wants; when Mortimer -himself may be her assistant in the office of benevolence!”</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock’s woman now appeared, to desire she would -come down to her lady. She immediately obeyed the summons, -with a secret hope of hearing something of the conference. -Her ladyship received her with an exulting laugh.</p> - -<p>“I have good news to tell you, my dear,” exclaimed she;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> -“that poor wretch, Rushbrook, has lost the friend who was -to have supported him in the lawsuit; and the lawyers, finding -the sheet-anchor gone, have steered off, and left him to shift -for himself. The miserable creature and his family must certainly -starve. Only think of his assurance. He came to say, -indeed, he would now be satisfied with a compromise.” “Well, -madam?” said Amanda.</p> - -<p>“Well, madam,” repeated her ladyship, mimicking her manner; -“I told him I must be a fool indeed, if ever I consented -to such a thing, after his effrontery in attempting to litigate -the will of his much-abused uncle, my dear, good Sir Geoffry. -No, no; I bid him proceed in the suit, as all my lawyers were -prepared; and, after so much trouble on both sides, it would -be a pity the thing came to nothing.” “As your ladyship, -however, knows his extreme distress, no doubt you will relieve -it.” “Why, pray,” said her ladyship, smartly, “do you think -he has any claim upon me?” “Yes,” replied Amanda, “if -not upon your justice, at least upon your humanity.” “So -you would advise me to fling away my money upon him?” -“Yes,” replied Amanda, smiling, “I would. And, as your -ladyship likes the expression, have you fling it away profusely.” -“Well, well,” answered she, “when you arrive at my age, you -will know the real value of wealth.” “I trust madam,” said -Amanda, with spirit, “I know its real value already. We only -estimate it differently.”</p> - -<p>“And pray,” asked her ladyship, with a sneer, “how may -you estimate it?”</p> - -<p>“As the means, madam, of dispensing happiness around -us. Of giving shelter to the houseless child of want, and joy -to the afflicted heart; as a sacred deposit intrusted to us by -an Almighty Power for those purposes, which, if so applied, -will nourish placid and delightful reflections, that, like soothing -friends, will crowd around us in the bed of sickness or death, -alleviating the pains of one, and the terrors of the other.”</p> - -<p>“Upon my word,” exclaimed Lady Greystock, “a fine -flowery speech, and well calculated for a sentimental novel or -a moral treatise for the improvement of youth. But I advise -you, my dear, in future, to keep your queer and romantic -notions to yourself, or else it will be suspected you have made -romances your study; for you have just spoken as one of their -heroines would have done.”</p> - -<p>Amanda made no reply; yet as she beheld her ladyship -seated in an easy-chair, by a blazing fire, with a large bowl of -rich soup before her, which she took every morning, she could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> -not forbear secretly exclaiming: “Hard-hearted woman! engrossed -by your own gratifications, no ray of compassion can -soften your nature for the misfortunes of others. Sheltered -yourself from the tempests, you see it falling, without pity, on -the head of wretchedness; and while you feast on luxuries, -think without emotion of those who want even common necessaries.”</p> - -<p>In the evening they went to a large party at the marchioness’s, -but though the scene was gay and brilliant, it could -not remove the pensiveness of Amanda’s spirits. The emaciated -form of Rushbrook, returning to his desolate family, -dwelt upon her mind. A little, she thought, as she surveyed -the magnificence of the apartments, and the splendor of the -company which crowded them, a little from this parade of -vanity and wealth, would give relief to many a child of indigence. -Never had the truth of the following lines so forcibly -struck her imagination:—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Ah, little think the gay, licentious crowd</span> -<span class="i0">Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround;</span> -<span class="i0">They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth</span> -<span class="i0">And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;</span> -<span class="i0">Ah, little think they, while they dance along,</span> -<span class="i0">How many feel, this very moment, death,</span> -<span class="i0">And all the sad variety of pain.</span> -<span class="i6">How many drink the cup</span> -<span class="i0">Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread</span> -<span class="i0">Of misery, sore pierced by wintry winds?</span> -<span class="i0">How many shrink into the sordid hut</span> -<span class="i0">Of cheerless poverty?”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>From such reflections as these she was disturbed by the entrance -of Sir Charles Bingley. As usual, he took his station -by her, and in a few minutes after him Lord Mortimer appeared. -A party for vingt-un was formed, in which Amanda joined, from -a wish of avoiding the assiduities of Sir Charles; but he took -care to secure a seat next hers, and Lord Mortimer sat opposite -to them.</p> - -<p>“Bingley,” said a gentleman, after they had been some -time at the table, “you are certainly the most changeable fellow -in the world. About three weeks ago you were hurrying everything -for a journey to Ireland, as if life and death depended on -your expedition, and here I still find you loitering about the -town.”</p> - -<p>“I deny the imputation of changeableness,” replied the -baronet; “all my actions are regulated,” and he glanced at -Amanda, “by one source, one object.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> -Amanda blushed, and caught, at that moment, a penetrating -look from Lord Mortimer. Her situation was extremely disagreeable. -She dreaded his attentions would be imputed to -encouragement from her; she had often tried to suppress them, -and she resolved her next efforts should be more resolute.</p> - -<p>Sir Charles reached Pall Mall the next morning just as -Lady Greystock was stepping into her chariot, to acquaint her -lawyer of Rushbrook’s visit. She informed him that Miss Fitzalan -was in the drawing-room, and he flew up to her.</p> - -<p>“You find,” said he, “by what you heard last night, that -my conduct has excited some surprise. I assure you my friends -think I must absolutely be deranged, to relinquish so suddenly -a journey I appeared so anxious to take. Suffer me,” continued -he, taking her hand, “to assign the true reason for this apparent -change.” “Sir Charles,” replied Amanda, “’tis time to terminate -this trifling.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, let it then be terminated,” said he, with eagerness, -“by your consenting to my happiness, by your accepting a hand, -tendered to you with the most ardent affections of my heart.”</p> - -<p>With equal delicacy and tenderness, he then urged her acceptance -of proposals which were as disinterested as the most -romantic generosity could desire them to be.</p> - -<p>Amanda felt really concerned that he had made them; the -grateful sensibility of her nature was hurt at the idea of giving -him pain. “Believe me, Sir Charles,” said she, “I am truly -sensible of the honor of your addresses; but I should deem -myself unworthy of the favorable opinion which excited them, -if I delayed a moment assuring you that friendship was the only -return in my power to make for them.”</p> - -<p>The impetuous passions of Sir Charles were now all in -commotion. He started from his chair and traversed the apartment -in breathless agitation. “I will not, Miss Fitzalan,” said -he, resuming his seat again, “believe you inflexible. I will not -believe that you can think I shall so easily resign an idea which -I have so long cherished with rapture.”</p> - -<p>“Surely, Sir Charles,” somewhat alarmed, “you cannot -accuse me of having encouraged that idea?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” sighed he passionately, “to me you were always -uniformly cold.” “And from whence then proceeded such an -idea?”</p> - -<p>“From the natural propensity we all have to deceive ourselves, -and to believe that whatever we wish will be accomplished. -Ah! Miss Fitzalan, deprive me not of so sweet a belief. -I will not at present urge you to any material step to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> -which you are averse; I will only entreat for permission to hope -that time, perseverance, unremitted attention, may make some -impression on you, and at last produce a change in my favor.”</p> - -<p>“Never, Sir Charles, will I give rise to a hope which I think -cannot be realized. A little reflection will convince you you -should not be displeased at my being so explicit. We are, at -this moment, both perhaps, too much discomposed to render a -longer conference desirable. Pardon me, therefore, if I now -terminate it, and, be assured, I shall never lose a grateful remembrance -of the honor you intended me, or forget the friendship -I professed for Sir Charles Bingley.”</p> - -<p>She then withdrew, without any obstruction from him. Regret -and disappointment seemed to have suspended his faculties; -but it was a momentary suspension, and on recovering -them he quitted the house.</p> - -<p>His pride, at first, urged him to give up Amanda forever; -but his tenderness soon opposed this resolution. He had, as -he himself acknowledged, a propensity to believe, that whatever -he wished was easy to accomplish; this propensity proceeded -from the easiness with which his inclinations had hitherto -been gratified. Flattering himself that the coldness of -Amanda proceeded more from natural reserve than particular -indifference to him, he still hoped she might be induced to favor -him. She was so superior, in his opinion, to every woman he -had seen, so truly calculated to render him happy, that, as the -violence of offended pride abated, he resolved, without another -effort, not to give her up. Without knowing it, he had rambled -to St. James’s Square, and having heard of the friendship subsisting -between Lord Cherbury and Fitzalan, he deemed his lordship -a proper person to apply to on the present occasion, thinking, -that if he interested himself in his favor, he might yet be successful. -He accordingly repaired to his house, and was shown -into an apartment where the earl and Lord Mortimer were sitting -together. After paying the usual compliments, “I am -come, my lord,” said he, somewhat abruptly, “to entreat your -interest in an affair which materially concerns my happiness, -and trust your lordship will excuse my entreaty, when I inform -you it relates to Miss Fitzalan.”</p> - -<p>The earl, with much politeness, assured him, “He should -feel happy in an opportunity of serving him,” and said, “he did -him but justice in supposing him particularly interested about -Miss Fitzalan, not only as the daughter of his old friend, but -from her own great merit.”</p> - -<p>Sir Charles then acquainted him with the proposals he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> -just made her, and her absolute rejection of them; and expressed -his hope that Lord Cherbury would try to influence her -in his favor.</p> - -<p>“’Tis very extraordinary, indeed,” cried his lordship, “that -Miss Fitzalan should decline such an honorable, such an advantageous -proposal. Are you sure, Sir Charles, there is no prior -attachment in the case?”</p> - -<p>“I never heard of one, my lord, and I believe none exists.” -Lord Mortimer’s countenance lowered at this, but, happily, its -gloom was unperceived.</p> - -<p>“I will write to-day,” said the earl, “to Mr. Fitzalan, -and mention your proposal to him in the terms it deserves. -Except authorized by him, you must, Sir Charles, excuse my -personal interference in the affair. I have no doubt, indeed, -but he will approve of your addresses, and you may then depend -on my seconding them with all my interest.”</p> - -<p>This promise satisfied Sir Charles, and he soon after withdrew. -Lord Mortimer was now pretty well convinced of the -state of Amanda’s heart. Under this conviction, he delayed -not many minutes, after Sir Charles’s departure, going to Pall -Mall; and having particularly inquired whether Lady Greystock -was out, and being answered in the affirmative, he ascended to -the drawing-room, to which Amanda had again returned.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Go bid the needle its dear north forsake,</span> -<span class="i1">To which with trembling reverence it does bend:</span> -<span class="i0">Go bid the stones a journey upward make:</span> -<span class="i1">Go bid the ambitious flame no more ascend;</span> -<span class="i0">And when these false to their old motions prove,</span> -<span class="i1">Then will I cease thee, thee alone to love.”—<span class="smcap">Cowley</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>In an emotion of surprise at so unexpected a visit, the book -she was reading dropped from Amanda, and she arose in visible -agitation.</p> - -<p>“I fear,” said his lordship, “I have intruded somewhat -abruptly upon you; but my apology for doing so must be my -ardent wish of using an opportunity so propitious for a mutual -eclaircissement—an opportunity I might, perhaps, vainly seek -again.”</p> - -<p>He took her trembling hand, led her to the sofa, and placed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> -himself by her. As a means of leading to the desired eclaircissement, -he related the agonies he had suffered at returning -to Tudor Hall, and finding her gone—gone in a manner so inexplicable, -that the more he reflected on it the more wretched -he grew. He described the hopes and fears which alternately -fluctuated in his mind during his continuance in Ireland, and -which often drove him into a state nearly bordering on distraction. -He mentioned the resolution, though painful in the extreme, -which he had adopted on the first appearance of Sir -Charles Bingley’s particularity; and finally concluded by assuring -her, notwithstanding all his incertitude and anxiety, his -tenderness had never known diminution.</p> - -<p>Encouraged by this assurance, Amanda, with restored composure, -informed him of the reason of her precipitate journey -from Wales, and the incidents which prevented her meeting him -in Ireland, as he had expected. Though delicacy forbade her -dwelling, like Lord Mortimer, on the wretchedness occasioned -by their separation, and mutual misapprehensions of each other, -she could not avoid touching upon it sufficiently, indeed, to convince -him she had been a sympathizing participator in all the -uneasiness he had suffered.</p> - -<p>Restored to the confidence of Mortimer, Amanda appeared -dearer to his soul than ever. Pleasure beamed from his eyes -as he pressed her to his bosom, and exclaimed, “I may again -call you my own Amanda; again sketch scenes of felicity, and -call upon you to realize them.” Yet, in the midst of this transport, -a sudden gloom clouded his countenance; and after gazing -on her some minutes, with pensive tenderness, he fervently -exclaimed, “Would to Heaven, in this hour of perfect reconciliation, -I could say that all obstacles to our future happiness -were removed.” Amanda involuntarily shuddered, and continued -silent.</p> - -<p>“That my father will throw difficulties in the way of our -union, I cannot deny my apprehension of,” said Lord Mortimer; -“though truly noble and generous in his nature, he is sometimes, -like the rest of mankind, influenced by interested motives. -He has long, from such motives, set his heart on a connection -with the Marquis of Roslin’s family. Though fully determined -in my intentions, I have hitherto forborne an explicit declaration -of them to him, trusting that some propitious chance would -yet second my wishes, and save me the painful necessity of disturbing -the harmony which has ever subsisted between us.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! my lord!” said Amanda, turning pale, and shrinking -from him, “let me not be the unfortunate cause of disturb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>ing -that harmony. Comply with the wishes of Lord Cherbury, -marry Lady Euphrasia, and let me be forgotten.”</p> - -<p>“Amanda,” cried his lordship, “accuse not yourself of -being the cause of any disagreement between us. Had I never -seen you, with respect to Lady Euphrasia, I should have felt -the same inability to comply with his wishes. To me her person -is not more unpleasing than her mind. I have long been -convinced that wealth alone was insufficient to bestow felicity, -and have ever considered the man who could sacrifice his feelings -at the shrine of interest or ambition, degraded below the -standard of humanity; that to marry, merely from selfish considerations, -was one of the most culpable, most contemptible -actions which could be committed. To enter into such a union, -I want the propensities which can alone ever occasion it, namely, -a violent passion for the enjoyments only attainable through -the medium of wealth. Left at an early age uncontrolled master -of my own actions, I drank freely of the cup of pleasure, -but found it soon pall upon my taste. It was, indeed, unmixed -with any of those refined ingredients which can only please the -intellectual appetite, and might properly be termed the cup of -false instead of real pleasure. Thinking, therefore, as I do, -that a union without love is abhorrent to probity and sensibility, -and that the dissipated pleasures of life are not only prejudicial -but tiresome, I naturally wish to secure to myself domestic happiness; -but never could it be experienced except united to a -woman whom my reason thoroughly approved, who should at -once possess my unbounded confidence and tenderest affection. -Who should be, not only the promoter of my joys, but the assuager -of my cares. In you I have found such a woman, such -a being, as I candidly confess, some time ago, I thought it impossible -to meet with. To you I am bound by a sentiment even -stronger than love—by honor—and with real gratitude acknowledge -my obligations in being permitted to atone, in some degree, -for my errors relative to you. But I will not allow my -Amanda to suppose these errors proceeded from any settled -depravity of soul. Allowed to be, as I have before said, my -own master at an early period, from the natural thoughtlessness -of youth, I was led into scenes which the judgment of riper -years has since severely condemned. Here, too, often I met -with women whose manners, instead of checking, gave a latitude -to freedom; women, too, who, from their situations in life, -had every advantage that could be requisite for improving and -refining their minds. From conversing with them I gradually -imbibed a prejudice against the whole sex, and under that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> -prejudice first beheld you, and feared either to doubt or to -believe the reality of the innocence you appeared to possess.</p> - -<p>“Convinced at length, most fully, most happily convinced -of its reality, my prejudices no longer remained; they vanished -like mists before the sun—or rather like the illusions of falsehood -before the influence of truth. Were those, my dear -Amanda, of your sex, who, like you, had the resistless power -of pleasing, to use the faculties assigned them by a bounteous -Providence in the cause of virtue, they would soon check the -dissipation of the times.</p> - -<p>“’Tis impossible to express the power a beautiful form has -over the human mind; that power might be exerted for nobler -purposes. Purity speaking from love-inspiring lips would, like -the voice of Adam’s heavenly guest, so sweetly breathe upon -the ear as insensibly to influence the heart; the libertine it corrected -would, if not utterly hardened, reform; no longer would -he glory in his vices, but touched and abashed, instead of destroying, -worship female virtue.</p> - -<p>“But I wander from the purpose of my soul. Convinced -as I am of the dissimilarity between my father’s inclinations -and mine, I think it better to give no intimation of my present -intentions, which, if permitted by you, I am unalterably determined -on fulfilling, as I should consider it as highly insulting -to him to incur his prohibition, and then act in defiance of it, -though my heart would glory in avowing its choice. The peculiar -circumstances I have just mentioned will, I trust, induce -my Amanda to excuse a temporary concealment of it, till beyond -the power of mortals to separate us—a private and immediate -union, the exigency of situation, and the security of felicity -demands. I shall feel a trembling apprehension till I call you -mine; life is too short to permit the waste of time in idle -scruples and unmeaning ceremonies. The eye of suspicion has -long rested upon us, and would, I am convinced, effect a premature -discovery, if we took not some measure to prevent it.</p> - -<p>“Deem me not too precipitate, my Amanda,” passing his -arm gently round her waist, “if I ask you to-morrow night, for -the last sweet proof of confidence you can give me, by putting -yourself under my protection. A journey to Scotland is unavoidable—in -the arrangements I shall make for it, all that is -due to delicacy I shall consider.”</p> - -<p>“Mention it no more, my lord,” said Amanda, in a faltering -accent; “no longer delude your imagination or mine with the -hopes of being united.”</p> - -<p>Hitherto she had believed the approbation of Lord Cher<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>bury -to the wishes of his son would be obtained, the moment -he was convinced how essential their gratification was to his -felicity. She judged of him by her father, who, she was convinced, -if situations were reversed, would bestow her on Mortimer -without hesitation. These ideas so nourished her attachment, -that, like the vital parts of existence, it at length became -painfully, almost fatally, susceptible of every shock. Her dream -of happiness was over the moment she heard Lord Cherbury’s -consent was not to be asked, from a fear of its being refused. -’Twas misery to be separated from Lord Mortimer, but it was -guilt and misery to marry him clandestinely, after the solemn -injunction her father had given her against such a step. The -shock of disappointment could not be borne with composure; -it pressed like a cold dead weight upon her heart. She trembled, -and, unable to support herself, sunk against the shoulder of -Lord Mortimer, while a shower of tears proclaimed her agony. -Alarmed by her emotion, Lord Mortimer hastily demanded its -source, and the reason of the words which had just escaped her.</p> - -<p>“Because, my lord,” replied she, “I cannot consent to a -clandestine measure, nor bear you should incur the displeasure -of Lord Cherbury on my account. Though Lady Euphrasia -Sutherland is not agreeable, there are many women who, with -equal rank and fortune, possess the perfections suited to your -taste. Seek for one of these—choose from among them a -happy daughter of prosperity, and let Amanda, untitled, unportioned, -and unpleasing to your father, return to an obscurity -which owes its comfort to his fostering bounty.” “Does this -advice,” asked Lord Mortimer, “proceed from Amanda’s -heart?” “No,” replied she, hesitatingly, and smiling through -her tears, “not from her heart, but from a better counsellor, -her reason.”</p> - -<p>“And shall I not obey the dictates of reason,” replied he, -“in uniting my destiny to yours? Reason directs us to seek -happiness through virtuous means; and what means are so -adapted for that purpose, as a union with a beloved and -amiable woman? No, Amanda; no titled daughter of prosperity, -to use your own words, shall ever attract my affections -from you. ‘Imagination cannot form a shape, besides your -own, to like of;’ a shape which even if despoiled of its graces, -would enshrine a mind so transcendently lovely, as to secure -my admiration. In choosing you as the partner of my future -days, I do not infringe the moral obligation which exists between -father and son; for as, on one hand, it does not require -weak indulgence; so, on the other, it does not demand implicit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> -obedience, if reason and happiness must be sacrificed by it. -Nothing would have tempted me to propose a private union but -the hope of escaping many disagreeable circumstances by it. -If you persist, however, in rejecting it, I shall openly avow my -intentions, for a long continuance of anxiety and suspense I -cannot support.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think, then,” said Amanda, “I would enter your -family amidst confusion and altercation? No, my lord, rashly -or clandestinely I never will consent to enter it.”</p> - -<p>“Is this the happiness I promised myself would crown our -reconciliation?” exclaimed Lord Mortimer, rising hastily and -traversing the apartment. “Is an obstinate adherence to rigid -punctilio the only proof of regard I shall receive from Amanda? -Will she make no trifling sacrifice to the man who adores -her, and whom she professes to esteem?”</p> - -<p>“Any sacrifice, my lord, compatible with virtue and filial -duty, most willingly would I make; but beyond these limits I -must not, cannot, will not step. Cold, joyless, and unworthy of -your acceptance would be the hand you would receive if given -against my conviction of what was right. Oh, never may the -hour arrive in which I should blush to see my father; in which -I should be accused of injuring the honor intrusted to my charge, -and feel oppressed with the consciousness of having planted -thorns in the breast that depended on me for happiness.”</p> - -<p>“Do not be too inflexible, my Amanda,” cried Lord Mortimer, -resuming his seat, “nor suffer too great a degree of refinement -to involve you in wretchedness; felicity is seldom attained -without some pain; a little resolution on your side would overcome -any difficulties that lay between us and it; when the act -was past, my father would naturally lose his resentment, from -perceiving its inefficacy, and family concord would speedily be -restored. Araminta adores you; with rapture would she receive -her dear and lovely sister to her bosom; your father, -happy in your happiness, would be convinced his notions heretofore -were too scrupulous, and that in complying with my wishes -you had neither violated your own delicacy nor tarnished his -honor.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, my lord, your arguments have not the effect you desire. -I cannot be deluded by them, to view things in the light -you wish. To unite myself clandestinely to you would be to -fly in the face of parental authority; to be proposed to Lord -Cherbury, when almost certain of a refusal, would not only -subject me to insult, but dissolve the friendship which has -hitherto subsisted between his lordship and my father. Situ<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>ated -as we are, our only expedient is to separate; ’tis absurd -to think longer of a connection against which there are such -obstacles; the task of trying to forget will be easier to you, my -lord, than you now perhaps imagine; the scenes you must be -engaged in are well calculated to expunge painful remembrances; -in the retirement my destiny has doomed me to my efforts will -not be wanting to render me equally successful.”</p> - -<p>The tears trickled down Amanda’s pale cheeks as she spoke; -she believed that they must part, and the belief was attended -with a pang of unutterable anguish: pleased and pained by her -sensibility, Lord Mortimer bent forward and looked into her face.</p> - -<p>“Are these tears,” said he, “to enforce me to the only expedient -you say remains? Ah, my Amanda,” clasping her to -his breast, “the task of forgetting you could never be accomplished—could -never be attempted; life would be tasteless if -not spent with you; never will I relinquish the delightful hope -of a union yet taking place. A sudden thought,” resumed he, -after pausing a few minutes, “has just occurred. I have an -aunt, the only remaining sister of Lord Cherbury, a generous, -tender, exalted woman; I have ever been her particular favorite; -my Amanda, I know, is the very kind of being she would -select, if the choice devolved on her, for my wife: she is now in -the country; I will write immediately, inform her of our situation, -and entreat her to come up to town to use her influence with -my father in our favor. Her fortune is large, from the bequest -of a rich relation; and from the generosity of her disposition -I have no doubt she would render the loss of Lady Euphrasia’s -fortune very immaterial to her brother. This is the only -scheme I can possibly devise for the completion of our happiness, -according to your notions, and I hope it meets your approbation.”</p> - -<p>It appeared indeed, a feasible one to Amanda; and as it -could not possibly excite any ideas unfavorable to her father’s -integrity, she gave her consent to its being tried.</p> - -<p>Her heart felt relieved of an oppressive load, as the hope -revived that it might be accomplished. Lord Mortimer wiped -away her tears; and the cloud which hung over them both being -dispersed, they talked with pleasure of future days. Lord -Mortimer described the various schemes he had planned for -their mode of life. Amanda smiled at the easiness with which -he contrived them, and secretly wished he might find it as easy -to realize as to project.</p> - -<p>“Though the retired path of life,” said he, “might be more -agreeable to us than the frequented and public one, we must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> -make some little sacrifice of inclination to the community to -which we belong. On an elevated station and affluent fortune -there are claims from subordinate ranks which cannot be avoided -without injuring them. Neither should I wish to hide the -beautiful gem I shall possess in obscurity; but, after a winter -of what I call moderate dissipation, we will hasten to the -sequestered shades of Tudor Hall.” He dwelt with pleasure on -the calm and rational joys they should experience there; nor -could forbear hinting at the period when new tendernesses, new -sympathies, would be awakened in their souls; when little -prattling beings should frolic before them, and literally strew -roses in their paths. He expressed his wish of having Fitzalan -a constant resident with them: and was proceeding to mention -some alterations he intended at Tudor Hall, when the return -of Lady Greystock’s carriage effectually disturbed him. Lord -Mortimer, however, had time to assure Amanda, ere she entered -the room, that he had no doubt but everything would be soon -settled according to their wishes, and that he would take every -opportunity her ladyship’s absence gave him of visiting her.</p> - -<p>“So, so,” said Lady Greystock, coming into the room, -“this has been Miss Fitzalan’s levee-day. Why, I declare, my -dear, now that I know of the agreeable <i>tete-��-tetes</i> you can enjoy, -I shall feel no uneasiness at leaving you to yourself.”</p> - -<p>Amanda blushed deeply; and Lord Mortimer thought in -this speech he perceived a degree of irony which seemed to say -all was not right in the speaker’s heart towards Amanda, and -on this account felt more anxious than ever to have her under -his own protection. Animated by the idea that this would soon -be the case, he told her ladyship, smiling, “she should be -obliged to him or any other person who could relieve her mind -from uneasiness,” and departed. This had been a busy and -interesting day to Amanda, and the variety of emotions it had -given rise to produced a languor in her mind and frame she -could not shake off.</p> - -<p>Her expectations were not as sanguine as Lord Mortimer’s. -Once severely disappointed, she dreaded again to give too -great a latitude to hope. Happiness was in view, but she -doubted much whether it would ever be within her reach; yet -the pain of suspense she endeavored to alleviate by reflecting -that every event was under the direction of a superior Being, -who knew best what would constitute the felicity of His creatures.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock learned from her maid the length of Lord -Mortimer’s visit, and she was convinced from that circumstance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> -as well as from the look and absent manner of Amanda, that -something material had happened in the course of it. In the -evening they were engaged to a party, and ere they separated -after dinner to dress for it, a plain-looking woman was shown -into the room, whom Amanda instantly recollected to be the -person at whose house she and her father had lodged on quitting -Devonshire to secrete themselves from Colonel Belgrave. This -woman had been bribed to serve him, and had forced several -letters upon Amanda, who, therefore, naturally abhorred the -sight of a person that had joined in so infamous a plot against -her; and to her exclamation of surprise and pleasure only returned -a cool bow, and directly left the room. She was vexed -at seeing this woman. The conduct of Colonel Belgrave had -hitherto been concealed, from motives of pride and delicacy; -and to Lady Greystock, of all other beings, she wished it not -revealed. Her only hope of its not being so was that this -woman, on her own account, would not mention it, as she must -be conscious that her efforts to serve him were not undiscovered.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Jennings had been housekeeper to Lady Greystock -during her residence in England, and so successfully ingratiated -herself into her favor that, though dismissed from her service, -she yet retained it. Lady Greystock was surprised to see she -and Amanda knew each other, and inquired minutely how the -acquaintance had commenced. The manner in which she mentioned -Amanda convinced Mrs. Jennings she was not high in -her estimation, and from this conviction she thought she might -safely assert any falsehood she pleased against her. As she -knew enough of her lady’s disposition to be assured she never -would contradict an assertion to the prejudice of a person she -disliked by what she designed saying, she trusted anything -Amanda might say against her would appear malicious, and -that she should also be revenged for the disdainful air with -which she had regarded her.</p> - -<p>She told her ladyship, “that near a year back Miss Fitzalan -had been a lodger of hers, as also an old officer, she called her -father; but had she known what kind of people they were, she -never would have admitted them into her house. Miss was -followed by such a set of gallants, she really thought the reputation -of her house would have been ruined. Among them was -a Colonel Belgrave, a sad rake, who, she believed, was the -favorite. She was determined on making them decamp, when -suddenly Miss went off, nobody knew where, but it might easily -be guessed. She did not travel alone, for the colonel disappeared -at the same time.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -The character of Fitzalan, and the uniform propriety of -Amanda’s conduct, forbade Lady Greystock’s giving implicit -credit to what Mrs. Jennings said. She perceived in it the -exaggerations of malice and falsehood, occasioned, she supposed -by disappointed avarice, or offended pride. She resolved, -however, to relate all she heard to the marchioness, -without betraying the smallest doubt of its veracity.</p> - -<p>It may appear strange that Lady Greystock, after taking -Amanda, unsolicited, under her protection, should, without any -cause for enmity, seek to injure her—but Lady Greystock was -a woman devoid of principle. From selfish motives she had -taken Amanda, and from selfish motives she was ready to -sacrifice her. Her ladyship had enjoyed so much happiness -in her matrimonial connections, that she had no objection -again to enter the lists of Hymen, and Lord Cherbury was the -object at which her present wishes pointed. The marchioness -had hinted, in pretty plain terms, that if she counteracted Lord -Mortimer’s intentions respecting Amanda, she would forward -hers relative to Lord Cherbury.</p> - -<p>She thought what Mrs. Jennings had alleged would effectually -forward their plans, as she knew, if called upon, she would -support it. The next morning she went to Portman Square, -to communicate her important intelligence to the marchioness -and Lady Euphrasia.</p> - -<p>Joy and exultation sat upon their features at receiving this -interesting communication, which opened so charming a prospect -of separating Lord Mortimer from Amanda, by giving -them the power of injuring her character. This joy and exultation -they deemed requisite for some time to conceal. They -considered their measures would be more successful for being -gradually brought about, and, therefore, resolved rather to -undermine, than directly strike at the peace of Amanda.</p> - -<p>Like Lady Greystock, they disbelieved Mrs. Jenning’s tale; -but, like her ladyship, confined this disbelief to their own -bosoms. In the manner, the appearance of Amanda, there was -an innocence, a mildness, that denoted something holy dwelt -within her breast, and forbade the entrance of any impure or -wayward passion; besides, from a gentleman who had resided -in Devonshire, they learned the distress Fitzalan was reduced -to, by Belgrave’s revenge for the virtue of his daughter. This -gentleman was now, however, on the continent, and they had -no fear of their allegations against Amanda being contradicted, -or their schemes against her being overthrown.</p> - -<p>After some consultation, it was agreed, as a means of expe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>diting -their plot, that Lady Greystock and Amanda should -immediately remove to the marchioness’s house. By this -change of abode, too, Lord Mortimer would be prevented taking -any material step relative to Amanda, till the period arrived, -when his own inclination would, most probably, render any -further trouble on that account unnecessary.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock, on her return to Pall Mall, after a warm -eulogium on the friendship of the marchioness, mentioned the -invitation she had given them to her house, which she declared -she could not refuse, as it was made with an ardent desire of -enjoying more of their society than she had hitherto done, -during their short stay in London. She also told Amanda, that -both the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia had expressed a -tender regard for her, and a wish of proving to the world, that -any coolness which existed between their families was removed, -by her becoming their guest.</p> - -<p>This projected removal was extremely disagreeable to -Amanda, as it not only terminated the morning interviews which -were to take place between her and Lord Mortimer, during the -absence of Lady Greystock with her lawyers, but threatened to -impose a restraint upon her looks, as well as actions, being -confident, from the views and suspicions of Lady Euphrasia, -she should be continually watched with the closest circumspection. -Her part, however, was acquiescence. The lodgings -were discharged, and the next morning they took up their residence -under the Marquis of Roslin’s roof, to the infinite surprise -and mortification of Lord Mortimer, who, like Amanda, -anticipated the disagreeable consequences which would result -from it.</p> - -<p>The altered manners of the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia -surprised Amanda. They received her not merely with -politeness, but affection; recapitulated all Lady Greystock had -already said concerning their regard; bade her consider herself -entirely at home in their house, and appointed a maid -solely to attend her.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding their former cool, even contemptuous conduct, -Amanda, the child of innocence and simplicity, could not -believe the alteration in their manners feigned; she rather believed -that her own patience and humility had at length conciliated -their regard. The idea pleased her, and like every -other, which she supposed could give her father satisfaction, it -was instantly communicated to him.</p> - -<p>She found herself most agreeably mistaken relative to the -restraint she had feared. She was perfect mistress of her own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> -time and actions; and when she saw Lord Mortimer no lowering -looks nor studied interference, as heretofore, from the -marchioness or Lady Euphrasia, prevented their frequently -conversing together. The marchioness made her several elegant -presents, and Lady Euphrasia frequently dropped the -formal appellation of Miss Fitzalan for the more familiar one -of Amanda.</p> - -<p>Sir Charles Bingley, agreeable to his resolution of not relinquishing -Amanda without another effort for her favor, still -persisted in his attentions, and visited constantly at the marquis’s.</p> - -<p>Amanda had been about a fortnight in Portman Square, -when she went one night with the marchioness, Lady Euphrasia, -Miss Malcolm, and Lady Greystock to the Pantheon. Lord -Mortimer had told her, that if he could possibly leave a particular -party he was engaged to, he would be there. She, therefore, -on that account, wished to keep herself disengaged; but -immediately on her entrance she was joined by Sir Charles -Bingley, and she found she must either dance with him as he -requested, or consent to listen to his usual conversation; and -she chose the first, as being least particular. The dancing -over, Sir Charles was conducting her to get some refreshments, -when a gentleman, hastily stepping forward, saluted him by his -name. Amanda started at the sound of his voice; she raised -her eyes, and with equal horror and surprise beheld Colonel -Belgrave.</p> - -<p>She turned pale, trembled, and involuntarily exclaimed, -“Gracious Heaven!” Her soul recoiled at his sight, as if an -evil genius had suddenly darted into her path to blast her hopes -of happiness. Sickening with emotion, her head grew giddy, -and she caught Sir Charles’s arm to prevent her falling.</p> - -<p>Alarmed by her paleness and agitation, he hastily demanded -the cause of her disorder, willing to believe, notwithstanding -what he had seen, that it did not proceed from the sight of -Colonel Belgrave. “O take me, take me from this room!” -was all, in faltering accents, Amanda could pronounce, still -leaning on him for support. Colonel Belgrave inquired tenderly -what he could do to serve her, and at the same time attempted -to take her hand. She shrunk from his touch with a look expressive -of horror, and again besought Sir Charles to take her -from the room, and procure her a conveyance home. Her -agitation now became contagious. It was visible to Sir Charles -that it proceeded from seeing Colonel Belgrave, and he trembled -as he supported her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> -Belgrave offered his services in assisting to support her -from the room, but she motioned with her hand to repulse him.</p> - -<p>At the door they met Lord Mortimer entering. Terrified -by the situation of Amanda, all caution, all reserve forsook -him, and his rapid and impassioned inquiries betrayed the -tender interest she had in his heart. Unable to answer them -herself, Sir Charles replied for her, saying, “She had been -taken extremely ill after dancing,” and added, “he would -resign her to his lordship’s protection while he went to procure -her a chair.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer received the lovely trembler in his arms. He -softly called her his Amanda, the beloved of his soul, and she -began to revive. His presence was at once a relief and comfort -to her, and his language soothed the perturbations of her -mind; but as she raised her head from his shoulder, she beheld -Colonel Belgrave standing near them. His invidious -eyes fastened on her. She averted her head, and, saying the -air would do her good, Lord Mortimer led her forward, and -took this opportunity of expressing his wishes for the period -when he should be at liberty to watch over her with guardian -care, soothe every weakness and soften every care.</p> - -<p>In a few minutes Sir Charles returned, and told her he had -procured a chair. She thanked him with grateful sweetness -for his attention, and requested Lord Mortimer to acquaint -the ladies with the reason of her abrupt departure. His lordship -wished himself to have attended her to Portman Square, -but she thought it would appear too particular, and would not -suffer him. She retired to her room immediately on her return, -and endeavored, though unsuccessfully, to compose her spirits.</p> - -<p>The distress she suffered from Belgrave’s conduct had left -an impression on her mind which could not be erased. The -terror his presence inspired was too powerful for reason to -conquer, and raised the most gloomy presages in her mind. -She believed him capable of any villany. His looks had declared -a continuance of illicit love. She trembled at the idea -of his stratagems being renewed. Her apprehensions were -doubly painful from the necessity of concealment, lest those -dearer to her than existence should be involved in danger on -her account. To Heaven she looked up for protection, and the -terrors of her heart were somewhat lessened, conscious that -Heaven could render the aims of Belgrave against her peace as -abortive as those against her innocence had been.</p> - -<p>Sir Charles Bingley parted from Lord Mortimer immediately -after Amanda’s departure, and returned arm in arm with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> -Belgrave to the room. “Belgrave,” said he abruptly, after -musing some minutes, “you know Miss Fitzalan?”</p> - -<p>Belgrave answered not hastily. He appeared as if deliberating -on the reply he should give. At last, “I do know Miss -Fitzalan,” cried he; “her father was my tenant in Devonshire; -she is one of the loveliest girls I ever knew.” “Lovely, indeed,” -said Sir Charles, with a deep and involuntary sigh; “but it is -somewhat extraordinary to me that, instead of noticing you as -a friend or acquaintance, she should look alarmed and agitated, -as if she had seen an enemy.” “My dear Bingley,” exclaimed -Belgrave, “surely at this time of day you cannot be a stranger -to the unaccountable caprices of the female mind.” “’Tis -very extraordinary to me, I own,” resumed Sir Charles, “that -Miss Fitzalan should behave as she did to you. Were you -and her family ever very intimate?”</p> - -<p>An invidious smile lurked on Belgrave’s countenance at -this question.</p> - -<p>“Belgrave,” exclaimed Sir Charles, passionately, “your -manner appears so mysterious that it distracts me. If friendship -will not induce you to account for it, my intentions relative -to Miss Fitzalan will compel me to insist on your doing -so.” “Come, come, Bingley,” replied the colonel, “this is -not a country for extorting confession. However, seriously, -you might depend on my honor, exclusive of my friendship, to -conceal nothing from you in which you were materially interested.” -So saying, he snatched away his arm, rushed into -the crowd, and instantly disappeared.</p> - -<p>This assurance, however, could not calm the disquietude of -Sir Charles. His soul was tortured with impatience and anxiety -for an explanation of the mystery, which the agitation of -Amanda, and the evasive answers of Belgrave had betrayed. -He sought the latter through the room till convinced of his -departure, and resolved the next morning to entreat him to -deal candidly with him.</p> - -<p>Agreeably to this resolution, he was preparing, after breakfast, -for his visit, when a letter was brought him which contained -the following lines:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“If Sir Charles Bingley has the least regard for his honor or tranquillity, -he will immediately relinquish his intentions relative to Miss Fitzalan. This -caution comes from a sincere friend—from a person whom delicacy, not -want of veracity, urges to this secret mode of giving it.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Sir Charles perused and re-perused the letter, as if doubting -the evidence of his eyes. He at last flung it from him, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> -clasping his hands together exclaimed: “This is indeed a -horrible explanation.” He took up the detested paper. Again -he examined the characters, and recognized the writing of -Colonel Belgrave. He hastily snatched up his hat, and with -the paper in his hand, flew directly to his house. The colonel -was alone.</p> - -<p>“Belgrave,” said Sir Charles, in almost breathless agitation, -“are you the author of this letter?” presenting it to him.</p> - -<p>Belgrave took it, read it, but continued silent.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Belgrave!” exclaimed Sir Charles, in a voice trembling -with agony, “pity and relieve my suspense.” “I am the -author of it,” replied Belgrave, with solemnity; “Miss Fitzalan -and I were once tenderly attached. I trust I am no deliberate -libertine; but, when a lovely, seducing girl was thrown -purposely in my way——” “Oh, stop,” said Sir Charles, -“to me any extenuation of your conduct is unnecessary; ’tis -sufficient to know that Miss Fitzalan and I are forever separated.” -His emotion overpowered him. He leaned on a table, -and covered his face with a handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“The shock I have received,” said he, “almost unmans -me. Amanda was, alas! I must say is, dear, inexpressibly -dear to my soul. I thought her the most lovely, the most -estimable of women; and the anguish I now feel, is more on -her account than my own. I cannot bear the idea of the contempt -which may fall upon her. Oh, Belgrave, ’tis melancholy -to behold a human being, so endowed by nature as she is, insensible -or unworthy of her blessings. Amanda,” he continued, -after a pause, “never encouraged me; I therefore cannot accuse -her of intending deceit.”</p> - -<p>“She never encouraged you,” replied Belgrave, “because -she was ambitious of a higher title. Amanda, beneath a -specious appearance of innocence, conceals a light disposition -and a designing heart. She aspires to Mortimer’s hand, and -may probably succeed, for his language and attentions to her -last night were those of a tender lover.”</p> - -<p>“I shall return immediately to Ireland,” said Sir Charles, -“and endeavor to forget I have ever seen her. She has made -me indeed experience all the fervency of love, and bitterness -of disappointment. What I felt for her, I think I shall never -again feel for any woman.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“——I’ll lock up all the gates of love,</span> -<span class="i0">And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,</span> -<span class="i0">To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,</span> -<span class="i0">And never more shall it be gracious.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> -Sir Charles Bingley and Colonel Belgrave, in early life, had -contracted a friendship for each other which time had strengthened -in one, but reduced to a mere shadow in the other. On -meeting the colonel unexpectedly in town, Sir Charles had -informed him of his intentions relative to Amanda. His heart -throbbed at the mention of her name. He had long endeavored -to discover her. Pride, love, and revenge, were all concerned -in the accomplishment of his designs, which disappointment -had only stimulated. He was one of those determined characters -which never relinquish a purpose, “though heaven and -earth that purpose crossed.” The confidence Sir Charles reposed -in him, joined to his warm and unsuspicious temper, -convinced him he would be credulous enough to believe any -imputation he should cast on Amanda. He therefore lost no -time in contriving this execrable scheme, without the smallest -compunction, for destroying the reputation of an innocent girl, -or injuring the happiness of an amiable man.</p> - -<p>Removed from the protection of her father, he believed his -destined victim could not escape the snare he should spread -for her; and as a means of expediting his success, under the -appearance of feeling, urged Sir Charles’s return to Ireland.</p> - -<p>The easy credit which Sir Charles gave to the vile allegations -of Belgrave, cannot be wondered at, when his long intimacy -and total ignorance of his real character are considered. -He knew Belgrave to be a gay man, but he never imagined him -to be a hardened libertine. Besides, he never could have supposed -any man would have been so audacious, or sufficiently -base, as to make such an assertion as Belgrave had done against -Amanda, without truth for his support.</p> - -<p>The errors of his friend, though the source of unspeakable -anguish to him, were more pitied than condemned, as he rather -believed they proceeded from the impetuosity of passion, than -the deliberation of design, and that they were long since -sincerely repented of.</p> - -<p>Amanda could not be forgotten; the hold she had on his -heart could not easily be shaken off; and like the recording -angel, he was often tempted to drop a tear over her faults, and -obliterate them forever from his memory. This, however, was -considered the mere suggestion of weakness, and he ordered -immediate preparations to be made for his return to Ireland.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Oh how this tyrant doubt torments my breast!</span> -<span class="i0">My thoughts, like birds, who frighted from their rest,</span> -<span class="i0">Around the place where all was hushed before,</span> -<span class="i0">Flutter, and hardly settle any more.”—<span class="smcap">Otway.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Lord Mortimer, distressed by the indisposition of Amanda, -hastened, at an earlier hour than usual (for his morning visits), -to Portman Square, and was ushered into Lady Euphrasia’s -dressing-room, where she and Miss Malcolm, who had continued -with her the preceding night, were sitting <i>tete-��-tete</i> at -breakfast. His lordship was a welcome visitor, but it was soon -obvious on whose account he had made his appearance, for -scarcely were the usual compliments over, ere he inquired -about Miss Fitzalan.</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia said she was still unwell, and had not yet -left her apartment. “She has not recovered her surprise of -last night,” exclaimed Miss Malcolm, with a malicious smile. -“What surprise?” asked his lordship. “Dear me,” replied -Miss Malcolm, “was not your lordship present at the time she -met Colonel Belgrave?” “No,” said Lord Mortimer, changing -color, “I was not present. But what has Colonel Belgrave to -say to Miss Fitzalan?” asked he, in an agitated voice. “That -is a question your lordship must put to the young lady herself,” -answered Miss Malcolm. “Now, I declare,” cried Lady -Euphrasia, addressing her friend, “’tis very probable her illness -did not proceed from seeing Colonel Belgrave—you know she -never mentioned being acquainted with him, though her father -was his tenant in Devonshire.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer grew more disturbed, and rose abruptly.</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia mentioned their intention of going that -evening to the play, and invited him to be of the party. He -accepted her invitation, and retired.</p> - -<p>His visible distress was a source of infinite mirth to the -young ladies, which they indulged the moment he quitted the -room. The circumstance relative to Belgrave, the marchioness -had informed them of, as she and Lady Greystock were near -Amanda when she met him.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was unhappy. The mind which has once -harbored suspicion will, from the most trivial circumstance, be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> -tempted again to give admission to the unpleasing guest—nor -was it a trivial circumstance which discomposed the too susceptible -heart of Mortimer. The sudden illness of Amanda, -her extraordinary agitation, her eagerness to quit the room, the -close, though silent attendance of Belgrave—all these, I say, -when recalled to recollection, gave an air of probability to Miss -Malcolm’s insinuation, that her disorder was occasioned by -seeing him. From residing more constantly in England than -Sir Charles Bingley had done, he had had more opportunities -of learning Belgrave’s real character, which he knew to be that -of a professed libertine. It was strange, he thought, that when -Amanda informed him she once resided in Devonshire, she -should conceal her father being the colonel’s tenant. He began -to think her reluctance to a clandestine and immediate marriage -might have proceeded from some secret attachment, and not -from the strict adherence to filial duty, which had exalted her -so much in his opinion.</p> - -<p>Yet the idea was scarcely formed, ere he endeavored to -suppress it. He started, as if from an uneasy dream, and -wondered how he could have conceived this, or any other idea, -injurious to Amanda. He felt a degree of remorse at having -allowed her, for a moment, to be lessened in his opinion—her -tenderness, her purity, he said to himself, could not be feigned; -no, she was a treasure greater than he deserved to possess; nor -would he, like a wayward son of error, fling away the happiness -he had so long desired to obtain.</p> - -<p>The calm this resolution produced was but transient. -Doubts had been raised, and doubt could not be banished; he -was inclined to think them unjust, yet had not power to dispel -them. Vainly he applied to the ideas which had heretofore -been such consolatory resources of comfort to him—namely, -that his father would consent to his union with Amanda, -through the interference of his aunt, and the felicity he should -enjoy in that union. An unusual heaviness clung to his heart, -which, like a gloomy sky, cast a shade of sadness over every -prospect. Thoughtful and pensive he reached home, just as -Sir Charles Bingley was entering the door, who informed him -he had just received a note from Lord Cherbury, desiring his -immediate presence.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer attended him to the earl, who acquainted -him, that he had received a letter from Mr. Fitzalan, in which -he expressed a warm sense of the honor Sir Charles did his -family, by addressing Miss Fitzalan; and that to have her -united to a character so truly estimable, would give him the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> -truest happiness, from the conviction that hers would be -secured by such a union. “He has written to his daughter expressing -his sentiments,” continued Lord Cherbury. “I have -therefore no doubt, Sir Charles, but that everything will succeed -as you wish.” “I am sorry, my lord,” cried Sir Charles, with -an agitated voice, and a cheek flushed with emotion, “that I -ever troubled your lordship in this affair, as I have now, and -forever, relinquished all ideas of a union with Miss Fitzalan.” -"The resolution is really somewhat extraordinary and sudden,” -replied the earl, “after the conversation which so lately passed -between us.” “Adopted, however, my lord, from a thorough -conviction that happiness could never be attained in a union -with that young lady.” Sir Charles’s tenderness for Amanda -was still undiminished; he wished to preserve her from censure, -and thus proceeded: “Your lordship must allow I could have -little chance of happiness in allying myself to a woman who has -resolutely and uniformly treated me with indifference. Passion -blinded my reason when I addressed your lordship relative to -Miss Fitzalan; but its mists are now dispersed, and sober -reflection obliges me to relinquish a scheme, whose accomplishment -could not possibly give me satisfaction.” “You are -certainly the best judge of your own actions, Sir Charles,” -replied the earl. “My acting in the affair proceeded from a -wish to serve you, as well as from my friendship for Captain -Fitzalan. I must suppose your conduct will never disparage -your own honor, or cast a slight upon Miss Fitzalan.” “That, -my lord, you may be assured of,” said Sir Charles, with some -warmth; “my actions and their motives have hitherto, and -will ever, I trust, bear the strictest investigation. I cannot -retire without thanking your lordship for the interest you took -in my favor. Had things succeeded as I then hoped and expected, -I cannot deny but I should have been much happier -than I am at present.” He then bowed and retired.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer had listened with astonishment to Sir -Charles’s relinquishment of Amanda. Like his father, he -thought it a sudden and extraordinary resolution. He was -before jealous of Amanda’s love; he was now jealous of her -honor. The agitation of Sir Charles seemed to imply even a -cause more powerful than her coldness for resigning her. He -recollected that the baronet and the colonel were intimate -friends. Distracted by apprehensions, he rushed out of the -house, and overtook Sir Charles ere he had quitted the square.</p> - -<p>“Why, Bingley,” cried he, with affected gayety, “I thought -you too valiant a knight to be easily overcome by despair; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> -that without first trying every effort to win her favor, you never -would give up a fair lady you had set your heart on.” “I leave -such efforts for your lordship,” replied Sir Charles, “or those -who have equal patience.” “But seriously, Bingley, I think -this sudden resignation of Miss Fitzalan somewhat strange. -Why, last night I could have sworn you were as much attached -to her as ever. From Lord Cherbury’s friendship for Captain -Fitzalan, I think her, in some degree, under his protection and -mine. And as the particularity of your attention attracted -observation, I think your abruptly withdrawing them requires -explanation.” “As Lord Cherbury was the person I applied -to relative to Miss Fitzalan,” exclaimed Sir Charles, “and as -he was satisfied with the motive I assigned for my conduct, be -assured, my lord, I shall never give another to you.” “Your -words,” retorted Lord Mortimer, with warmth, “imply that -there was another motive for your conduct than the one you -avowed. What horrid inference may not be drawn from such -an insinuation? Oh! Sir Charles! reputation is a fragile -flower, which the slightest breath may injure.” “My lord, if -Miss Fitzalan’s reputation is never injured but by my means, -it will ever continue unsullied.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot, indeed,” resumed Lord Mortimer, “style myself -her guardian, but I consider myself her friend: and from -the feelings of friendship, shall ever evince my interest in her -welfare, and resent any conduct which can possibly render her -an object of censure to any being.” “Allow me to ask your -lordship one question,” cried Sir Charles, “and promise, on -your honor, to answer it.” “I do promise,” said Lord Mortimer. -“Then, my lord, did you ever really wish I should succeeded -with Miss Fitzalan?”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer colored. “You expect, Sir Charles, I shall -answer you on my honor? Then, really, I never did.” “Your -passions and mine,” continued Sir Charles, “are impetuous. -We had better check them in time, lest they lead us to lengths -we may hereafter repent of. Of Miss Fitzalan’s fame, be -assured, no man can be more tenacious than I should. I love -her with the truest ardor. Her acceptance of my proposals -would have given me felicity. My suddenly withdrawing them -can never injure her, when I declare my motive for so doing -was her indifference. Lord Cherbury is satisfied with the -reason I have assigned for resigning her. He is conscious -that no man of sensibility could experience happiness with a -woman in whose heart he had no interest. This, I suppose, your -lordship will also allow.” “Certainly,” replied Lord Mortimer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> -“Then, it strikes me, my lord, that it is your conduct, not -mine, which has a tendency to injure Miss Fitzalan. That it -is your words, not mine, which convey an insinuation against -her. You really appear as if conscious some other cause existed, -which would have made me relinquish her, without the -one I have already assigned for doing so.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was instantly convicted of the justice of -what Sir Charles said. He began to fear his warmth would -really prove prejudicial to Amanda, betray the doubts that had -obtruded on his mind, and communicate them to those who -might not be equally influenced by tenderness and delicacy to -conceal them.</p> - -<p>“You are right, Sir Charles,” said he, “in what you have -said; passion, like a bad advocate, hurts the cause in which -it is engaged. From my knowledge of your character, I should -have been convinced your honor would have prevented any -improper conduct. You are going to Ireland. Permit me, -Sir Charles, to offer you my best wishes for your future happiness.”</p> - -<p>Sir Charles took Lord Mortimer’s extended hand. He -respected and esteemed his lordship, and a mutual interchange -of good wishes took place between them, as this was the last -interview they expected for a long time.</p> - -<p>The indisposition of Amanda was more of the mental than -the bodily kind, and on the first intimation of a party to the -play she agreed to join it, in hopes the amusement would remove -her dejection. Her father’s letter, relative to Sir -Charles Bingley, had given her some uneasiness; but as he -left her free to act, she contented herself with using the -negative he allowed her, by a solemn resolution of never acting -contrary to his inclinations, and answered his letter to this -purpose.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer and Freelove attended the ladies in the -evening to the play. His lordship found an opportunity of -tenderly inquiring after Amanda’s health. When they were -seated in the house he perceived a lady in another box to -whom he wished to speak, and accordingly left his party. This -lady offered him a seat by herself, which he accepted. She -was a stranger to Amanda, young and extremely beautiful. -Amanda, however, had none of that foolish weakness which -could make her dread a rival in every new face, or feel uneasiness -at Lord Mortimer’s attention to any woman but herself. -Assured that his affections for her were founded on the basis -of esteem, and that she should retain them while worthy of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> -esteem, she could, without being discomposed by the agreeable -conversation he appeared to be enjoying, fix her attention on -the stage; so entirely, indeed, that she observed not from time -to time, the glances Lord Mortimer directed towards her. Not -so his fair companion. She noticed the wanderings of his eyes, -and her own involuntarily pursued their course. She was -speaking at the moment, but suddenly stopped, and Lord -Mortimer saw her change color. He turned pale himself, and -in a faltering voice, asked her, “if she knew the lady she had -been long looking at?” “Know her?” replied she; “oh, -heavens! but too well.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer trembled universally, and was compelled to -have recourse to his handkerchief to hide his emotion.</p> - -<p>It was by Adela, the lovely and neglected wife of Belgrave, -he was sitting. She had been a short time in London, and her -acquaintance with Lord Mortimer commenced at a ball, where -she had danced with him. He was not one of those kind of -men who, when in love, had neither eyes nor ears but for the -object of that love. He could see perfections in other women -besides his Amanda, and was particularly pleased with Mrs. -Belgrave. He instantly perceived that she knew Amanda; -also, that that knowledge was attended with pain. The well-known -profligacy of her husband intruded on his memory, and -he shuddered at the dreadful thoughts which arose in his -mind.</p> - -<p>Curiosity had directed the eyes of Adela to Amanda, but -admiration, and an idea of having somewhere seen her face, -riveted them upon her; at last the picture Oscar Fitzalan had -shown occurred to her recollection, and she was immediately -convinced it was no other than the original of that picture she -now saw. Shocked at the sight of a person who, as she thought -had stepped (though innocently) between her and felicity, and -distressed by the emotions which past scenes, thus recalled, -gave rise to, she entreated Lord Mortimer to conduct her from -the box, that she might return home.</p> - -<p>He complied with her request, but stopped in the lobby, -and entreated her to tell him “where she had known the lady -she had so attentively regarded.” Adela blushed, and would, -if possible, have evaded the question; but the earnestness of -his lordship’s manner compelled her to answer it. She said -“she had no personal knowledge of the lady, but recollected -her face, from having seen her picture with a gentleman.” -“And who was the gentleman?” asked Lord Mortimer, with -a forced smile and a faltering voice. “That,” replied Adela,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> -with involuntary quickness, “I will not tell.” “I should -apologize, indeed,” cried Lord Mortimer, recollecting himself, -“for a curiosity which may appear impertinent.” He led her to a -chair, and deliberated whether he should not follow her example -in quitting the house.</p> - -<p>Miss Malcolm had first made him uneasy: uneasiness introduced -doubts which Sir Charles Bingley had increased, and -Mrs. Belgrave almost confirmed. He dreaded a horrid confirmation -of his fears; the picture, like Othello’s handkerchief, -was a source of unspeakable anguish. The agitation that Mrs. -Belgrave had betrayed on mentioning it, joined to her concealment -of the gentleman she had seen it with, tempted him to -believe he was no other than her husband.</p> - -<p>Yet, that he might not be accused of yielding rashly to -jealousy, he resolved to confine his suspicions, like his pangs, -to his own bosom, except assured they were well founded. A -little time he supposed, would determine the opinion he should -form of Amanda. If he found she encouraged Belgrave, he -resolved to leave her without any explanation; if, on the contrary, -he saw that she avoided him, he meant to mention the -circumstance of the picture to her, yet so as not to hurt her -feelings, and be regulated by her answer relative to his future -conduct. He returned, at last, to the box, and procured a -seat behind her. He had not occupied it long ere Colonel -Belgrave (who, from a retired part of the house where he sat -with some female friends, had observed Amanda) entered the -next box, and made his way to the pillar against which she -leaned. He endeavored to catch her eyes, but the noise he -made on entering put her on her guard, and she instantly -averted her face. Her embarrassment was visible to her party, -and they all, Lord Mortimer excepted, enjoyed it. Scarcely -could he refrain from chastising the audacity of Belgrave’s -looks, who continued to gaze on Amanda, though he could not -see her face. Nothing but the discovery which such a step -would produce could have prevented his lordship, in his irritable -state of mind, from chastising what he deemed the height of -insolence.</p> - -<p>At last the hour came for relieving Amanda from a situation -extremely painful to her. As Lord Mortimer sat next the marchioness, -he was compelled to offer her his hand. Freelove led -Lady Euphrasia; Lady Greystock and Miss Malcolm followed -her, and Amanda was the last who quitted the box. A -crowd in the lobby impeded their progress. Amanda was close -behind the marchioness, when Belgrave forced his way to her,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> -and attempted to take her hand at the very moment Lord Mortimer -turned to look at her, who heard him say, “Dear, though -unkind, Amanda, why this cruel change in your conduct?”</p> - -<p>The eyes of Mortimer flashed fire. “Miss Fitzalan,” said -he, in a voice trembling through passion, “if you will accept -my arm, I will make way for you, or at least secure you from -impertinence.” Amanda, though trembling and confounded by -his looks, hesitated not to accept his offer. Belgrave knew his -words alluded to him. At present, however, he resolved not -to resent them, convinced, that if he did, his views on Amanda -would be defeated. From that moment her beauty was not -more powerful in stimulating his designs than his desire of revenge -on Lord Mortimer. He saw he was fondly attached to -Amanda, and he believed his proud heart would feel no event -so afflictive as that which should deprive him of her.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer handed Amanda in silence to the carriage; -he was pressed to return to supper, but refused. The ladies -found the marquis and Lord Cherbury together. Amanda retired -to her chamber immediately after supper; the presence of -Belgrave had increased the dejection which she hoped the -amusements of the theatre would have dissipated; she now indeed -longed for the period when she should be entitled to the -protection of Lord Mortimer; when she should no longer dread -the audacity or stratagems of Belgrave. Lord Cherbury, on -her retiring, expressed his regret at her coldness to Sir Charles -Bingley, by which she had lost a most honorable and advantageous -attachment.</p> - -<p>This was an opportunity not to be neglected by the marchioness, -for commencing her operations against Fitzalan. A -glance to Lady Greystock was the signal to begin.</p> - -<p>“To those,” said Lady Greystock, “who are ignorant of -Miss Fitzalan’s real motives for refusing Sir Charles, it must appear, -no doubt, extraordinary; but ambitious people are not -easily satisfied; indeed, I cannot blame her so much for entertaining -aspiring notions as those who instilled them into her -mind.”</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury stared, and requested an explanation of her -words.</p> - -<p>“Why, I declare, my lord,” cried she, “I do not know but -that it will be more friendly to explain than conceal my meaning. -When once informed of the young lady’s views, your lordship -may be able to convince her of that fallacy, and prevail -on her not to lose another good opportunity of settling herself -in consequence of them; in short, my lord, Miss Fitzalan,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> -prompted by her father, has cast her eyes on Lord Mortimer. -Presuming on your friendship, he thought a union between them -might easily be accomplished. I do not believe Lord Mortimer, -at first, gave any encouragement to their designs; -but when the girl was continually thrown in his way, it was -impossible not to notice her at last. I really expressed a -thorough disapprobation to her coming to London, knowing -their motives for desiring the excursion, but her father never -ceased persecuting me till I consented to take her under -my protection.” “Upon my word,” cried the marquis, who -was not of the ladies’ privy council, though if he had it is -probable he would not have objected to their schemes, -“Captain Fitzalan must have had some such motive as this -Lady Greystock has mentioned for sending his daughter to -London, or else he would not have been so ridiculous as -to put himself at the expense of fitting her out for company -she has no right to enter.” “I never thought,” exclaimed -Lord Cherbury, whose mind was irritated to the most violent -degree of resentment against his injured friend, “that Captain -Fitzalan could have acted with such duplicity. He knew the -views I entertained for my son, and there is a mean treachery -in his attempting to counteract them.” “Nay, my lord,” said -Lady Greystock, “you are a father yourself, and must make -allowances for the anxiety of a parent to establish a child.” -“No, madam,” he replied; “I can make no allowance for a -deviation from integrity, or for a sacrifice of honor and gratitude -at the shrine of interest. The subject has discomposed -me, and I must beg to be excused for abruptly retiring; nothing, -indeed, I believe, can wound one so severely as deceit, -where one reposed implicit confidence.”</p> - -<p>The ladies were enraptured at the success of their scheme. -The passion of Lord Cherbury could scarcely be smothered in -their presence. On the head of Fitzalan they knew it would -burst with full violence. They did not mention Belgrave; relative -to him they resolved to affect profound ignorance.</p> - -<p>The passions of Lord Cherbury were impetuous. He had, -as I have already hinted, secret motives for desiring a connection -between his family and the marquis’s ; and the idea of -that desire being defeated drove him almost to distraction. -He knew his son’s passions, though not so easily irritated as -his own were, when once irritated, equally violent. To remonstrate -with him concerning Miss Fitzalan, he believed, would -be unavailing; he therefore resolved, if possible, to have her -removed out of his way ere he apprised him of the discovery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> -he had made of his attachment. He entertained not a doubt -of Lady Greystock’s veracity; from his general knowledge of -mankind, he believed self the predominant consideration in -every breast. His feelings were too violent not to seek an immediate -vent, and ere he went to bed, he wrote a bitter and reproachful -letter to Fitzalan, which concluded with an entreaty, -or rather a command, to send without delay for his daughter. -A dreadful stroke this for poor Fitzalan.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“After all his wanderings round this world of care</span> -<span class="i0">And all his griefs,”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>He hoped he had at last found a spot where his latter days -might close in tranquillity.</p> - -<p>The innocent Amanda was received the next morning with -smiles by those who were preparing a plot for her destruction.</p> - -<p>Whilst at breakfast, a servant informed Lady Greystock a -young woman wanted to speak to her. “Who is she?” asked -her ladyship; “did she not send up her name?” “No, my -lady; but she said she had particular business with your ladyship.”</p> - -<p>The marchioness directed she might be shown up; and a -girl about seventeen was accordingly ushered into the room. -Her figure was delicate, and her face interesting not only from -its innocence, but the strong expression of melancholy diffused -over it. She appeared trembling with confusion and timidity, -and the poverty of her apparel implied the source of her dejection.</p> - -<p>“So, child,” said Lady Greystock, after surveying her from -head to foot, “I am told you have business with me.” “Yes, -madam,” replied she, in an accent so low as scarcely to be -heard; “my father, Captain Rushbrook, desired me to deliver -a letter to your ladyship.”</p> - -<p>She presented it, and endeavored to screen herself from the -scrutinizing and contemptuous glances of Lady Euphrasia by -pulling her hat over her face.</p> - -<p>“I wonder, child,” said Lady Greystock, as she opened the -letter, “what your father can write to me about. I don’t suppose -it can be about the affair he mentioned the other day. -Why, really,” continued she, after she had perused it, “I believe -he takes me for a fool. I am astonished, after his insolent conduct, -how he can possibly have the assurance to make application -to me for relief. No, no, child, he neglected the opportunity -he had of securing me his friend. ’Twould really be a -sin to give him the power of bringing up his family in idleness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> -No, no, child, he must learn you and the other little dainty -misses he has, to do something for yourselves.”</p> - -<p>The poor girl blushed; a tear trembled in her eye; she -tried to suppress it, but it forced its way, and dropped into her -bosom. Amanda, inexpressibly shocked, could support the -scene no longer. She retired precipitately, and descended to -the parlor. Sympathy, as well as compassion, made her feel -for this daughter of affliction, for she herself knew what it was -to feel the “insolence of prosperity, the proud man’s scorn, -and all those ills which patient merit of the unworthy takes.”</p> - -<p>In a few minutes Miss Rushbrook quitted the drawing-room, -and stopped in the hall to wipe away her tears. Amanda had -been watching for her, and now appeared. She started, and -was hurrying away, when Amanda caught her hand, and leading -her softly into the parlor, endeavored, with angelic sweetness, -to calm her emotion. Surprised at this unexpected attention, -and overcome by her feelings, the poor girl sunk on her chair, -and dropping her head on Amanda’s bosom, wet it with a -shower of tears, as she exclaimed: “Alas! my unfortunate -parents, how can I return to behold your misery? The grave -is the only refuge for you and your wretched children!” “You -must not encourage such desponding thoughts,” said Amanda. -“Providence, all bounteous and all powerful, is able in a short -time to change the gloomiest scene into one of brightness. Tell -me,” she continued, after a pause, “where do you reside?” “At -Kensington.” “Kensington!” repeated Amanda. “Surely, -in your present situation, you are unable to take such a walk.” -“I must attempt it, however,” replied Miss Rushbrook.</p> - -<p>Amanda walked from her to the window, revolving a scheme -which had just darted into her mind, “If you know any -house,” said she, “where you could stay for a short time, I -would call on you in a carriage, and leave you at home.”</p> - -<p>This offer was truly pleasing to the poor weak trembling -girl, but she modestly declined it, from the fear of giving trouble. -Amanda besought her not to waste time in such unnecessary -scruples, but to give her the desired information. She -accordingly informed her there was a haberdasher’s in Bond -Street, mentioning the name, where she could stay till called for.</p> - -<p>This point settled, Amanda, fearful of being surprised, conducted -her softly to the hall-door, and immediately returned -to the drawing-room, where she found Lady Euphrasia just -beginning Rushbrook’s letter, for her mother’s amusement. -Its style evidently denoted the painful conflicts there were -between pride and distress, ere the former could be sufficiently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> -subdued, to allow an application for relief to the person who -occasioned the latter. The sight of a tender and beloved -wife, languishing in the arms of sickness, and surrounded by a -family, under the pressure of the severest want, had forced him -to a step, which, on his own account, no necessity could have -compelled him to take. He and his family, he said, had drank -of the cup of misery to the very dregs. He waived the claims -of justice; he only asserted those of humanity, in his present -application to her ladyship; and these, he flattered himself, -she would allow. He had sent a young petitioner in his behalf, -whose tearful eye, whose faded cheek, were sad evidences of -the misery he described.</p> - -<p>The marchioness declared she was astonished at his insolence -in making such an application, and Lady Euphrasia protested -the letter was the most ridiculous stuff she had ever read.</p> - -<p>Amanda, in this, as well as in many other instances, differed -from her ladyship; but her opinion, like a little project she -had in view about the Rushbrooks, was carefully concealed.</p> - -<p>Out of the allowance her father made her for clothes and -other expenses about ten guineas remained, which she had -intended laying out in the purchase of some ornaments for -her appearance at a ball, to be given in the course of the ensuing -week by the Duchess of B——, and, for which, at the -time of invitation, Lord Mortimer had engaged her for his -partner. To give up going to this ball, to consecrate to charity -the money devoted to vanity, was her project; and most fortunate -did she deem the application of Rushbrook, ere her -purchase was made, and she consequently prevented from -giving her mite. Her soul revolted from the inhumanity of -the marchioness, her daughter, and Lady Greystock. Exempt -from the calamities of want themselves, they forgot the pity -due to those calamities in others. If this coldness, this obduracy, -she cried, within herself, is the effect of prosperity; if -thus it closes the avenues of benevolence and compassion, oh! -never may the dangerous visitor approach me—for ill should I -think the glow of compassion and sensibility exchanged for all -its gaudy pleasures.</p> - -<p>The ladies had mentioned their intention of going to an -auction, where, to use Lady Euphrasia’s phrase, “they expected -to see all the world.” Amanda excused herself from being of -the party, saying, “she wanted to make some purchases in the -city.” Her excuse was readily admitted, and when they retired -to their respective toilets, she sent for a coach, and being -prepared against it come, immediately stepped into it, and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> -driven to Bond Street, where she found Miss Rushbrook, with -trembling anxiety, waiting her arrival.</p> - -<p>On their way to Kensington, the tenderness of Amanda at -once conciliated the affection, and gained the entire confidence -of her young companion. She related the little history of her -parents’ sorrows. Her father, on returning from America, -with his wife and six children, had been advised by Mr. Heathfield, -the friend who had effected a reconciliation between him -and his uncle, to commence a suit against Lady Greystock, on -the presumption that the will, by which she enjoyed Sir Geoffry’s -fortune, was illegally executed. He offered him his purse to -carry on the suit, and his house for an habitation. Rushbrook -gratefully and gladly accepted both offers, and having disposed -of his commission, to discharge some present demands against -him, he and his family took up their residence under Mr. -Heathfield’s hospitable roof. In the midst of the felicity -enjoyed beneath it, in the midst of the hopes their own sanguine -tempers, and the flattering suggestions of the lawyers -had excited, a violent fever carried off their benevolent friend, -ere a will was executed, in which he had promised largely to -consider Rushbrook. His heir, narrow and illiberal, had long -feared that his interest would be hurt by the affection he entertained -for Rushbrook; and, as if in revenge for the pain -this fear had given, the moment he had the power he showed -his malignant disposition, sold all the furniture of the house -at Kensington, and as a great favor told Rushbrook, he might -continue in it till the expiration of the half year, when it was -to be given up to the landlord. The lawyers understanding -the state of his finances, soon informed him he could no longer -expect their assistance. Thus, almost in one moment, did all -his pleasing prospects vanish, and,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Like the baseless fabric of a vision,</span> -<span class="i0">Left not a rack behind.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>As a duty he owed his family, he tried whether Lady Greystock -would make a compromise between justice and avarice, -and afford him some means of support. Her insolence and -inhumanity shocked him to the soul; and as he left her presence, -he resolved never to enter it again, or to apply to her. -This last resolution, however, only continued till the distresses -of the family grew so great as to threaten their existence, particularly -that of his wife, who, overpowered by grief, had sunk -into a languishing illness, which every day increased for want -of proper assistance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> -In hopes of procuring her some, he was tempted again to -apply to Lady Greystock. The youth and innocence of his -daughter would, he thought, if anything could do it, soften her -flinty heart. Besides, he believed that pleasure, at finding his -pretensions to the fortune entirely withdrawn, would influence -her to administer from it to his wants.</p> - -<p>“We have,” said Miss Rushbrook, as she concluded her -simple narration, “tried, and been disappointed in our last -resource. What will become of us, I know not; we have long -been strangers to the comforts, but even the necessaries of -life we cannot now procure.” “Comfort,” cried Amanda, -“often arrives when least expected. To despair, is to doubt -the goodness of a Being who has promised to protect all his -creatures.”</p> - -<p>The carriage had now reached Kensington, and within a -few yards of Rushbrook’s habitation. Amanda stopped it. -She took Miss Rushbrook’s hand, and as she slipped a ten-pound -note into it, exclaimed: “I trust the period is not far -distant, when the friendship we have conceived for each other -may be cultivated under more fortunate auspices.”</p> - -<p>Miss Rushbrook opened the folded paper. She started, -and “the hectic of a moment flushed her cheek.” “Oh! -madam!” she cried, “your goodness—" tears impeded her -further utterance.</p> - -<p>“Do not distress me,” said Amanda, again taking her -hand, “by mentioning such a trifle; was my ability equal to -my inclination, I should blush to offer it to your acceptance. -As it is, consider it as but the foretaste of the bounty which -heaven has, I doubt not, in store for you.”</p> - -<p>She then desired the door to be opened, and told her companion -she would no longer detain her. Miss Rushbrook -affectionately kissed her hand, and exclaimed, “You look like -an angel, and your goodness is correspondent to your looks. -I will not, madam, refuse your bounty. I accept it with gratitude, -for those dearer to me than myself. But ah! may I not -indulge a hope of seeing you again. You are so kind, so -gentle, madam, that every care is lulled into forgetfulness -whilst conversing with you.”</p> - -<p>“I shall certainly see you again as soon as possible,” replied -Amanda.</p> - -<p>Miss Rushbrook then quitted the carriage, which Amanda -ordered back to town, and bid the coachman drive as fast as -possible. They had not proceeded far, when the traces suddenly -gave way, and the man was obliged to dismount, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> -procure assistance from a public-house on the road, in repairing -them. This occasioned a delay, which greatly distressed -Amanda. She wished to get home before the ladies, lest, if -this was not the case, her long absence should make Lady -Greystock, who was remarkably inquisitive, inquire the reason -of it; and to tell her she had a strong objection, convinced, -as she was, that her ladyship’s knowing she relieved objects so -extremely disagreeable to her, would occasion a quarrel between -them, which would either render a longer residence together -impossible or highly disagreeable. And to leave London at -the present crisis, when everything relative to Lord Mortimer -was drawing to a conclusion, was not to be thought of without -the greatest pain.</p> - -<p>At length the coachman remounted his box, and the velocity -with which he drove, flattered her with the hope of reaching -home as soon as she wished. Tranquillized by this hope, -she again indulged her imagination with ideas of the comfort -her little bounty had probably given Rushbrook and his dejected -family. So sweet to her soul was the secret approbation -which crowned her charity; so preferable to any pleasure she -could have experienced at a ball, that even the disappointment -she believed Lord Mortimer would feel from her declining it, -was overlooked in the satisfaction she felt from the action she -had performed. She was convinced he would inquire her reason -for not going, which she determined at present to conceal. It -would appear like ostentation, she thought, to say that the -money requisite for her appearance at the ball was expended -in charity, and perhaps excite his generosity in a manner which -delicacy at present forbade her allowing.</p> - -<p>She asked the footman who handed her from the carriage -whether the ladies were returned; and on being answered in -the affirmative, inquired the hour, and learned it was just dinner -time. Flurried by this intelligence she hastened to her chamber, -followed by the maid appointed to attend her, who said -Lady Greystock had inquired for her as soon as she came home. -Amanda dressed herself with unusual expedition, and repaired -to the drawing-room, where, in addition to the family party, she -found Lord Mortimer, Freelove, Miss Malcolm, and some other -ladies and gentlemen assembled.</p> - -<p>“Bless me, child,” said Lady Greystock the moment she -entered the room, “where have you been the whole day?” “I -declare, Miss Fitzalan,” exclaimed Lady Euphrasia, “I believe -you stole a march somewhere upon us this morning.” -“Well,” cried Miss Malcolm, laughing, “your ladyship must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> -know that people generally have some important reason for -stolen marches which they do not choose to divulge.”</p> - -<p>Amanda treated this malicious insinuation with the silent -contempt it merited; and on Lady Greystock’s again asking -her where she had been, said, in a low hesitating voice, “in -the city.”</p> - -<p>“In the city!” repeated Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<p>This sudden exclamation startled her. She looked at him, -and perceived him regarding her with the most scrutinizing -earnestness. She blushed deeply, as if detected in a falsehood, -and immediately bent her eyes to the ground.</p> - -<p>The conversation now changed, but it was sometime ere -Amanda’s confusion subsided.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer, indeed, had a reason for his exclamation -she little thought of. He had met the marchioness and her -companions, by appointment, at the auction, but soon grew -weary of his situation, which the presence of Amanda could -alone have rendered tolerable. He pleaded business as an excuse -for withdrawing, and hurrying home, ordered his phaeton, -and proceeded towards Kensington. As he passed the coach -in which Amanda sat, at the time the traces were mending, he -carelessly looked into it, and directly recognized her. Lady -Euphrasia had informed him she excused herself from their party -on account of some business in the city. He never heard of -her having any acquaintance in or about Kensington, and was -at once alarmed and surprised by discovering her. He drove -to some distance from the carriage, and as soon as it began to -move, pursued it with equal velocity till it reached town, and -then giving his phaeton in charge to the servant, followed it on -foot, till he saw Amanda alight from it at the Marquis of Roslin’s. -Amanda had escaped seeing his lordship by a profound -meditation in which she was engaged at the moment, as she -pensively leaned against the side of the coach. Lord Mortimer -walked back with increased disorder to meet his phaeton. As -he approached it, he saw Colonel Belgrave by it, on horseback, -admiring the horses, which were remarkably fine, and asking to -whom they belonged. His acquaintance with the colonel had -hitherto never exceeded more than a passing bow. Now -prompted by an irresistible impulse, he saluted him familiarly; -inquired “whether he had had a pleasant ride that morning, -and how far he had been.” “No farther than Kensington,” -replied the colonel.</p> - -<p>This answer was confirmation strong to all the fears of -Lord Mortimer. He turned pale, dropped the reins which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> -had taken, with an intention of remounting, and, without even -noticing the colonel, flew from the place, and arrived at home -almost in a state of distraction. He was engaged to dine at the -Marquis’s, but in the first violence of his feelings, resolved on -sending an apology. Ere the servant, however, summoned for -that purpose had entered his apartment, he changed his resolution. -“I will go,” said he: “though appearances are against -her, she may, perhaps,” (and he tried to derive some comfort -from the idea,) “be able satisfactorily to account for her being -at Kensington.”</p> - -<p>Tortured by conflicting passions, alternately hoping and -doubting, he arrived at Portman Square.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock and Lady Euphrasia dwelt with wonder on -the length of Amanda’s morning excursion. When she entered -the room, he thought she appeared embarrassed; and that, on -Lady Greystock’s addressing her, this embarrassment increased. -But when she said she had been in the city, her duplicity, as he -termed it, appeared so monstrous to him, that he could not forbear -an involuntary repetition of her words. So great, indeed, -was the indignation it excited in his breast, that he could -scarcely forbear reproaching her as the destroyer of his and her -own felicity. Her blush appeared to him, not the ingenuous -coloring of innocence, but the glow of shame and guilt. It was -evident to him that she had seen Belgrave that morning; that -he was the occasion of all the mystery which had appeared in -her conduct, and that it was the knowledge of the improper influence -he had over her heart which made Sir Charles Bingley -so suddenly resign her.</p> - -<p>“Gracious Heaven!” said he to himself, “who, that looked -upon Amanda, could ever suppose duplicity harbored in her -breast? Yet that too surely it is, I have every reason to suppose. -Yet a little longer I will bear a torturing state of suspense, -nor reveal my doubts till thoroughly convinced they are -well founded.”</p> - -<p>He sat opposite to her at dinner, and his eyes were directed -towards her with that tender sadness which we feel on viewing -a beloved object we know ourselves on the point of losing forever.</p> - -<p>His melancholy was quickly perceived by the penetrating -marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. They saw, with delight, -that the poison of suspicion, infused into his mind, was already -beginning to operate. They anticipated the success of all -their schemes. Their spirits grew uncommonly elevated; and -Lady Euphrasia determined, whenever she had the power, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> -revenge, on the susceptible nature of Mortimer, all the uneasiness -he had made her suffer, and to add, as far as malice could -add to it, to the misery about to be the lot of Amanda.</p> - -<p>The dejection of Lord Mortimer was also observed by -Amanda. It excited her fears and affected her sensibility. -She dreaded that his aunt had refused complying with his request -relative to her interference with his father, or that the -earl had been urging him to an immediate union with Lady -Euphrasia. Perhaps he now wavered between love and duty. -The thought struck a cold damp upon her heart. Yet no, cried -she, it cannot be; if inclined to change, Lord Mortimer would -at once have informed me.</p> - -<p>In the evening there was a large addition to the party; but -Lord Mortimer sat pensively apart from the company. Amanda, -by chance, procured a seat next his. His paleness alarmed -her, and she could not forbear hinting her fears that he was ill.</p> - -<p>“I am ill, indeed,” sighed he, heavily. He looked at her -as he spoke, and beheld her regarding him with the most exquisite -tenderness. But the period was past for receiving delight -from such an appearance of affection: an affection, he had reason -to believe was never more than feigned for him; and, also, -from his emotions when with her, that he should never cease -regretting the deception. His passions, exhausted by their -own violence, had sunk into a calm, and sadness was the predominant -feeling of his soul. Though he so bitterly lamented, -he could not, at the moment, have reproached her perfidy. He -gazed on her with mournful tenderness, and to the involuntary -expression of regret, which dropped from her on hearing he -was ill, only replied, by saying, “Ah! Amanda, the man that -really excites your tenderness must be happy.”</p> - -<p>Amanda, unconscious that any sinister meaning lurked -beneath these words, considered them as an acknowledgment -of the happiness he himself experienced from being convinced -of her regard, and her heart swelled with pleasure at the idea.</p> - -<p>Any further conversation between them was interrupted by -Miss Malcolm, who, in a laughing manner, seated herself by -Lord Mortimer, to rally him, as she said, into good spirits.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i6">“But yet I say,</span> -<span class="i0">If imputation and strong circumstances,</span> -<span class="i0">Which lead directly to the door of truth,</span> -<span class="i0">Will give you satisfaction, you may have it.”—<span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>From that evening, to the day destined for the ball, nothing -material happened. On the morning of that day, as -Amanda was sitting in the drawing-room with the ladies, Lord -Mortimer entered. Lady Euphrasia could talk of nothing else -but the approaching entertainment, which, she said, was expected -to be the most brilliant thing that had been given that -winter.</p> - -<p>“I hope your ladyship,” said Amanda, who had not yet -declared her intention of staying at home, “will be able to-morrow -to give me a good description of it.” “Why, I suppose,” -cried Lady Euphrasia, “you do not intend going without -being able to see and hear yourself?” “Certainly,” replied -Amanda, “I should not, but I do not intend going.” “Not -going to the ball to-night?” exclaimed Lady Euphrasia. -“Bless me child,” said Lady Greystock, “what whim has -entered your head to prevent your going?” “Dear Lady -Greystock,” said Lady Euphrasia, in a tone of unusual good-humor, -internally delighted at Amanda’s resolution, “don’t -tease Miss Fitzalan with questions.” “And you really do not -go?” exclaimed Lord Mortimer, in an accent expressive of -surprise and disappointment. “I really do not, my lord.” -“I declare,” said the marchioness, even more delighted than -her daughter at Amanda’s resolution, as it favored a scheme -she had long been projecting, “I wish Euphrasia was as indifferent -about amusement as Miss Fitzalan: here she has -been complaining of indisposition the whole morning, yet I -cannot prevail on her to give up the ball.”</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia, who never felt in better health and spirits, -would have contradicted the marchioness, had not an expressive -glance assured her there was an important motive for this -assertion.</p> - -<p>“May we not hope, Miss Fitzalan,” said Lord Mortimer, -“that a resolution so suddenly adopted as yours may be as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> -suddenly changed?” “No, indeed, my lord, nor is it so suddenly -formed as you seem to suppose.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer shuddered as he endeavored to account for -it in his own mind; his agony became almost insupportable; -he arose and walked to the window where she sat.</p> - -<p>“Amanda,” said he, in a low voice, “I fear you forget your -engagement to me.”</p> - -<p>Amanda, supposing this alluded to her engagement for the -ball, replied, “she had not forgotten it.” “For your inability -or disinclination to fulfil it, then,” said he, “will you not -account?” “Most willingly, my lord.” “When?” asked -Lord Mortimer, impatiently, for, unable longer to support his -torturing suspense, he determined, contrary to his first intention, -to come to an immediate explanation relative to Belgrave. -“To-morrow, my lord,” replied Amanda, “since you desire it, -I will account for not keeping my engagement, and I trust,” a -modest blush mantling her cheeks as she spoke, “that your -lordship will not disapprove of my reasons for declining it.”</p> - -<p>The peculiar earnestness of his words, Lord Mortimer -imagined, had conveyed their real meaning to Amanda.</p> - -<p>“Till to-morrow, then,” sighed he, heavily, “I must bear -disquietude.”</p> - -<p>His regret, Amanda supposed, proceeded from disappointment -at not having her company at the ball: she was flattered -by it, and pleased at the idea of telling him her real motive for -not going, certain it would meet his approbation, and open -another source of benevolence to poor Rushbrook.</p> - -<p>In the evening, at Lady Euphrasia’s particular request, she -attended at her toilet, and assisted in ornamenting her ladyship. -At ten she saw the party depart, without the smallest -regret for not accompanying them: happy in self-approbation, -a delightful calm was diffused over her mind: a treacherous -calm, indeed, which, lulling her senses into security, made the -approaching storm burst with redoubled violence on her head; -it was such a calm as Shakspeare beautifully describes:—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“We often see against some storm</span> -<span class="i0">A silence in the heavens; the rack stand still,</span> -<span class="i0">The bold winds speechless, and the orb below</span> -<span class="i0">As hush as death.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>She continued in Lady Euphrasia’s dressing-room, and took -up the beautiful and affecting story of Paul and Mary, to amuse -herself. Her whole attention was soon engrossed by it; and, -with the unfortunate Paul, she was shedding a deluge of tears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> -over the fate of his lovely Mary, when a sudden noise made -her hastily turn her head, and with equal horror and surprise, -she beheld Colonel Belgrave coming forward. She started up, -and was springing to the door, when, rushing between her and -it, he caught her in his arms, and forcing her back to the sofa, -rudely stopped her mouth.</p> - -<p>“Neither cries or struggles, Amanda,” said he, “will be -availing; without the assistance of a friend, you may be convinced, -I could not have entered this house, and the same -friend will, you may depend on it, take care that our <i>tete-��-tete</i> -is not interrupted.”</p> - -<p>Amanda shuddered at the idea of treachery; and being -convinced, from what he said, she could not expect assistance, -endeavored to recover her fainting spirits, and exert all her -resolution.</p> - -<p>“Your scheme, Colonel Belgrave,” said she, “is equally -vile and futile. Though treachery may have brought you -hither, you must be convinced that, under the Marquis of Roslin’s -roof, who, by relationship, as well as hospitality, is bound -to protect me, you dare not, with impunity, offer me any insult. -The marquis will be at home immediately; if, therefore, you -wish to preserve the semblance of honor, retire without further -delay.” “Not to retire so easily,” exclaimed Belgrave, “did I -take such pains, or watch so anxiously for this interview. Fear -not any insult; but, till I have revealed the purpose of my -soul, I will not be forced from you. My love, or rather adoration, -has known no abatement by your long concealment; and -now that chance has so happily thrown you in my way, I will -not neglect using any opportunity it may offer.” “Gracious -heaven!” said Amanda, while her eyes flashed with indignation, -“how can you have the effrontery to avow your insolent -intentions—intentions which long since you must have known -would ever prove abortive?” “And why, my Amanda,” said -he, again attempting to strain her to his breast, while she -shrunk from his grasp, “why should they prove abortive? why -should you be obstinate in refusing wealth, happiness, the sincere, -the ardent affection of a man, who, in promoting your -felicity, would constitute his own? My life, my fortune, would -be at your command; my eternal gratitude would be yours for -any trifling sacrifice the world might think you made me. -Hesitate no longer about raising yourself to affluence, which, -to a benevolent spirit like yours, must be so peculiarly pleasing. -Hesitate not to secure independence to your father, promotion -to your brother; and, be assured, if the connection I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> -formed in an ill-fated hour, deceived by a specious appearance -of perfection, should ever be dissolved, my hand, like my heart, -shall be yours.” “Monster!” exclaimed Amanda, beholding -him with horror, “your hand, was it at your disposal, like your -other offers, I should spurn with contempt. Cease to torment -me,” she continued, “lest, in my own defence, I call upon -those who have power, as well as inclination, to chastise your -insolence. Let this consideration, joined to the certainty that -your pursuit must ever prove unavailing, influence your future -actions; for, be assured, you are in every respect an object of -abhorrence to my soul.”</p> - -<p>As she spoke, exerting all her strength, she burst from him, -and attempted to gain the door. He flung himself between -her and it, his face inflamed with passion, and darting the -most malignant glances at her.</p> - -<p>Terrified by his looks, Amanda tried to avoid him; and -when he caught her again in his arms, she screamed aloud. No -one appeared; her terror increased.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Belgrave!” cried she, trembling, “if you have one -principle of honor, one feeling of humanity remaining, retire. -I will pardon and conceal what is past, if you comply with my -request.” “I distress you, Amanda,” said he, assuming a -softened accent, “and it wounds me to the soul to do so, -though you, cruel and inexorable, care not what pain you -occasion me. Hear me calmly, and be assured I shall attempt -no action which can offend you.”</p> - -<p>He led her again to the sofa, and thus continued:—</p> - -<p>“Misled by false views, you shun and detest the only man -who has had sufficient sincerity to declare openly his intentions; -inexperience and credulity have already made you a -dupe to artifice. You imagined Sir Charles Bingley was a fervent -admirer of yours, when, be assured, in following you he -only obeyed the dictates of an egregious vanity, which flattered -him with the hope of gaining your regard, and being distinguished -by it. Nothing was farther from his thoughts, as he -himself confessed to me, than seriously paying his addresses to -you; and had you appeared willing, at last, to accept them, be -assured he would soon have contrived some scheme to disengage -himself from you. The attentions of Lord Mortimer are -prompted by a motive much more dangerous than that which -instigated Sir Charles. He really admires you, and would have -you believe his views are honorable; but beware of his duplicity. -He seeks to take advantage of the too great confidence -you repose in him. His purpose once accomplished, he would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> -sacrifice you to Lady Euphrasia; and I know enough of her -malevolent disposition to be convinced she would enjoy her -triumph over so lovely a victim. Ah, my dear Amanda, even -beauty and elegance like yours would not, on the generality of -mankind, have power to make them forego the advantages annexed -to wealth—on Lord Mortimer, particularly, they would -fail of that effect. His ambition and avarice are equal to his -father’s ; and though his heart and soul, I am confident, revolt -from the mind and person of Lady Euphrasia, he will unite -himself to her, for the sake of possessing her fortune, and thus -increasing his own power of procuring the gratifications he delights -in. As my situation is known, I cannot be accused of -deception, and whatever I promise, will be strictly fulfilled. -Deliberate therefore no longer, my Amanda, on the course you -shall pursue.” “No,” cried she, “I shall, indeed, no longer -deliberate about it.”</p> - -<p>As she spoke she started from her seat. Belgrave again -seized her hand. At this moment a knocking was heard at -the hall door, which echoed through the house. Amanda trembled, -and Belgrave paused in a speech he had begun. She -supposed the marquis had returned. It was improbable he -would come to that room; and even if he did, from his distrustful -and malignant temper, she knew not whether she -should have reason to rejoice at or regret his presence. But -how great was her confusion when, instead of his voice, she -heard those of the marchioness and her party! In a moment -the dreadful consequences which might ensue from her present -situation rushed upon her mind. By the forced attentions of -the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, she was not long deceived, -and had reason to believe, from the inveterate dislike -they bore her, that they would rejoice at an opportunity like -the present for traducing her fame; and with horror she saw -that appearances, even in the eyes of candor, would be against -her. She had positively, and unexpectedly, refused going to -the ball. She had expressed delight at the idea of staying at -home. Alas! would not all these circumstances be dwelt -upon? What ideas might they not excite in Lord Mortimer, -who already showed a tendency to jealousy? Half wild at the -idea, she clasped her hands together and exclaimed, in a voice -trembling with anguish, “Merciful heaven, I am ruined forever!”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” cried Belgrave, flinging himself at her feet, “pardon -me, Amanda, and I never more will molest you. I see -your principles are invincible. I admire, I revere your purity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> -and never more will I attempt to injure it. I was on the point -of declaring so when that cursed knock came to the door. -Compose yourself, and consider what can be done in the present -emergency. You will be ruined if I am seen with you. -The malicious devils you live with would never believe our -united asseverations of your innocence. Conceal me, therefore, -if possible, till the family are settled; the person who let -me in will then secure my retreat, and I swear solemnly never -more to trouble you.”</p> - -<p>Amanda hesitated between the confidence her innocence -inspired, and the dread of the unpleasant construction malice -might put on her situation. She heard the party ascending the -stairs. Fear conquered her reluctance to concealment, and -she motioned to Belgrave to retire to a closet adjoining the -dressing-room. He obeyed the motion, and closed the door -softly after him.</p> - -<p>Amanda, snatching up her book, endeavored to compose -herself; but the effort was ineffectual—she trembled universally—nor -was her agitation diminished when, from the outside -of the door, Lady Euphrasia called to her to open it. She -tottered to it, and almost fainted on finding it locked—with -difficulty she opened it, and the whole party, followed by the -marquis, entered.</p> - -<p>“Upon my word, Miss Fitzalan,” said the marchioness, -“you were determined no one should disturb your meditations. -I fear we have surprised you; but poor Euphrasia was taken -ill at the ball, and we were obliged to return with her.” “Miss -Fitzalan has not been much better, I believe,” said Lady Euphrasia, -regarding her attentively. “Good Lord, child!” -cried Lady Greystock, “what is the matter with you? why, you -look as pale as if you had seen a ghost.” “Miss Fitzalan is -fond of solitude,” exclaimed the marquis, preventing her replying -to Lady Greystock. “When I returned home about an -hour ago, I sent to request her company in the parlor, which -honor, I assure you, I was refused.”</p> - -<p>The message, indeed, had been sent, but never delivered -to Amanda.</p> - -<p>“I assure you, my lord,” said she, “I heard of no such request.” -“And pray, child, how have you been employed all -this time?” asked Lady Greystock. “In reading, madam,” -faltered out Amanda, while her death-like paleness was succeeded -by a deep blush. “You are certainly ill,” said Lord -Mortimer, who sat beside her, in a voice expressive of regret -at the conviction. “You have been indulging melancholy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> -ideas, I fear,” continued he softly, and taking her hand, “for -surely—surely to-night you are uncommonly affected.”</p> - -<p>Amanda attempted to speak. The contending emotions of -her mind prevented her utterance, and the tears trickled silently -down her cheeks. Lord Mortimer saw she wished to avoid -notice, yet scarcely could he forbear requesting some assistance -for her.</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia now complained of a violent headache. -The marchioness wanted to ring for remedies. This Lady -Euphrasia opposed; at last, as if suddenly recollecting it, she -said, “in the closet there was a bottle of eau-de-luce, which -she was certain would be of service to her.”</p> - -<p>At the mention of the closet, the blood ran cold through -the veins of Amanda; but when she saw Lady Euphrasia rise -to enter it, had death, in its most frightful form, stared her in -the face, she could not have betrayed more horror. She looked -towards it with a countenance as expressive of wild affright as -Macbeth’s, when viewing the chair on which the spectre of the -murdered Banquo sat. Lord Mortimer observing the disorder -of her looks, began to tremble. He grasped her hand with a -convulsive motion, and exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Amanda, what means this agitation?”</p> - -<p>A loud scream from Lady Euphrasia broke upon their ears, -and she rushed from the closet, followed by Belgrave.</p> - -<p>"Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed Lord Mortimer, dropping -Amanda’s hand, and rising precipitately.</p> - -<p>Amanda looked around—she beheld every eye fastened on -her with amazement and contempt. The shock was too much -for her to support. A confused idea started into her mind that -a deep-laid plot had been concerted to ruin her; she faintly -exclaimed, “I am betrayed,” and sunk back upon the sofa.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer started at her exclamation. “Oh Heavens!” -cried he, as he looked towards her; unable to support the -scene that would ensue in consequence of this discovery, he -struck his forehead in agony, and rushed out of the room. In -the hall he was stopped by Mrs. Jane, the maid appointed by -the marchioness to attend Amanda.</p> - -<p>“Alack-a-day, my lord,” said she, in a whimpering voice, -"something dreadful, I am afraid, has happened above stairs. -Oh dear! what people suffer sometimes by their good nature. -I am sure, if I thought any harm would come of granting Miss -Fitzalan’s request, she might have begged and prayed long -enough, before I would have obliged her.” “Did she desire you -to bring Colonel Belgrave to this house?” asked Lord Morti<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>mer. -“Oh, to be sure she did, my lord, or how should I ever -have thought of such a thing? She has been begging and -praying long enough for me to contrive some way of bringing -him here; and she told me a piteous story, which would have -softened a stone, of his being a sweetheart of hers before he -was married.” “Merciful powers!” cried Lord Mortimer, -clasping his hands together, “how have I been deceived.”</p> - -<p>He was hurrying away, when Mrs. Jane caught his coat. -“I shall lose my place,” said she, sobbing, “that I shall, most -certainly; for my lord and lady never will forgive my bringing -any one in such a way into the house. I am sure, I -thought no great harm in it, and did it quite from good nature; -for, indeed, how could one resist the poor, dear young lady; -she cried, and said she only wanted to bid farewell to her dear -Belgrave.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer could hear no more. He shook her from -him, and hurried from the house.</p> - -<p>Amanda’s faculties suffered but a momentary suspension; -as she opened her eyes, her composure and fortitude returned.</p> - -<p>“I am convinced,” said she, rising and advancing to the -marquis, “it will shock your lordship to hear, that it is the -treachery of some person under your roof has involved me in -my present embarrassing situation. For my own justification, -’tis necessary to acknowledge that I have long been the object -of a pursuit from Colonel Belgrave, as degrading to his character -as insulting to mine. When he broke so unexpectedly -upon me to-night, he declared, even with effrontery declared, -he had a friend in this house who gave him access to it. As -your guest, my lord, I may expect your lordship’s protection; -also that an immediate inquiry be made for the abettor in this -scheme against me, and a full discovery of it extorted—that -should the affair be mentioned, it may be explained, and my -fame cleared of every imputation.” “That, madam,” said the -marquis, with a malicious sneer, “would not be quite so easy a -matter as you may perhaps suppose. Neither the world nor I -am so credulous as you imagine. Your story, madam, by no -means hangs well together. There is no person in my house -would have dared to commit the act you accuse them of, as they -must know the consequence of it would be immediate dismission -from my service. Had not Colonel Belgrave been voluntarily -admitted, he never would have been concealed;—no, madam, -you would have rejoiced at the opportunity our presence gave -you of punishing his temerity. Innocence is bold; ’tis guilt -alone is timorous.”</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> - -<p>The truth of part of his speech struck forcibly on Amanda; -but how could she explain her conduct?—how declare it was -her dread of the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia’s malice -which had made her consent to conceal him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I see,” said she, in the agony of her soul—"I see I -am the dupe of complicated artifice.” “I never in my life,” -cried the marchioness, “met with such assurance—to desire -the marquis to be her champion.” “As she was intrusted to -my care, however,” exclaimed Lady Greystock, “I think it -necessary to inquire into the affair. Pray, sir,” turning to the -colonel, “by what means did you come here?”</p> - -<p>The colonel, with undiminished assurance, had hitherto -stood near the fatal closet leaning on a chair.</p> - -<p>“That, madam,” replied he, “I must be excused revealing. -Let me, however, assure your ladyship ’tis not on my own account -I affect concealment.” Here he glanced at Amanda. -“Those parts of my conduct, however, which I choose to conceal, -I shall always be ready to defend.” “Sir,” cried the -marquis haughtily, “no explanation or defence of your conduct -is here required; I have neither right nor inclination to interfere -in Miss Fitzalan’s concerns.”</p> - -<p>The colonel bowed to the circle, and was retiring, when -Amanda flew to him and caught his arm. “Surely, surely,” -said she, almost gasping for breath, “you cannot be so -inhuman as to retire without explaining this whole affair. Oh, -Belgrave, leave me not a prey to slander. By all your hopes -of mercy and forgiveness hereafter, I conjure you to clear my -fame.”</p> - -<p>“My dear creature,” said he, in a low voice, yet low enough -to be heard by the whole party, “anything I could say would -be unavailing. You find they are determined not to see things -in the light we wish them viewed. Compose yourself, I beseech -you, and be assured, while I exist, you never shall want comfort -or affluence.”</p> - -<p>He gently disengaged himself as he spoke, and quitted the -room, leaving her riveted to the floor in amazement at his insolence -and perfidy.</p> - -<p>“I am sure,” said Lady Greystock, “I shall regret all my -life the hour in which I took her under my protection; though, -indeed, from what I heard soon after my arrival in London, I -should have dispatched her back to her father, but I felt a -foolish pity for her. I was in hopes, indeed, the society I had -introduced her to would have produced a reformation, and that -I might be the means of saving a young creature from entire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> -destruction.” “From what I have already suffered by her -family, nothing should have tempted me to take her under my -roof,” exclaimed the marchioness. “Was she my relation,” -cried the marquis, “I should long since have come to a determination -about her; as yours, madam,” turning to the marchioness, -“I shall not attempt forming one; I deem it, however, -absolutely necessary to remove Lady Euphrasia Sutherland from -the house till the young lady chooses to quit it. I shall therefore -order the carriage to be ready at an early hour for the -villa.”</p> - -<p>“I shall certainly accompany your lordship,” cried the -marchioness, “for I cannot endure her sight; and though she -deserves it, it shall not be said that we turned her from the -house.” “The only measure she should pursue,” exclaimed -Lady Greystock, “is to set off as soon as possible for Ireland; -when she returns to obscurity the affair may die away.” “It -may, however,” said Amanda, “be yet revived to cover with -confusion its contrivers. To Heaven I leave the vindication of -my innocence. Its justice is sure, though sometimes slow, and -the hour of retribution often arrives when least expected. -Much as I have suffered—much as I may still suffer, I think -my own situation preferable to theirs who have set their snares -around me. The injurer must ever feel greater pangs than the -injured—the pangs of guilt and remorse. I shall return to my -obscurity, happy in the consciousness that it is not a shelter -from shame, but a refuge from cruelty I seek. But can I be -surprised at meeting cruelty from those who have long since -waived the ties of kindred?—from those,” and she glanced at -Lady Greystock, “who have set aside the claims of justice and -humanity?”</p> - -<p>The marchioness trembled with rage at this speech, and -as Amanda retired from the room, exclaimed, “intolerable assurance.”</p> - -<p>Amanda repaired immediately to her chamber. She tottered -as she walked, and the housekeeper and Mrs. Jane, who, with -some other servants, had assembled out of curiosity near the -door, followed her thither.</p> - -<p>The emotions she had so painfully suppressed now burst -forth with violence. She fell into an agony of tears and sobs -which impeded her breathing. The housekeeper and Jane -loosened her clothes and supported her to the bed. In a short -time she was sufficiently recovered to be able to speak, and -requested they would engage a carriage for her against the -next day, at an early hour, that she might commence her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> -journey to Ireland. This they promised, and at her desire -retired.</p> - -<p>Success, but not happiness, had crowned the marchioness’s -scheme. She triumphed in the disgrace she had drawn upon -Amanda, but feared that disgrace was only temporary. She -had entangled her in a snare, but she dreaded not having -secured her in it. She distrusted those who had assisted her -designs—for the guilty will ever suspect each other. They -might betray her, or Colonel Belgrave might repent; but such -evils, if they did ever arrive, were probably far distant. In the -interim, all she desired to accomplish might be effected. Long -had she been meditating on some plan which should ruin -Amanda forever—not only in the opinion of Lord Mortimer, -but in the estimation of the world. With the profligacy of -Colonel Belgrave she was well acquainted, and inclined from it -to believe that he would readily join in any scheme which could -give him a chance of possessing Amanda. On discovering her -residence, he had ordered his valet, who was a trusty agent in -all his villanies, to endeavor to gain access to the house, that -he might discover whether there was a chance of introducing -him there. The valet obeyed his orders, and soon attached -himself to Mrs. Jane, whom the marchioness had placed about -Amanda, from knowing she was capable of any deceitful part. -She was introduced to Belgrave, and a handsome present secured -her in his interest.</p> - -<p>She communicated to the marchioness the particulars of -their interview. From that period they had been seeking to -bring about such a scene as was at last acted; for the conduct -of Amanda had hitherto defeated their intentions. Her staying -from the ball at last gave the wished-for opportunity.</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia was apprised of the whole plot, and the -hint of her indisposition was given in the morning, that no suspicion -might be entertained in the evening, when mentioned as -a plea for returning home earlier than was intended.</p> - -<p>Colonel Belgrave was introduced into the closet by Mrs. -Jane, through a door that opened from the lobby; and whilst -Amanda sat pensively reading, he stole out, and secured the -other door, as already mentioned.</p> - -<p>When Lady Euphrasia declared she was too ill to continue -at the ball, Lord Mortimer offered to attend her home. Had -he not done so, the marchioness intended to have asked him.</p> - -<p>The marquis was persuaded that Amanda was an artful and -dangerous rival to his daughter, and he hated her from that -consideration. The laws of hospitality obliged him to treat her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> -with politeness, but he gladly seized the first opportunity that -offered for expressing his dislike.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock saw through the plot, but she professed her -belief of Amanda’s guilt, which was all the marchioness required.</p> - -<p>The marquis left the ladies together, while he went to give -orders about his early journey. Soon after his departure a -loud knocking was heard, which announced a visitor; and -from the lateness of the hour, they conjectured, and were right -in doing so, that it must be Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<p>After traversing several streets, in an agony no language could -describe, he returned to Portman Square. His fancy presented -Amanda to his view, overwhelmed with shame, and sinking -beneath the keen reproaches levelled at her. In the idea of her -sufferings, all resentment for the supposed perfidy was forgotten. -Human nature was liable to err, and the noblest efforts that -nature could make, was to pardon such errors. To speak comfort -to this fallen angel, he felt would relieve the weight which -pressed upon his own breast. Pale and disordered he entered -the room, and found the ladies apparently much affected.</p> - -<p>“My dear lord,” said the marchioness, “I am glad you are -come back. As a friend of the family, you may perhaps honor -us with your advice on the present occasion.” “Indeed,” exclaimed -Lady Greystock, “I suppose his lordship is at as great -a loss to know what can be done as we are. Was the colonel -in a situation to make any reparation—but a married man, only -think, how horrible!” “Execrable monster!” cried Lord -Mortimer, starting from his seat, and traversing the room, “it -were a deed of kindness to mankind to extirpate him from the -earth: but say,” continued he, and his voice faltered as he -spoke, “where is the unfortunate——,” he could not pronounce -the name of Amanda. “In her own room,” replied the marchioness. -“I assure you, she behaved with not a little insolence, -on Lady Greystock advising her to return home. For -my part, I shall let her act as she pleases.”</p> - -<p>She then proceeded to mention the marquis’s resolution of -leaving the house till she had quitted it, and that he insisted on -their accompanying him.</p> - -<p>“To return to her father is certainly the only eligible plan -she can pursue,” said Lord Mortimer; “but allow me,” continued -he, “to request that your ladyship will not impute to -insolence any expression which dropped from her. Pity her -wounded feelings, and soften her sorrows.” “I declare,” cried -Lady Euphrasia, “I thought I should have fainted from the -pity I felt for her.” “You pitied her, then,” said Lord <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>Mortimer, -sitting down by her ladyship, “you pitied and soothed -her afflictions?” “Yes, indeed,” replied she.</p> - -<p>If ever Lady Euphrasia appeared pleasing in the eyes of -Lord Mortimer, it was at this moment, when he was credulous -enough to believe she had shed the tear of pity over his lost -Amanda. He took her hand. “Ah! my dear Lady Euphrasia,” -said he, in an accent of melting softness, “perhaps even -now she needs consolation. A gentle female friend would be -a comfort to her wounded heart.”</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia immediately took the hint, and said she -would go to her.</p> - -<p>He led her to the door. “You are going,” cried he, “to -perform the office of an angel—to console the afflicted. Ah! -well does it become the young and gentle of your sex to pity -such misfortunes.”</p> - -<p>Her ladyship retired, but not indeed to the chamber of the -forlorn Amanda. In her own she vented the rage of her soul -in something little short of execrations against Lord Mortimer, -for the affection she saw he still retained for Amanda.</p> - -<p>On her ladyship’s retiring, Lady Greystock mentioned every -particular she had heard from Mrs. Jennings, and bitterly -lamented her having ever taken Amanda under her protection. -The subject was too painful to be long endured by Lord Mortimer. -He had heard of the early hour fixed for their journey, -and saying he would no longer keep the ladies from repose, -precipitately retired. He gave his man directions to watch -their motions, and inform him when they left town.</p> - -<p>Exhausted by the violence of her emotions, a temporary -forgetfulness stole over the senses of Amanda, on her being left -to solitude. In this state she continued till roused by a bustle -in the house. She started, listened, and heard the sound of a -carriage. Supposing it to be the one she had ordered for her -departure, she sprang from the bed, and, going to the window, -saw, instead of one for her, the marquis’s, into which he was -handing the ladies. As soon as it drove from the door, she -rang the bell, and the housekeeper immediately appeared, as -Mrs. Jane had attended the marchioness to the villa. Amanda -inquired “whether a carriage, as she directed, had been engaged -for her.”</p> - -<p>The housekeeper replied, “the hour in which she spoke was -too late for such a purpose, but she had now sent about one.”</p> - -<p>Amanda endeavored to exert herself, and was packing up -her clothes, when a maid entered the chamber, and said, “Lord -Mortimer was below, and wished to speak to her.”</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> - -<p>Tumultuous joy pervaded the mind of Amanda. She had -believed it probable she should not see him again before her -departure for Ireland, from whence she had determined writing -to him the particulars of the affair. His visit seemed to announce -he thought not unfavorably of her. She supposed he -came to assure her that his opinion of her integrity was unshaken—"and -I shall yet triumph,” cried she, in the transport -of the idea, “over malice and treachery.”</p> - -<p>She sprung past the maid; her feet scarce touched the -ground, and in a moment she found herself in the arms of Lord -Mortimer, which involuntarily opened to receive her, for, trembling -weak, and disordered, she would else, on seeing him, have -sunk to the floor. He supported her to a sofa. In a little -time she raised her head from his shoulder, and exclaimed, -“Oh! you are come! I know you are come, to comfort me.” -“Would to Heaven,” he answered, “I were capable of either -giving or receiving comfort. The period, however, I trust, may -yet arrive when we shall both at least be more composed. To -mitigate your sorrows would lessen my own; for never, oh, -never! can my heart forget the love and esteem it once bore -Amanda.” “Once bore her!” repeated Amanda. “Once -bore her, Lord Mortimer! do you say? Then you wish to -imply they no longer exist?”</p> - -<p>The tone of anguish in which she spoke, pierced the heart -of Lord Mortimer. Unable to speak, he arose, and walked to -the window, to hide his emotion. His words, his silence, all -conveyed a fatal truth to Amanda. She saw a dreadful and -eternal separation effected between her and Lord Mortimer. -She beheld herself deprived of reputation, loaded with calumny, -and no longer an object of love, but of detestation and contempt. -Her anguish was almost too great to bear, yet the pride of injured -innocence made her wish to conceal it; and, as Lord -Mortimer stood at the window, she determined to try and leave -the room without his knowledge, but ere she gained the door -her head grew giddy, her strength failed, she staggered, faintly -screamed on finding herself falling, and sunk upon the floor.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer wildly called for assistance. He raised and -carried her back to the sofa; he strained her to his bosom, -kissed her pale lips, and wept over her.</p> - -<p>“I have wounded your gentle soul, my Amanda,” cried he, -“but I have tortured my own by doing so. Ah! still dearest -of women, did the world compassionate your errors as I compassionate -them, neither contempt nor calumny would ever be -your portion. How pale she looks!” said he, raising his head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> -to gaze upon her face; “how like a lovely flower untimely -faded! Yet were it happiness for her never to revive; a soul -like hers, originally noble, must be wretched under the pressure -of scorn. Execrable Belgrave! the fairest work of Heaven is -destroyed by you. Oh! my Amanda, my distress is surely -severe—though anguish rives my heart for your loss, I must -conceal it—the sad luxury of grief will be denied me, for the -world would smile if I could say I now lamented you.”</p> - -<p>Such were the effusions of sorrow which broke from Lord -Mortimer over the insensible Amanda. The housekeeper, who -had been listening all this time, now appeared, as if in obedience -to his call, and offered her assistance in recovering Amanda. -Heavy sighs at length gave hopes of her restoration. Lord -Mortimer, unable to support her pathetic lamentations, determined -to depart ere she was perfectly sensible.</p> - -<p>“Miss Fitzalan,” said he to the housekeeper, “will wish, I -am convinced, to quit this house immediately. I shall take -upon myself to procure her a carriage, also a proper attendant, -for her journey, which, I flatter myself, she will be able to commence -in a few hours. Be kind, be gentle to her, my good -woman, and depend on my eternal gratitude. When she is -recovered, deliver her this letter.”</p> - -<p>The housekeeper promised to observe his injunctions, and -he departed.</p> - -<p>To Ireland, with Amanda, he intended sending an old -female servant, who had formerly been an attendant of his -mother’s, and his own man. He was shocked at the conduct of -the marchioness and Lady Greystock, and thought them guilty -of the highest inhumanity in thus deserting Amanda. The -letter he had put into the housekeeper’s hands excited her -curiosity so strongly that she was tempted to gratify it. -Amanda was not in a situation to perceive what she did, the -letter could easily be sealed again, and, in short, without longer -hesitation, she opened it. How great was her amazement, on -finding it contained a bank-note for five hundred pounds. The -words were as follows:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>Consider me, Amanda, in the light of a brother; as such accept my services; -to serve you, in any manner, will be a source of consolation, which, -I flatter myself, you will be happy to allow me. ’Tis necessary you should -return immediately to your father; hesitate not, then, about using the -enclosed. Your complying with my request will prove that you yet retain -a friendship for</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Mortimer</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>“What a sum,” cried the housekeeper, as she examined the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> -note; “what a nice little independency would this, in addition -to what I have already saved, be for an honest woman! What -a pity it is such a creature as it is designed for should possess -it!” The housekeeper, like her lady, was fertile in invention: -to be sure there was some danger in her present scheme, but -for such a prize it was worth her while to run some risk. Could -she but get Amanda off ere the carriage from Lord Mortimer -arrived, she believed all would succeed as she could wish. -Amanda, ignorant as she was of Lord Mortimer’s intentions, -would not, consequently, be influenced by them, to oppose anything -she could do. Full of this idea, she ran out, and calling -a footman, high in her favor, desired him immediately to procure -a travelling chaise for Miss Fitzalan. She then returned to -Amanda, who was just beginning to move.</p> - -<p>“Come, come,” cried she, going to her, and roughly shaking -her shoulder, “have done with those tragedy airs, and prepare -yourself against the carriage you ordered, comes: it will be at -the door in a few minutes.”</p> - -<p>Amanda looked round the room. “Is Lord Mortimer gone, -then?” said she. “Lord, to be sure he is,” cried the housekeeper; -“he left you on the floor, and, as he went out, he said -you should never have another opportunity of deceiving him.”</p> - -<p>A sudden frenzy seemed to seize Amanda; she wrung her -hands, called upon Lord Mortimer in the impassioned language -of despair, and flung herself on the ground, exclaiming, “This -last stroke is more than I can bear.”</p> - -<p>The housekeeper grew alarmed, lest her agitation should -retard her departure; she raised her forcibly from the ground, -and said, “she must compose herself to begin her journey, -which was unavoidable, as the marchioness had given absolute -orders to have her sent from the house early in the morning.”</p> - -<p>“Accursed house!” said Amanda, whose reason was restored -by the strenuous remonstrances of the housekeeper: “Oh, that -I had never entered it!” She then told her companion, “if -she would assist her, as she was almost too weak to do anything -for herself, she would be ready against the carriage came.” -The housekeeper and maid accordingly attended her to her -chamber; the former brought her drops, and the latter assisted -in putting on her habit, and packing up her clothes. Amanda -having secured her trunks, desired they might be sent, by the -first opportunity, to Castle Carberry; she had left a great many -clothes there, so took nothing at present with her but a small -quantity of linen. She had but a few guineas in her purse; her -watch, however, was valuable; and if she had money enough to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> -carry her to Dublin, she knew there she might procure a sufficient -sum on it to carry her home.</p> - -<p>At last the carriage came; with a trembling frame, and -half-broken heart, Amanda entered it. She saw Nicholas, the -footman, who had procured it, ready mounted to attend her. -She told him it was unnecessary to do so; but he declared he -could not think of letting so young a lady travel unprotected. -She was pleased at his attention: she had shuddered at the -idea of her forlorn situation, and now dropped a tear of sweet -sensibility at finding she was not utterly deserted by every -human being. The carriage took the road to Parkgate, as -Amanda chose to embark from thence, the journey being so -much nearer to it than to Holyhead, It was now about eight -o’clock; after travelling four hours, the chaise stopped at a -small house on the roadside, which appeared to be a common -ale-house. Amanda was unwilling to enter it; but the horses -were here to be changed; and she was shown into a dirty parlor, -where, almost sinking with weakness, she ordered tea to be -immediately brought in. She was much astonished, as she sat -at the tea-table, to see Nicholas enter the room with a familiar -air, and seat himself by her. She stared at him at first, supposing -him intoxicated; but perceiving no signs of this in his -countenance, began to fear that the insults she had received at -the marquis’s made him think himself authorized to treat her -with this insolence. She arose abruptly, and, summoning all -her resolution to her aid, desired him to retire, adding, “If his -attendance was requisite she would ring for him.”</p> - -<p>Nicholas also quitted his seat, and following her, caught her -in his arms, exclaiming, “Bless us, how hoity toity you are -grown.”</p> - -<p>Amanda shrieked, and stamped on the floor in an agony of -terror and indignation.</p> - -<p>“Why, now really,” said he, “after what happened at home, -I think you need not be so coy with me.” “Oh, save me, -Heaven, from this wretch!” was all the affrighted Amanda -could articulate.</p> - -<p>The door opened. A waiter appeared, and told Nicholas -he was wanted without. Nicholas released Amanda, and ran -directly from the room. Amanda sunk upon a chair, and her -head turned giddy at the idea of the dangers with which she -was surrounded. She saw herself in the power of a wretch—perhaps -wretches, for the house seemed a proper place for -scenes of villany—without the means of delivering herself. -She walked to the window. A confused idea of getting through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> -it, and running from the house, darted into her mind, but she -turned from it in agony at seeing a number of countrymen -drinking before it. She now could only raise her feeble hands -to heaven to supplicate its protection.</p> - -<p>She passed some minutes in this manner, when the lock -turned and made her shudder, but it was the landlady alone who -entered. She came, she said, with Nicholas’s respectful duty, -and she was sorry he was obliged to go back to town without -seeing her safe to her journey’s end.</p> - -<p>“Is he really gone?” asked Amanda, with all the eagerness -of joy. “Yes,” the woman said; “a person had followed him -from London on purpose to bring him back.” “Is the carriage -ready?” cried Amanda. She was informed it was. “Let me -fly, then.” The landlady impeded her progress to tell her the -bill was not yet settled. Amanda pulled out her purse, and -besought her not to detain her. This the woman had no desire -to do. Things were therefore settled without delay between -them, and Amanda was driven with as much expedition as she -could desire from the terrifying mansion. The chaise had proceeded -about two miles, when, in the middle of a solitary road, -or rather lane, by the side of a wood, it suddenly stopped. -Amanda, alarmed at every incident, hastily looked out, and -inquired what was the matter; but how impossible to describe -her terror when she beheld Colonel Belgrave, and Nicholas -standing by him! She shrunk back, and entreated the postilion -to drive on; but he heeded not her entreaty. Nicholas opened -the door, and Belgrave sprang into the carriage. Amanda -attempted to burst open the door at the opposite side; but he -caught her to his bosom, and the horses set off at full speed. -Colonel Belgrave’s valet had been secreted by Mrs. Jane the -preceding night in the house, that he might be able to give his -master intelligence of all that passed within it, in consequence -of his being discovered in the closet. On hearing the family -were gone to the Marquis’s villa, Belgrave believed he could -easily prevail on the domestics to deliver up Amanda to him. -Elated with this hope, he reached the house, attended by his -valet, just after she had quitted it. The housekeeper hesitated -to inform him of the road she had taken till she had procured -what she knew would be the consequence of her hesitation—a -large bribe. Horses were then immediately procured, and -Belgrave and his servant set off in pursuit of Amanda. The -sight of a travelling chaise at the little inn already mentioned, -prompted their inquiries; and on finding the chaise waited -for Amanda, the colonel retired to a private room, sent for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> -Nicholas, and secured him in his interest. It was settled they -should repair to the wood, by which the postilion was bribed -to pass, and from thence proceed to a country-house of the -colonel’s. Their scheme accomplished, Nicholas, happy in the -service he had done, or rather the reward he had obtained for -that service, again turned his face towards London.</p> - -<p>The carriage and attendants Lord Mortimer procured for -Amanda arrived even earlier than the housekeeper had expected, -and she blessed her lucky stars for the precipitancy -with which she had hurried off Amanda. They were followed -by his lordship himself, whose wretched heart could not support -the idea of letting Amanda depart without once more beholding -her. Great was his dismay, his astonishment, when -the housekeeper informed him she was gone.</p> - -<p>“Gone!” he repeated, changing color.</p> - -<p>The housekeeper said that, without her knowledge, Miss -Fitzalan had a chaise hired, and the moment it came to the -door stepped into it, notwithstanding she was told his lordship -meant to provide everything proper for her journey himself. -“But she said, my lord,” cried the housekeeper, “she wanted -none of your care, and that she could never get fast enough -from a house, or from people, where and by whom she had -been so ill treated.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer asked if she had any attendant, and whether -she took the letter.</p> - -<p>The housekeeper answered both these questions in the -affirmative. “Truly, my lord,” she continued, “I believe -your lordship said something in that letter which pleased her, -for she smiled on opening it, and said, ‘Well, well, this is -something like comfort.’” “And was she really so mean?” -he was on the point of asking, but he timely checked a question -which was springing from a heart that sickened at finding -the object of its tenderest affections unworthy in every respect -of possessing them. Every idea of this kind soon gave way to -anxiety on her account. His heart misgave him at her undertaking -so long a journey under the protection of a common -servant; and, unable to endure his apprehensions, he determined -instantly to pursue and see her safe himself to the -destined port.</p> - -<p>The woman, who had hitherto sat in the chaise, was ordered -to return home. He entered it with eagerness, and promised -liberally to reward the postilions if they used expedition. They -had changed horses but once when Lord Mortimer saw Nicholas -approaching, whom, at the first glance, he knew. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> -stopped the carriage, and called out, “Where have you left Miss -Fitzalan?” “Faith, my lord,” cried Nicholas, instantly stopping -and taking off his hat, “in very good company. I left -her with Colonel Belgrave, who was waiting, by appointment, -on the road for her.” “Oh! horrible infatuation!” said Lord -Mortimer, “that nothing can snatch her from the arms of infamy.”</p> - -<p>The postilion desired to know whether he should return to -London.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer hesitated, and at last desired him to go on -according to his first directions. He resolved to proceed to Parkgate -and discover whether Amanda had returned to Ireland. -They had not proceeded far when they overtook a travelling -chaise. As Lord Mortimer passed, he looked into it, and beheld -Amanda reclined on the bosom of Belgrave. He trembled -universally, closed his eyes, and sighed out the name of the -perfidious Amanda. When they had got some way before the -other chaise, he desired the postilion to strike off into another -road, which, by a circuit of a few miles, would bring them back -to London. Amanda, it was evident, had put herself under the -protection of Belgrave, and to know whether she went to Ireland -was now of little consequence to him, as he supposed her -unreclaimable. But how impossible to describe his distress -and confusion when almost the first object he beheld, on alighting -in St. James’s Square, was his aunt, Lady Martha Dormer, -who, in compliance with his urgent request, had hastened to -London. Had a spectre crossed his sight he could not have -been more shocked.</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear Frederick,” said her ladyship, “you see I -lost no time in obeying your wishes. I have flown hither, I -may indeed say, on the wings of love. But where is this little -divinity of thine? I long to have a peep at her goddess-ship.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer, inexpressibly shocked, turned to the window.</p> - -<p>“I shall see, to be sure,” cried her ladyship, “quite a little -paragon. Positively, Frederick, I will be introduced this -very evening.” “My dear aunt, my dear Lady Martha,” said -Lord Mortimer, impatiently, “for Heaven’s sake spare me!” -“But tell me,” she continued, “when I shall commence this -attack upon your father’s heart?” “Never! never!” sighed -Mortimer, half distracted. “What! you suppose he will prove -inflexible? But I do not despair of convincing you to the contrary. -Tell me, Frederick, when the little charmer is to be -seen?” “Oh, God!” cried Mortimer, striking his forehead, -“she is lost,” said he, “she is lost forever!”</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> - -<p>Lady Martha was alarmed. She now, for the first time, -noticed the wild and pallid looks of her nephew. “Gracious -Heaven!” she exclaimed, “what is the matter?”</p> - -<p>The dreadful explanation Lord Mortimer now found himself -under a necessity of giving. The shame of acknowledging -he was so deceived, the agony he suffered from that deception, -joined to the excessive agitation and fatigue he had suffered -the preceding night, and the present day, so powerfully assailed -him at this moment, that his senses suddenly gave way, -and he actually fainted on the floor.</p> - -<p>What a sight for the tender Lady Martha! She saw something -dreadful had happened, and what this was Lord Mortimer, -as soon as recovered, informed her.</p> - -<p>He then retired to his chamber. He could neither converse -nor bear to be conversed with. His fondest hopes were -blasted, nor could he forego the sad indulgence of mourning -over them in solitude. He felt almost convinced that the hold -Amanda had on his affections could not be withdrawn; he had -considered her as scarcely less than his wife, and had she been -really such, her present conduct could not have given him more -anguish. Had she been snatched from him by the hand of -death; had she been wedded to a worthy character, he could -have summoned fortitude to his aid; but to find her the prey -of a villain, was a stroke too horrible to bear, at least for a -long period, with patience.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“And let a maid thy pity share,</span> -<span class="i1"><span class="gesperrt">* * * * </span></span> -<span class="i0">Who seeks for rest, but finds despair</span> -<span class="i0">Companion of her way.”—<span class="smcap">Goldsmith.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Amanda had fainted soon after Colonel Belgrave entered -the carriage, and she was reclining on his bosom in a state of -insensibility when Lord Mortimer passed. In this situation -she continued till they had gained a solitary road, when the -carriage stopped, and water, procured from an adjacent cottage, -being sprinkled on her face, she recovered; but either by -arguments or actions she was now unable to oppose Belgrave. -She felt a weakness through her whole frame, which she be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>lieved -the forerunner of death, and a languor on her mind that -almost deprived it of the perception of misery.</p> - -<p>The refreshments offered to her she could only refuse by a -motion of her hand; and in this manner they proceeded till -about nine o’clock at night, when they entered an extensive -wood, in the very centre of which stood Colonel Belgrave’s -mansion. He carried Amanda himself into it, and laid her -upon a sofa in a large parlor. Some female domestics appeared -with drops and cordials, to try and recover her from -the almost lifeless state in which she lay. One of them presented -a letter to the colonel, which excited no little perturbation -in his mind. It came express to inform him that his uncle, -whose estate and title he was heir to, lay at the point of death, -and that his presence was immediately required.</p> - -<p>The colonel was not so absolutely engrossed by love as to -be incapable of attending to his interest. An addition of fortune -was extremely agreeable, as his affairs were somewhat -deranged; and, as Amanda was not in a situation at present -to comply with any overtures he should make, his resolution -was immediately formed to set off without delay, and against -his return he trusted Amanda would be not only recovered, -but willing to accede to his wishes.</p> - -<p>He dismissed the woman who had brought her a little to -herself, and taking her hand informed her of the painful necessity -he was under of departing for a short time. He also mentioned -his hopes, that on his return he should have no obstacle -thrown in the way of his happiness by her. “You must be -sensible, my dear Amanda,” said he, with coolness, “that -your reputation is as much gone as if you had complied with -my wishes; since it is sacrificed, why not enjoy the advantages -that may, that will certainly attend the reality of that sacrifice?” -“Monster!” cried Amanda, “your arts may have destroyed -my fame, but my innocence bids defiance to your power.” -“Conquer your obstinacy, Amanda,” replied he, “against I -return, or I shall not promise but what I may be at last irritated. -As you will have no occasion for money here, you must -excuse me, my dear creature, if I take your purse into my -own keeping. My domestics may be faithful, when they have -no inducement to the contrary; but no bribery, no corruption, -you know.” He then very deliberately took Amanda’s purse -and watch from her pocket, and deposited them in his own. -He had already given directions to his servants concerning -their treatment of Amanda, and now ordered them to carry -her to a chamber, and make her take some refreshment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> -“Reflect, Amanda,” said he, ere she retired, “on your present -situation, and timely estimate the advantages I offer to your -acceptance; wealth, pleasure, the attentions of a man who -adores you, are not to be despised. Upon my soul it grieves -me to leave you, but the joys of meeting will, I trust, pay the -pangs of absence.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, he attempted to embrace her, but she faintly -shrieked, and shrunk from his grasp. He looked provoked; -but as he had no time to lose, he reserved a declaration of his -anger for another opportunity, and directly set off for his uncle’s.</p> - -<p>Amanda was supported to a chamber, and lay down in her -clothes on a bed. They offered her bread and wine, but she -was too sick to touch any. To remonstrate with the insolent -looking creatures who surrounded her she knew would be unavailing, -and she turned her face on the pillow to stifle her sobs, -as she believed they would exult in her distress. Death she -thought approaching, and the idea of being separated from the -dear objects who would have soothed its last pangs, was dreadful. -Her father in agony, and Oscar, her beloved brother, bewailing -her with tears of sorrow, were the images fancy presented -to her view.</p> - -<p>“Dear objects of my love,” she softly exclaimed, “Amanda -shall no more behold you, but her last sigh will be breathed for -you. Ah! why, why,” she cried, “did I suffer myself to be -separated from my father?”</p> - -<p>A young woman leaned over Amanda, and surveyed her -with the most malignant scrutiny. She was daughter to Belgrave’s -steward, and neither she nor her father possessed sufficient -virtue to make them reject the offers Belgrave made them -on her account. His attachment to her was violent, but transient, -and in the height of it he made her mistress of the mansion -she now occupied, which character she maintained with -tyrannic sway over the rest of the domestics. Belgrave was -really ignorant of the violence of her temper, and had no idea -she would dare dispute his inclinations, or disobey his orders. -He believed she would be subservient to both, and from this -belief, gave Amanda particularly into her charge.</p> - -<p>But scarcely had he departed, ere she swore, “that let the -consequence be what it would, the vile wretch he had brought -into the house to insult her should never remain in it. She -shall tramp,” cried she, “though I follow her myself when he -returns; for such a little hussey shall never triumph over me.”</p> - -<p>The servants, ignorant and timorous, did not attempt to oppose -her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> -“Come, madam,” said she, suddenly seizing Amanda’s arm, -and pulling her from the pillow, “have done with these languishing -airs, and march.” “What do you mean?” cried Amanda, -trembling at her inflamed countenance. “Why, I mean you -shall quit this house directly; and I wonder Colonel Belgrave -could have the assurance to bring such a creature as you into it.” -“You mistake, indeed,” said Amanda; “treachery, not inclination, -brought me into it, and I am not what you suppose. If, -as you say, you will allow me to depart, I shall ever regard you -as my friend; and in every prayer I offer up to Heaven for myself, -you shall be remembered.” “Oh, dear! but you shall not -impose upon me so easily. Come,” continued she, turning to -a maid, “and help me to conduct this fine lady to the hall door.” -“Gracious Heaven!” said Amanda, who by this time was -taken, or rather dragged from the bed, “what are you about -doing with me? Though I rejoice to quit the house, yet surely, -surely,” she cried, and her soul recoiled at the idea, “without -a guide at this hour of the night, you will not turn me from it.”</p> - -<p>She then mentioned Colonel Belgrave’s having deprived her -of her purse and watch, and besought the woman in the most -pathetic terms, to supply her with a small sum, which she solemnly -assured her should be returned as soon as she reached -her friends; and ended with saying, she should depart with -gratitude and joy if she complied with her request, and allowed -some one to guide her to a place where she might procure a -carriage.</p> - -<p>“Such madams as you,” replied the imperious woman, “are -never at a loss for means of procuring money, or a place to go -to. I see through your art well enough; you want me to pity -you, that I may let you stay till your colonel returns. But who -would be fool then, I wonder? The tables, I warrant, would -soon be turned upon me. No, no; out you go this moment.” -So saying, she rudely seized Amanda, and assisted by another -woman, hurried her down stairs, and out of the house directly: -they carried her to an intricate part of wood, and then ran back, -leaving the helpless mourner leaning against a tree.</p> - -<p>Amanda looked around her. Dark and awful were the -shades of the wood. No light appeared but what came from a -few wandering stars, which only served to render darkness -visible. “Have mercy upon me, Heaven!” groaned Amanda, -as she felt herself sinking to the earth. The cold acted as a -kind of restorative, and almost immediately revived her. She -rested her head against a little bank, and as she thus reclined, -tender sadness pervaded her soul the idea of her father’s <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> -sorrow when he heard of her fate. “When he hears,” cried -she, “that I was driven from the house, as unworthy of pity or -protection from any being, that his Amanda, whom he cherished -in his bosom, as the darling of his age, was denied the pity he -would have shown the greatest wretch that crawls upon the -earth, and that she perished without shelter, it will break his -heart entirely. Poor Oscar, too—alas! I shall be a source of -wretchedness to both. Will Lord Mortimer lament when he -hears of my fate? Alas! I cannot believe that he will. He -that could leave me in the arms of insensibility, and so readily -believe ill of me, must have a heart steeled against compassion -for my sufferings. But my unhappy father and brother will -never doubt my innocence, and by them I shall be tenderly and -truly mourned.”</p> - -<p>The idea of their sufferings at last recalled her wandering -thoughts, and pity for those sufferings made her endeavor to -support her own, that she might be able to make some efforts -for preserving a life so precious to them. Besides, as she reflected, -she could not but attribute her expulsion from the house -of infamy to the immediate interposition of Providence in her -favor: and whilst her heart swelled with gratitude at the idea, her -fortitude gradually returned. She arose, but the vigor of her -nerves was not equal to the ardor of her intentions. She walked -on, and as she proceeded, the gloom grew more profound, the -paths were intricate, and her progress was often impeded by -the roots of trees, and the branches that grew about them. -After wandering about a considerable time, she at last began -to think that, instead of gaining the skirts, she had penetrated -into the very centre of the wood, and that to quit it till morning -would be impossible. Yielding to this idea, or rather to -her excessive weariness, she was seeking for a place to sit down -on, when a faint light glimmered before her. She instantly -darted through the path from whence it gleamed, and found -herself at the extremity of the wood, and that the light proceeded -from a small hamlet contiguous to it. Thither she -walked, as fast as her trembling limbs would carry her. A profound -stillness reigned around, only interrupted by the hoarse -and hollow barking of some distant dogs, which, in such an -hour, had something particularly solemn in it. The stillness, -and sudden disappearance of lights from various windows, -convinced Amanda that every cottage was closed for the -night; “and were they open,” said she, “I perhaps should -be denied access to any, deprived as I am of the means -of rewarding kindness.” She shuddered at the idea of pass<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>ing -a night unsheltered. “It is now, indeed,” said she, “I -really know what it is to feel for the houseless children of -want.” She moved softly along. The echo of her own steps -alarmed her. She had neatly reached the end of the hamlet -when, before a neat cottage, divided from the others by a -clump of old trees, she saw a venerable man, who might well have -passed for an ancient hermit. His gray locks thinly shaded his -forehead; an expression of deep and pensive thought was -visible in his countenance; his arms were folded on his breast, -and his eyes were raised with a tender melancholy to heaven, -as if that heaven he contemplated was now the abode of some -kindred and lamented spirit. Surely such a being, thought she, -will pity me. She approached him—stood close to him, yet was -unnoticed. Thrice she attempted to speak, and thrice her heart -failed her. At last she summoned all her courage to her aid, -and faintly articulated, “Pity——,” she could add no more, but -fainted at his feet. The stranger’s mind was fraught with all -the benevolence his countenance depictured. The transient -glance he had caught of Amanda interested every tender feeling. -He called to his servant, an elderly woman, his only -companion in the cottage, to assist him in conveying her in. -This woman’s heart was as tender as her master’s, and the -youth, the beauty, and forlorn situation of Amanda, equally -excited their wonder and pity. It was many minutes ere she -opened her eyes, and when she did, her senses were quite bewildered. -“And my father! alas! my father, I shall never more -behold him,” was all she could articulate.</p> - -<p>She was supported to a small chamber; the old woman undressed -her, put her to bed, and sat up with her the remainder -of the night. Amanda often started; she raved continually of -Belgrave, the author of her woes, and betrayed the strongest -horror. “The wound he had inflicted on her heart,” she said, -“the hand of death could only heal.” She mentioned the -cruelty of the marchioness, called upon her father to save her -from destruction, and reproached Mortimer for aiding to overwhelm -her in disgrace. She continued in this situation three -days, during which the old man and his faithful servant watched -her with unremitted attention. A neighboring apothecary was -summoned to her aid, and a girl from one of the cottages procured -to sit up with her at night. The old man frequently knelt -by the bedside, watching with anxiety for a favorable symptom. -Her incoherent expressions pierced him to the heart: he felt, -from mournful sympathy, for the father she so pathetically -mentioned, and invoked Heaven to restore her to him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> -The afternoon of the third day, Amanda, after a long slumber, -awoke, perfectly restored to her senses; it was many -minutes, however, after her awaking, ere she recollected all the -circumstances that had caused her present situation. She at -last opened the curtain, and perceived the old woman, whom -we shall hereafter call Eleanor, seated by the bedside.</p> - -<p>“I fear,” said she, with a languid smile, “I have been the -occasion of a great deal of trouble.” “No, no,” replied the -kind Eleanor, delighted to hear her speak so calmly, and drawing -back a little of the curtain at the same time to observe her -looks.</p> - -<p>Amanda inquired how long she had been ill. Eleanor informed -her, and added, “Heaven, my dear child, was kind to -you, in throwing you in my master’s way, who delights in befriending -the helpless.” “Heaven will reward him,” exclaimed -Amanda.</p> - -<p>The chamber was gloomy; she requested one of the shutters -might be opened. Eleanor complied with her desire, and a ray -of the declining sun darting through the casement, cheered her -pensive heart. She perfectly remembered the venerable figure -she had beheld on the threshold of the cottage, and was impatient -to express her gratitude to him. The next day, she -trusted, would give her an opportunity of doing so, as she then -resolved, if possible, to rise. The wish of her soul was to be -with her father ere he could receive any intimation of what had -happened. She resolved to communicate to her benevolent -host the incidents which had placed her in such a situation; and -she flattered herself, on hearing them, he would accommodate -her with the means of returning to Ireland: if unable (unwilling -she could not think she should find him) to do this, she then -intended writing to her father. This measure, however, she -fervently trusted, she should have no occasion to take, as she -well knew the shock such a letter would give him.</p> - -<p>Contrary to the inclination of Eleanor, she rose the next -day, and, as soon as she was dressed, sent to request Mr. -Howel’s company. Eleanor had informed her of her master’s -name. The chamber was on a ground floor: before the windows -were a row of neat white cottages, and behind them rose -a range of lofty hills, covered to the very summit with trees, -now just bursting into verdure. Before the cottage ran a clear -murmuring rivulet, at which some young girls were washing -clothes, whilst others spread them upon hedges, and all -beguiled their labor with singing, chatting, and laughing together.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah! happy creatures!” cried Amanda, “screened by -your native hills, you know nothing of the vices or miseries of -the great world; no snares lurk beneath the flowery paths you -tread, to wring your hearts with anguish, and nip the early -blossoms of your youth.”</p> - -<p>The old man appeared, and interrupted her meditations. -When he beheld the pale face of Amanda, beaming with angelic -sweetness; when he saw her emaciated hand extended towards -him, while her soft voice uttered her grateful acknowledgments, -his emotions could not be suppressed: he pressed her -hand between his: tears rolled down the furrows of his face, -and he exclaimed, “I thank the Almighty for reviving this -sweet flower.”</p> - -<p>A deep sob from Amanda proved how much he had affected -her feelings.</p> - -<p>He was alarmed, and hastily endeavored to compose his -own, out of regard to hers.</p> - -<p>When a little composed, with grateful sweetness she continued -to thank him for his kindness. “Pity,” said she, “is a -sweet emotion to excite; yet from you, without esteem, it would -be humiliating; and esteem I cannot flatter myself with obtaining, -till I have accounted for being a wretched wanderer.” -She then gave a brief account of her father and the events of -her life.</p> - -<p>“Ah! my dear,” cried the old man, as she finished her -narrative, “you have reason, indeed, to regret your knowledge -of Belgrave; but the sorrow he has occasioned you, I believe -and trust, will be but transient. That which he has given me -will be lasting as my life. You look astonished. Alas! but -for him, I might now have been blessed with a daughter as -lovely and as amiable as Fitzalan’s. I see you are too delicate -to express the curiosity my words have inspired, but I shall not -hesitate to gratify it. My relation will draw the tear of pity -from your eye; but the sorrows of others often reconcile us to -our own.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“And oft as ease and health retire,</span> -<span class="i1">To breezy lawn or forest-deep,</span> -<span class="i0">The friend shall view yon whitening spire,</span> -<span class="i1">And ’mid the varied landscape weep;</span> -<span class="i0">But thou who own’s t that earthy bed,</span> -<span class="i1">Ah! what will every dirge avail?”</span> -<span class="i6"><span class="smcap">Collins’s Ode on Thomson.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Many years are now elapsed since I took up my residence -in this sequestered hamlet. I retired to it in distaste with a -world whose vices had robbed me of the dearest treasure of my -heart. Two children cheered my solitude, and in training them -up to virtue, I lost the remembrance of half my cares. My -son, when qualified, was sent to Oxford, as a friend had -promised to provide for him in the church; but my daughter -was destined to retirement, not only from the narrowness of my -income, but from a thorough conviction it was best calculated -to insure her felicity. Juliana was the child of innocence and -content. She knew of no greater happiness than that of promoting -mine, of no pleasures but what the hamlet could afford, -and was one of the gayest, as well as the loveliest, of its daughters. -One fatal evening I suffered her to go, with some of her -young companions, to a rustic ball, given by the parents of Belgrave -to their tenants, on coming down to Woodhouse, from -which they had been long absent. The graces of my child -immediately attracted the notice of their son. Though young -in years, he was already a professed libertine. The conduct of -his father had set him an example of dissipation which the -volatility of his own disposition too readily inclined him to follow. -His heart immediately conceived the basest schemes -against Juliana, which the obscurity of her situation prompted -him to think might readily be accomplished. From this period -he took every opportunity of throwing himself in her way. My -suspicions, or rather my fears, were soon excited; for I knew -not then the real depravity of Belgrave; but I knew that an attachment -between him and my daughter would prove a source -of uneasiness to both, from the disparity fortune had placed -between them. My task in convincing Juliana of the impropriety -of encouraging such an attachment was not a difficult -one. But, alas! I saw the conviction was attended with a pang -of anguish, which pierced me to the soul.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> - -<p>Belgrave, from the assumed softness and delicacy of his -manners, had made an impression on her heart which was not -to be erased. Every effort, however, which prudence could -suggest, she resolved to make, and, in compliance with my -wishes, avoided Belgrave. This conduct soon convinced him -it would be a difficult matter to lull my caution, or betray her -innocence. And finding all his attempts to see, or convey a -letter to her, ineffectual, he departed with his parents from -Woodhouse.</p> - -<p>Juliana heard of his departure with a forced smile; but a -starting tear, and a colorless cheek, too clearly denoted to me -the state of her mind. I shall not attempt to describe my -sufferings on witnessing hers. With my pity was mixed a degree -of veneration for that virtue which, in so young a mind, -could make such exertions against a passion disapproved of by -a parent. The evening of his departure, no longer under any -restraint, she walked out alone, and instinctively, perhaps, took -the road to Woodhouse. She wandered to its deepest glooms, -and there gave way to emotions which, from her efforts to suppress -them, were become almost too painful to support. The -gloom of the wood was heightened by the shades of evening, -and a solemn stillness reigned around, well calculated to inspire -pensive tenderness. She sighed the name of Belgrave in -tremulous accents, and lamented their ever having met. A -sudden rustling among the trees startled her, and the next moment -she beheld him at her feet, exclaiming, “We have met, -my Juliana, never more to part.”</p> - -<p>Surprise and confusion so overpowered her senses, as to -render her for some time unable to attend to his raptures. -When she grew composed, he told her he was returned to make -her honorably his, but to effect this intention, a journey from -the hamlet was requisite. She turned pale at these words, and -declared she never would consent to a clandestine measure. -This declaration did not discourage Belgrave; he knew the interest -he had in her heart, and this knowledge gave an energy -to his arguments, which gradually undermined the resolution of -Juliana. Already, he said, she had made a sufficient sacrifice -to filial duty; surely something was now due to love like his, -which, on her account, would cheerfully submit to innumerable -difficulties. As he was under age, a journey to Scotland was -unavoidable, he said, and he would have made me his confidant -on the occasion, but that he feared my scrupulous delicacy -would have opposed his intentions, as contrary to parental authority. -He promised Juliana to bring her back to the ham<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>let -immediately after the ceremony; in short, the plausibility -of his arguments, the tenderness of his persuasions, at last -produced the effect he wished, and he received a promise from -her to put herself under his protection that very night.</p> - -<p>But oh! how impossible to describe my agonies the ensuing -morning when, instead of my child, I found a letter in her -room informing me of her elopement; they were such as a fond -parent, trembling for the fame and happiness of his child, may -conceive. My senses must have sunk beneath them had they -long continued; but Belgrave, according to his promise, hastened -back my child; and as I sat solitary and pensive in the -apartment she so often had enlivened, I suddenly beheld her -at my feet, supported by Belgrave, as his wife. So great a -transition from despair to comfort was almost too powerful for -me to support. I asked my heart was its present happiness -real; I knelt, I received my child in my arms: in those feeble -arms I seemed to raise her with my heart to Heaven in pious -gratitude for her returning unsullied. Yet, when my first transports -were abated, I could not help regretting her ever having -consented to a clandestine union. I entreated Belgrave to -write, in the most submissive terms, to his father. He promised -to comply with my entreaty, yet hinted his fears that his -compliance would be unattended with the success I hoped. -He requested, if this should be the case, I would allow his -wife to reside in the cottage till he was of age. Oh, how pleasing -a request to my heart! a month passed away in happiness, -only allayed by not hearing from his father. At the expiration -of that time he declared he must depart, having received orders -to join his regiment, but promised to return as soon as -possible; he also promised to write, but a fortnight elapsed -and no letter arrived.</p> - -<p>Juliana and I grew alarmed, but it was an alarm that only -proceeded from fears of his being ill. We were sitting one -morning at breakfast, when the stopping of a carriage drew us -from the table.</p> - -<p>“He is come!” said Juliana, “he is come!” and she flew -to open the door; when, instead of her expected Belgrave, she -beheld his father, whose dark and haughty visage proclaimed -that he came on no charitable intent. Alas! the occasion of -his visit was too soon explained; he came to have the ties -which bound his son to Juliana broken. My child, on hearing -this, with firmness declared, that she was convinced any scheme -his cruelty might devise to separate them, the integrity, as well -as the tenderness of his son, would render abortive.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> -“Be not too confident of that, young lady,” cried he, smiling -maliciously. He then proceeded to inform her that Belgrave, -so beloved, and in whose integrity she so much confided, -had himself authorized his intentions, being determined to -avail himself of non-age, to have the marriage broke.</p> - -<p>Juliana could hear no more; she sunk fainting on the bosom -of her wretched father. Oh, what a situation was mine, when, -as I clasped her wildly to my heart and called upon her to revive, -that heart whispered me it was cruelty to wish she -should! Alas! too soon she did, to a keen perception of -misery. The marriage was dissolved, and health and happiness -fled from her together; yet, from compassion to me, I saw -she struggled to support the burden of existence. Every remedy -which had a chance of prolonging it, I administered. But, -alas! sorrow was rooted in her heart, and it was only its removal, -which was impossible, that could have effected her recovery. -Oh! how often have I stolen from my bed to the door -of her apartment, trembling, lest I should hear the last groan -escape her lips! How often have I then heard her deep convulsive -sobs, and reproached myself for selfishness at the moment -for wishing the continuance of her being, which was only -wishing the continuance of her misery! Yes, I have then said, -I resign her, my Creator, unto thee. I resign her from a certainty, -that only with thee she can enjoy felicity. But, alas! -in a moment frail nature has triumphed over such a resignation, -and, prostrate on the ground, I have implored heaven, either to -spare the child, or take the father along with her.</p> - -<p>She saw me unusually depressed one day, and proposed a -walk, with a hope that any exertion from her might recruit my -spirits. But when I saw my child, in the very bloom of life, -unable to sustain her feeble frame; when I felt her leaning on -my almost nerveless arm for support, oh! how intolerable was -the anguish that rived my heart!—in vain, by soft endearments, -she strove to mitigate it. I averted my face and wept. She -motioned to go towards Woodhouse; we had got within sight -of the wood, when she complained of fatigue, and sat down. -She had not been many minutes in this situation, when she beheld, -coming from the wood, Belgrave, and a young girl whom -she knew to be the steward’s daughter. The familiar manner -in which they appeared conversing, left little room to doubt of -the footing on which they were. The hectic glow of Juliana’s -complexion gave place to a deadly paleness. She arose and -returned to the cottage with me in silence, from whence, in less -than a week, she was borne to her grave.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> - -<p>Eight years, continued he, after a pause of some minutes, -have elapsed since her death, yet is her worth, her beauty, and -her sufferings still fresh in the remembrance of the inhabitants -of the hamlet. In mine, oh! Miss Fitzalan! how painfully, -how pleasingly, do they still exist! No noisome weed is -allowed to intermingle in the high grass which has overgrown -her grave, at the head of which some kind hand has planted -a rose-tree, whose roses blossom, bloom, and die upon the -sacred spot. My child is gone before me to that earthly bed, -to which I hoped she would have smoothed my passage. Every -spot in and about the cottage continually recall her to my view. -The ornaments of this little room were all the work of that -hand, long since mouldered into dust. In that bed—he stopped, -he groaned, and tears burst from him—in that bed, resumed -he (in a few minutes, though with a broken voice), she -breathed her last sigh; in that spot I knelt and received the -last pressure of her clay-cold lips! Of a calm night, when all -is hushed to repose, I love to contemplate that heaven, to which -I have given an angel—an angel to whom, I hope, shortly to -be reunited; without such a hope, surely of all men breathing, -I should be the most wretched! Oh! how cruel is it then, in -those, who, by raising doubts of an hereafter, attempt to destroy -such a hope! Ye sons of error, hide the impious doubts -within your hearts; nor with wanton barbarity endeavor to deprive -the miserable of their last comfort. When this world -presents nothing but a dreary prospect, how cheering to the -afflicted to reflect on that future one, where all will be bright -and happy! When we mourn over the lost friends of our tenderest -affections, oh! how consolatory to think we shall be reunited -to them again! How often has this thought suspended -my tears and stopped my sighs! Inspired by it with sudden -joy, often have I risen from the cold bed where Juliana lies, -and exclaimed: “Oh death! where is thy sting! Oh grave! -where is thy victory!” both lost in the certainty of again beholding -my child.</p> - -<p>Amanda shed tears of soft compassion for the fate of Juliana, -and the sorrows of her father, and felt, if possible, her -gratitude to Heaven increased, for preserving her from the -snares of such a monster of deceit and barbarity as Belgrave.</p> - -<p>Howel relieved the anxiety she labored under about the -means of returning home, by assuring her he would not only -supply her with a sum sufficient for that purpose, but see her -to Parkgate himself.</p> - -<p>His name struck Amanda—it recalled to remembrance her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> -Welsh friend. She inquired, and heard that the young and -tender curate was indeed the son of her benefactor. “The -softness of Henry’s disposition,” said his father, “particularly -qualifies him for the sacred function, which prevents his having -occasion to mingle in the concerns of the great world. He -writes me word that he is the simple shepherd of a simple -flock.”</p> - -<p>One day was all Amanda would devote to the purpose of -recruiting her strength. Nothing could prevail on her longer -to defer her journey. A chaise was accordingly procured, into -which, at the first dawn of day, she and Howel stepped, followed -by the blessings of the affectionate Eleanor, who, from -her own wardrobe, had supplied Amanda with a few necessaries -to take along with her. The church-yard lay about a quarter -of a mile from the hamlet. It was only divided from the road -by a low and broken wall. Old trees shaded the grass-grown -grave, and gave a kind of solemn gloominess to the place.</p> - -<p>“See,” said Howel, suddenly taking Amanda’s hand, and -letting down the glass, “see the bed where Juliana reposes.”</p> - -<p>The grave was distinguished by the rose-tree at its head. -The morning breeze gently agitated the high and luxuriant -grass which covered it. Amanda gazed on it with inexpressible -sadness, but the emotions it excited in her breast she endeavored -to check, in pity to the wretched father, who exclaimed, -while tears trickled down his pale and furrowed cheeks, -“There lies my treasure.”</p> - -<p>She tried to divert him from his sorrows by talking of his -son. She described his little residence, which he had never -seen. Thus, by recalling to his recollection the blessings he -yet possessed, checking his anguish for those he had lost.</p> - -<p>The weakness of Amanda would not allow them to travel -expeditiously. They slept one night on the road, and the next -day, to her great joy, arrived at Parkgate, as she had all along -dreaded a pursuit from Belgrave. A packet was to sail about -four o’clock in the afternoon. She partook of a slight repast -with her benevolent friend, who attended her to the boat, and -with starting tears gave and received an adieu. She promised -to write as soon as she reached home, and assured him his kindness -would never be obliterated from her heart. He watched -her till she entered the ship, then returned to the inn, and immediately -set off for the hamlet, with a mind somewhat cheered -by the consciousness of having served a fellow-creature.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“The breezy call of incense-breathing morn;</span> -<span class="i1">The swallow twittering from its straw built shed;</span> -<span class="i0">The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,</span> -<span class="i1">No more shall rouse him from his lowly bed.”—<span class="smcap">Gray.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The weakness which Amanda felt in consequence of her -late illness, and the excessive sickness she always suffered -at sea, made her retire to bed immediately on entering the -packet, where she continued till the evening of the second day, -when, about five o’clock, she was landed at the marine hotel. -She directly requested the waiter to procure her a messenger -to go into town, which being done, she sent to engage a place -in the northern mail-coach, that went within a few miles of -Castle Carberry. If a place could not be procured, she ordered -a chaise might be hired, that would immediately set out -with her, as the nights were moonlight; but to her great joy -the man speedily returned and informed her he had secured a -seat in the coach, which she thought a much safer mode of -travelling for her than in a hired carriage without any attendant. -She took some slight refreshment, and then proceeded to -the mail hotel, from whence, at eleven o’clock, she set out in -company with an old gentleman, who very composedly put on -a large woollen nightcap, buttoned up his great coat, and fell -into a profound sleep. He was, perhaps, just such a kind -of companion as Amanda desired, as he neither teased her -with insipid conversation or impertinent questions, but left her -undisturbed to indulge her meditations during the journey. -The second evening, about eight o’clock, she arrived at the -nearest town to Castle Carberry, for which she directly procured -a chaise and set off. Her spirits were painfully agitated. -She dreaded the shock her father would receive from hearing -of her sufferings, which it would be impossible to conceal from -him. She trembled at what they would both feel on the approaching -interview. Sometimes she feared he had already -heard of her distress, and a gloomy presage rose in her mind of -the anguish she should find him in on that account. Yet again, -when she reflected on the fortitude he had hitherto displayed -in his trials, under the present, she trusted, he would not lose -it; and that he would not only support himself, but her, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> -bind up those wounds in her heart which perfidy, cruelty, and -ingratitude had made. And oh! thought she to herself, when -I find myself again in his arms, no temptation shall allure me -from them—allure me into a world where my peace and fame -have already suffered such a wreck. Thus alternately fluctuating -between hope and fear, Amanda pursued the road to Castle -Carberry; but the latter sensation was predominant in her -mind.</p> - -<p>The uncommon gloominess of the evening added to her dejection—the -dark and lowering clouds threatened a violent -storm—already a shower of sleet and rain was falling, and -everything looked cold and cheerless. Amanda thought the -cabins infinitely more wretched than when she had first seen -them. Many of their miserable inhabitants were now gathering -their little flocks together, and driving them under shelter from -the coming storm. The laborers were seen hastening to their -respective homes, whilst the ploughboy, with a low and melancholy -whistle, drove his slow and wearied team along. The -sea looked rough and black, and as Amanda drew nearer to it, -she heard it breaking with fury against the rocks. She felt -herself extremely ill. She had left the hamlet ere her fever -was subdued, and fatigue, joined to want of rest, now brought -it back with all its former violence. She longed for rest and -quiet, and trusted and believed these would conquer her malady.</p> - -<p>The chaise stopped at the entrance of the lawn, as she wished -to have her father prepared for her arrival by one of the servants. -On alighting from it, it returned to town, and she struck -into the grove, and by a winding path reached the castle. Her -limbs trembled, and she knocked with an unsteady hand at the -door. The sound was awfully reverberated through the building. -Some minutes elapsed and no being appeared, neither -could she perceive a ray of light from any of the windows. -The wind blew the rain directly in her face, and her weakness -increased, so that she could scarcely stand. She recollected a -small door at the back of the castle, which led to the apartments -appropriated to the domestics. She walked feebly to -this, to try and gain admittance, and found it open. She proceeded -through a long dark passage, on each side of which -were small rooms, till she came to the kitchen. Here she found -the old woman sitting (to whom the care of the castle was -usually consigned), before a large turf fire. On hearing a footstep, -she looked behind, and when she saw Amanda, started, -screamed, and betrayed symptoms of the utmost terror.</p> - -<p>“Are you frightened at seeing me, my good Kate!” cried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> -Amanda. “Oh, holy Virgin!” replied Kate, crossing her -breast, “one could not help being frightened, to have a body -steal unawares upon them.”</p> - -<p>“My father is well, I hope?” said Amanda.</p> - -<p>“Alack-a-day,” cried Kate, “the poor dear captain has -gone through a sea of troubles since you went away.” “Is he -ill?” exclaimed Amanda. “Ill, ay, and the Lord knows he -has reason enough to be ill. But, my dear jewel, do you know -nothing at all of what has happened at the castle since you -went away?” “No, nothing in the world.” “Heaven help -you, then,” said Kate; “but, my dear soul, sit down upon this -little stool, and warm yourself before the fire, for you look pale -and cold, and I will tell you all about it. You must know, -about three weeks ago, my Johnaten brought the captain a -letter from the post-office; he knew by the mark it was a letter -from England, and so, when he comes into the kitchen to me, -‘Katie,’ says he, ‘the captain has got something now to cheer -his spirits, for he has heard from miss, I am sure.’ So, to be -sure, I said I was glad of it, for, you must know, my dear, he -was low in spirits, and peaking, as one may say, for a few days -before. Well, it was always my custom, when he got a letter -from England, to go to him as soon as I thought he had read -it, and ask about you; so I put on a clean apron, and up I goes -to the parlor, and I opened the door, and walked in. Well, sir, -says I, I hope there is good news from miss?”</p> - -<p>“The captain was sitting with the letter open before him -on a table; he had a handkerchief to his eyes, but when I -spoke he took it down, and I saw his face, which generally -looked so pale, now quite flushed.</p> - -<p>“‘This letter, my good Kate,’ says he, ‘is not from my -daughter, but I am glad you are come, for I wanted to speak to -you. I am going to leave the castle, and I want you to look over -all the things, and see they are in the same state as when I -came to it. I shall then settle with the servants I hired, and -discharge them.’ I was struck all of a heap. The Lord forbid -you should be going to leave us, sir, says I.”</p> - -<p>“The captain got up—he walked to the window—he -sighed heavily, and I saw a tear upon his cheek. He spoke to -me again, and begged I would do as he had desired me. So, -with a heavy heart, I went and told my Johnaten the sad tidings, -who was as sorry as myself, for he loved the captain -dearly, not only from his being so mild a gentleman, but because -he was a soldier, as he himself had been in his youth—and -a soldier has always a love for one of his cloth. And Johnaten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> -had often said he knew the captain in America, and that he -was a brave officer and a real gentleman.</p> - -<p>“Well, the captain came out to us, and said he was to be -Lord Cherbury’s agent no longer. And being a good penman, -he settled all his own accounts and the servants in the course -of the day, and discharged them, giving them both characters, -which I warrant will soon get them good places again. Well, -he said he must set off for England the next day. So everything -was got ready; but in the middle of the night he was -seized with spasms in his stomach. He thought himself dying, -and at last rung the bell; and as good luck would have it, my -Johnaten heard it, and went up to him directly. Had he been -without relief much longer, I think he would have died. Johnaten -called me up. I had a choice bottle of old brandy lying -by me, so I soon blew up a fire, and heating a cup of it, gave it -to him directly. He grew a little easier, but was too bad in the -morning to think of going on his journey, which grieved him -sadly. He got up, however, and wrote a large packet, which -he sent by Johnaten to the post-office; packed up some things -in a trunk, and put his seal upon his desk. He said he would -not stay in the castle on any account, so he went out as soon -as Johnaten came back from the post-office, leaning upon his -arm, and got a little lodging at Thady Byrne’s cabin.” “Merciful -heaven!” exclaimed the agonized and almost fainting -Amanda, “support and strengthen me in this trying hour! enable -me to comfort my unfortunate father: preserve me from -sinking, that I may endeavor to assist him.” Tears accompanied -this fervent ejaculation, and her voice was lost in sobs.</p> - -<p>“Alack-a-day,” said the good-natured Kate, “now don’t -take it so sadly to heart, my jewel; all is not lost that is in -danger, and there is as good fish in the sea as ever were caught; -and what though this is a stormy night, to-morrow may be a -fine day. Why, the very first sight of you will do the captain -good. Come, cheer up; I will give you some nice hot potatoes -for your supper, for you see the pot is just boiling, and some -fresh-churned buttermilk; and by the time you have eaten it, -Johnaten perhaps may come back—he is gone to town to get -some beef for our Sunday dinner—and then I will go with you -to Thady’s myself.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” cried Amanda, “every minute I now stay from -my father seems an age. Too long has he been neglected—too -long without a friend to soothe or attend him. Oh grant, gracious -Heaven! grant,” raising her clasped hands, “that I may -not have returned too late to be of use to him!”</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> - -<p>Kate pressed her to stay for Johnaten’s return; but the -agony of suspense she endured till she saw her father, made -her regardless of walking alone, though the hour was late, dark, -and tempestuous. Kate, finding her entreaties vain, attended -her to the door, and assured her, if Johnaten returned soon, -she would go over herself to the cabin, and see if she could -do anything for her. Amanda pressed her hand, but was unable -to speak. Ill, weak, and dispirited, she had flattered herself, -on returning to her father, she would receive relief, support, -and consolation; instead of which, heart-broken as she was, -she now found she must give, or at least attempt giving them -herself. She had before experienced distress, but the actual -pressure of poverty she had never yet felt. Heretofore she -had always a comfortable asylum to repair to, but now she not -only found herself deprived of that, but of all means of procuring -one, or even the necessaries of life. But if she mourned -for herself, how much more severely did she mourn for her -adored father! Could she have procured him comfort, could -she in any degree have alleviated his situation, the horrors of -her own would have been lessened; but of this she had not the -slightest means or prospect. Her father, she knew, possessed -the agency too short a time to be enabled to save any money, -particularly as he was indebted to Lord Cherbury ere he obtained -it. She knew of no being to whom she could apply in -his behalf. Lord Cherbury was the only person on whom he -depended in his former misfortunes for relief. His friendship, -it was evident, by depriving her father of the agency, was totally -lost; and to the disconsolate Amanda no way appeared of escaping -“want, worldly want, that hungry meagre fiend, who -was already close at their heels, and followed them in view.”</p> - -<p>The violence of the storm had increased, but it was slight -in comparison of that which agitated the bosom of Amanda. -The waves dashed with a dreadful noise against the rocks, and -the angry spirit of the waters roared. The rain fell heavily, and -soon soaked through the thin clothing of Amanda. She had -about half a mile to walk, through a rugged road, bounded on -one side by rocks, and on the other by wild and dreary fields. -She knew the people with whom her father lodged; they were -of the lowest order, and on her first arrival at Castle Carberry, -in extreme distress, from which she had relieved them. She -recollected their cabin was more decent than many others she -had seen, yet still a most miserable dwelling. Wretched as it -was, she was glad when she reached it, for the violence of the -storm, and the loneliness of the road, had terrified her. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> -cabin was but a few yards from the beach. There were two -windows in front. On one side a pile of turf, and on the other -a shed for the pigs, in which they now lay grunting. The -shutters were fastened on the windows, to prevent their being -shaken by the wind; but through the crevices Amanda saw a -light, which convinced her the inhabitants were not yet retired -to repose. She feared her suddenly appearing before her -father, in his present weak state, might have a dangerous effect -upon him, and she stood before the cabin, considering how she -should have her arrival broke to him. She at last tapped -gently at the door, and then retreated a few steps from it, -shivering with the wet and cold. In the beautiful language of -Solomon, she might have said, “Her head was filled with dew, -and her locks with the drops of the night.” As she expected, -the door was almost instantly opened. A boy appeared, whom -she knew to be the son of the poor people. She held up her -handkerchief, and beckoned him to her. He hesitated, as if -afraid to advance, till she called him softly by his name. This -assured him. He approached, and expressed astonishment at -finding she was the person who called him. She inquired for -her father, and heard he was ill, and then asleep. She desired -the boy to enter the cabin before her, and caution his parents -against making any noise that might disturb him. He obeyed -her, and she followed him.</p> - -<p>She found the father of the family blowing a turf fire, to -hasten the boiling of a large pot of potatoes. Three ragged -children were sitting before it, watching impatiently for their -supper. Their mother was spinning, and their old grandmother -making bread. The place was small and crowded. Half the -family slept below, and the other half upon a loft, to which they -ascended by a ladder, and upon which a number of fowls were -now familiarly roosting, cackling at every noise made below. -Fitzalan’s room was divided from the rest of the cabin by a thin -partition of wood plastered with pictures of saints and crosses.</p> - -<p>“Save you kindly, madam,” said the mistress of the mansion -to Amanda, on entering it.</p> - -<p>Byrne got up, and, with many scrapes, offered her his little -stool before the fire. She thanked him, and accepted it. -His wife, notwithstanding the obligations she lay under to her, -seemed to think as much respect was not due to her as when -mistress of the castle, and therefore never left her seat, or -quitted her spinning, on her entrance.</p> - -<p>“My poor father is very ill,” said Amanda. “Why, indeed, -the captain has had a bad time of it,” answered Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> -Byrne, jogging her wheel. “To be sure he has suffered some -little change; but your great folks, as well as your simple folks, -must look to that in this world; and I don’t know why they -should not, for they are not better than the others, I believe.”</p> - -<p>“Arrah, Norah, now,” said Byrne, “I wonder you are not -shy of speaking so to the poor young lady.”</p> - -<p>Amanda’s heart was surcharged with grief—she felt suffocating. -She arose, unlatched the door, and the keen, cold air -a little revived her. Tears burst forth, she indulged them -freely, and they lightened the load on her heart. She asked -for a glass of water. A glass was not readily to be procured. -Byrne told her she had better take a noggin of buttermilk. -This she refused, and he brought her one of water.</p> - -<p>She now conquered the reluctance she felt to speak to the -uncouth Mrs. Byrne, and consulted her on the best method of -mentioning her arrival to her father. Mrs. Byrne said he had -been in bed some time, but his sleep was often interrupted, and -she would now step into the chamber, and try if he was awake. -She accordingly did so, but returned in a moment, and said he -still slept.</p> - -<p>Amanda wished to see him in his present situation, to judge -how far his illness had affected him: she stepped softly into -the room. It was small and low, lighted by a glimmering rush-light, -and a declining fire. The furniture was poor and scanty; -in one corner stood a wooden bedstead, without curtains or -any shade, and on this, under miserable bedclothes, lay poor -Fitzalan. Amanda shuddered, as she looked round this chamber -of wretchedness. “Oh! my father,” she cried to herself, -"is this the only refuge you could find?” She went to the bed, -she leaned over it, and beheld his face. It was deadly pale -and emaciated; he moaned in his sleep, as if his mind was -dreadfully oppressed. Suddenly he began to move; he sighed, -“Amanda, my dearest child, shall I never more behold you?”</p> - -<p>Amanda was obliged to hasten from the room, to give vent -to her emotions. She sobbed, she wrung her hands, and in -the bitterness of her soul exclaimed, “Alas! alas! I have returned -too late to save him.”</p> - -<p>They soon after heard him stir. She requested Mrs. Byrne -to go in, and cautiously inform him she was come. She complied, -and in a moment Amanda heard him say, “Thank -Heaven! my darling is returned.” “You may now go in, -miss,” said Mrs. Byrne, coming from the room. Amanda went -in. Her father was raised in the bed; his arms were extended -to receive her. She threw herself into them. Language was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> -denied them both, but tears, even more expressive than words, -evinced their feelings. Fitzalan first recovered his voice. -“My prayer,” said he, “is granted. Heaven has restored my -child to smooth the pillow of sickness, and soothe the last -moments of existence.” “Oh, my father!” cried Amanda, -“have pity on me, and mention not those moments. Exert -yourself for your child; who in this wide world has she but -thee to comfort, support and befriend her?” “Indeed,” said -he, “for your sake I wish they may be far distant.” He held -her at a little distance from him; he surveyed her face, her -form, her altered complexion. Her fallen features appeared -to shock him. He clasped her again to his bosom, “The -world, my child, I fear,” cried he, “has used thee most unkindly.” -“Oh, most cruelly,” sobbed Amanda. “Then, my -girl, let the reflection of that world, where innocence and virtue -will meet a proper reward, console you. Here they are -often permitted to be tried; but as gold is tried and purified -by fire, so are they by adversity. ‘Those whom God loves, -He chastises.’ Let this idea give you patience and fortitude -under every trial. Never forego your dependence on Him, -though calamity should pursue you to the very brink of the -grave; but be comforted by the assurance He has given, that -those who meekly bear the cross He lays upon them, shall be -rewarded; that He will wipe away all tears from their eyes, -and swallow up death in victory. Though a soldier from my -youth, and accustomed to all the licentiousness of camps, I never -forgot my Creator; and I now find the benefit of not having -done so. Now, when my friends desert, the world frowns upon -me, when sickness and sorrow have overwhelmed me, religion -stands me in good stead; consoles me for what I lost, and -softens the remembrance of the past, by presenting prospects -of future brightness.”</p> - -<p>So spoke Fitzalan the pious sentiments of his soul, and they -calmed the agitations of Amanda. He found her clothes were -wet, and insisted on her changing them directly. In the bundle -the good Eleanor gave her, was a change of linen, and a cotton -wrapper, which she now put on, in a small closet, or rather -shed adjoining her father’s room. A good fire was made up, -a better light brought in, and some bread and wine from a -small cupboard in the room, which contained Fitzalan’s things, -set before her, of which he made her immediately partake. He -took a glass of wine himself from her, and tried to cheer her -spirits. “He had been daily expecting her arrival,” he said, -“and had had a pallet and bedclothes kept airing for her. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> -hoped she would not be dissatisfied with sleeping in the -closet.” “Ah! my father,” she cried, “can you ask your -daughter such a question?” She expressed her fears of injuring -him, by having disturbed his repose. “No,” he said, -“it was a delightful interruption. It was a relief from pain -and anxiety.”</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury, he informed her, had written him a letter, -which pierced him to the soul. “He accused me,” said he, -“of endeavoring to promote a marriage between you and Lord -Mortimer; of treacherously trying to counteract his views, and -take advantage of his unsuspecting friendship. I was shocked -at these accusations. But how excruciating would my anguish -have been had I really deserved them. I soon determined upon -the conduct I should adopt, which was to deny the justice of -his charges, and resign his agency—for any further dealings -with a man who could think me capable of meanness or duplicity, -was not to be thought of. My accounts were always in -a state to allow me to resign at a moment’s warning. It was -my intention to go to England, put them into Lord Cherbury’s -hands, and take my Amanda from a place where she might -meet with indignities as little merited by her as those her father -had received were by him. A sudden and dreadful disorder, -which I am convinced the agitation of my mind brought on, -prevented my executing this intention. I wrote, however, -to his lordship, acquainting him with my resignation of his -agency, and transmitting my accounts and arrears. I sent a -letter to you at the same time, with a small remittance for your -immediate return, and then retired from the castle; for I felt a -longer continuance in it would degrade me to the character of -a mean dependant, and intimate a hope of being reinstated in -my former station; which, should Lord Cherbury now offer, I -should reject, for ignoble must be the mind which could accept -of favors from those who doubted its integrity. Against such -conduct my feelings revolt. Poverty, to me, is more welcome -than independence, when purchased with the loss of esteem.”</p> - -<p>Amanda perceived her father knew nothing of her sufferings, -but supposed her return occasioned by his letter. She -therefore resolved, if possible, not to undeceive him, at least -till his health was better. The night was far advanced, and -her father, who saw her ill, and almost sinking with fatigue, requested -her to retire to rest. She accordingly did. Her bed -was made up in the little closet. Mrs. Byrne assisted her to -undress, and brought her a bowl of whey, which, she trusted, -with a comfortable sleep, would carry off her feverish symp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>toms, -and enable her to be her father’s nurse. Her rest, however, -was far from being comfortable. It was broken by horrid -dreams, in which she beheld the pale and emaciated figure -of her father suffering the most exquisite tortures; and when -she started from these dreams, she heard his deep moans, which -were like daggers going through her heart. She arose once -or twice, supposing him in pain, but when she went to his bed -she found him asleep, and was convinced, from that circumstance, -his pain was more of the mental than the bodily kind. -She felt extremely ill. Her bones were sore from the violent -motion of the carriage, and she fancied rest would do her good: -but when, towards morning, she was inclined to take some, she -was completely prevented by the noise the children made on -rising. Fearful of neglecting her father, she arose soon after -herself, but was scarcely able to put on her clothes from excessive -weakness. She found him in bed, but awake. He welcomed -her with a languid smile, and extending his hand, which -was reduced to mere skin and bone, said, “that joy was a -greater enemy to repose than grief, and had broken his earlier -than usual that morning.” He made her sit down by him. -He gazed on her with unutterable tenderness. “In Divine language,” -cried he, “I may say—‘Let me see thy countenance; -let me hear thy voice, but sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance -is comely and my soul has pleasure in gazing on it.’” -The kettle was already boiling. He had procured a few necessaries -for himself, such as tea-things and glasses. Amanda -placed the tea-table by the bed-side, and gave him his breakfast. -Whilst receiving it from her, his eyes were raised to -Heaven, as if in thankful gratitude for the inestimable blessing -he still possessed in such a child. After breakfast, he said -he would rise, and Amanda retired into the garden till he was -dressed, if that could deserve the appellation, which was only -a slip of ground planted with cabbages and potatoes, and enclosed -with loose stones and blackberry bushes. The spring -was already advanced. The day was fine. The light and -fleecy clouds were gradually dispersing, and the sky, almost as -far as the eye could reach, was of a clear blue. The dusky -green of the blackberry bushes was enlivened by the pale purple -of their blossoms. Tufts of primroses grew beneath their -shelter. The fields, which rose with a gentle swell above the -garden, were covered with a vivid green, spangled with daisies, -buttercups, and wild honeysuckles, and the birds, as they fluttered -from spray to spray, with notes of gladness hailed the -genial season.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> -But neither the season nor its charms could now, as heretofore, -delight Amanda. She felt forlorn and disconsolate; deprived -of the comforts of life, and no longer interested in the -objects about her, she sat down upon a stone at the end of the -garden, and she thought the fresh breeze from the sea cooled -the feverish heat of her blood. “Alas!” she said to herself, -“at this season last year, how different was my situation from -the present!” Though not in affluence, neither was she then -in absolute distress; and she had besides the comfortable hope -of having her father’s difficulties removed. Like Burns’ mountain -daisy, she had then cheerfully glinted forth amidst the -storm, because, she thought that storm would be soon overblown; -but now, she saw herself on the point of being finally -crushed beneath the rude pressure of poverty.</p> - -<p>She recollected the words which had escaped her when she -last saw Tudor Hall, and she thought they were dictated by -something like a prophetic spirit. She had then said, as she -leaned upon a little gate which looked into the domain: “When -these woods again glow with vegetation; when every shade resounds -with harmony, and the flowers and the blossoms spread -their foliage to the sun, ah! where will Amanda be! far distant, -in all probability, from these delightful shades; perhaps deserted -and forgotten by their master.”</p> - -<p>She was indeed far distant from them; deserted, and if not -forgotten, at least only remembered with contempt by their -master—remembered with contempt by Lord Mortimer. It -was an idea of intolerable anguish. His name was no more -repeated as a charm to soothe her grief; his idea increased her -misery.</p> - -<p>She continued indulging her melancholy meditations, till informed -by one of the children the captain was ready to receive -her. She hastened in, and found him in an old high-backed -chair, and the ravages of care and sickness were now more visible -to her than they had been the night before. He was reduced -to a mere skeleton. “The original brightness of his -form" was quite gone, and he seemed already on the very brink -of the grave. The agony of Amanda’s feelings was expressed -on her countenance—he perceived and guessed its source. He -endeavored to compose and comfort her. She mentioned a -physician; he tried to dissuade her from the idea of bringing -one, but she besought him in compassion to her to consent, and -overcome by her earnestness, he at last promised the ensuing -day she should do as she wished.</p> - -<p>It was now Sunday, and he desired the service of the day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> -to be read. A small Bible lay on the table before him, and -Amanda complied with his desire.</p> - -<p>In the first lesson were these words: “Leave thy fatherless -children to me, and I will be their father.” The tears gushed -from Fitzalan; he laid his hand, which appeared convulsed with -agitation, on the book. “Oh! what words of comfort!” cried -he, “are these; what transport do they convey to the heart of -a parent burdened with anxiety! Yes, merciful Power, I will, -with grateful joy, commit my children to thy care, for thou art -the friend who will never forsake them.” He desired Amanda -to proceed; her voice was weak and broken, and the tears, in -spite of her efforts to restrain them, stole down her cheeks.</p> - -<p>When she had concluded, her father drew her towards him, -and inquired into all that had passed during her stay in London. -She related to him, without reserve, the various incidents -she had met with previous to her going to the marchioness’s ; -acknowledged the hopes and fears she experienced on Lord -Mortimer’s account, and the argument he had made use of to -induce her to a clandestine union, with her positive refusal to -such a step.</p> - -<p>A beam of pleasure illumined the pallid face of Fitzalan. -“You acted,” said he, “as I expected; and I glory in my -child, and feel more indignation than ever against Lord Cherbury -for his mean suspicions.” Amanda was convinced those -suspicions had been infused into his mind by those who had -struck at her peace and fame. This idea, however, as well as -their injuries to her, she meant if possible to conceal. When -her father, therefore, desired her to proceed in her narrative, -her voice began to falter, her mind became disturbed, and her -countenance betrayed her agitation. The remembrance of the -dreadful scenes she had gone through at the marchioness’s -made her involuntarily shudder, and she wished to conceal -them forever from her father, but found it impossible to evade -his minute and earnest inquiries.</p> - -<p>“Gracious Heaven!” said he, on hearing them, “what -complicated cruelty and deceit; inhuman monsters! to have -no pity on one so young, so innocent, so helpless. The hand -of sorrow has indeed pressed heavy on thee, my child; but, -after the marchioness’s former conduct, I cannot be surprised -at any action of hers.”</p> - -<p>He gave her a note to discharge her debt to Howel, and -begged she would immediately write and return his grateful -acknowledgments for his benevolence. She feared he inconvenienced -himself by parting with the note; but he assured her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> -he could spare it extremely well, as he had been an economist, -and had still sufficient money to support them a few months -longer in their present situation.</p> - -<p>Amanda now inquired when he had heard from her brother. -She said he had not answered her last letter, and that his -silence had made her very uneasy.</p> - -<p>“Alas! poor Oscar!” exclaimed Fitzalan, “he has not been -exempt from his portion of distress.”</p> - -<p>He took a letter, as he spoke, from his pocket-book, and -presented it to Amanda. She opened it with a trembling hand, -and read as follows:—</p> - -<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">My dear Father</span>,—Particular circumstances prevented my answering -your last letter as soon as I could have wished; and, indeed, the intelligence -I have to communicate makes me almost averse to write at all. As -my situation, however, must sooner or later be known to you, I think it -better to inform you of it myself, as I can, at the same time, reconcile you, -I trust, in some degree to it, by assuring you I bear it patiently, and that it -has not been caused by any action which can degrade my character as a -man or a soldier. I have long, indeed, had a powerful enemy to cope with, -and, it will no doubt surprise you to hear, that that enemy is Colonel Belgrave. -An interference in the cause of humanity provoked his insolence -and malignity. Neither his words nor looks were bearable, and I was irritated -by them to send him a challenge. Had I reflected, the probable consequences -of such a step must have occurred and prevented my taking it; -but passion blinded my reason, and in yielding to its dictates do I hold myself -alone culpable throughout the whole affair. I gave him the opportunity -his malicious heart had long desired, of working my ruin. I was, by his -order, put under an immediate arrest. A court-martial was held, and I was -broke for disrespect to a superior officer; but it was imagined by the whole -corps I should have been restored. I, however, knew too much of Belgrave’s -disposition to believe this would be the case; but never shall he -triumph in the distress he has caused by witnessing it. I have already settled -on the course I shall pursue, and ere this letter reaches you I shall -have quitted my native kingdom. Forgive me, my dear sir, for not consulting -you relative to my conduct. But I feared, if I did, your tenderness -would interfere to prevent it, or lead you to distress yourself on my account; -and to think that you and my dear sister were deprived of the smallest comfort, -by my means, would be a source of intolerable anguish to me. Blessed -as I am with youth, health, and fortitude, I have no doubt but I shall make -my way through the rugged path of life extremely well. A parting visit I -avoided, from the certainty of its being painful to us both. I shall write as -soon as I reach my place of destination. I rejoice to hear Amanda is so -happily situated with Lady Greystock: may your suffering and her merit -be rewarded as they deserve! Suffer not, I entreat, too tender an anxiety -for my interest to disturb your repose. I again repeat I have no doubt but -what I shall do well. That Providence, in which I trust, will, I humbly -hope, support me through every difficulty, and again unite me to the friends -so valuable to my heart. Farewell, my dear father, and, be assured, with -unabated respect and gratitude, I subjoin myself your affectionate son,</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Oscar Fitzalan.</span></p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> -This letter was a cruel shock to Amanda. She hoped to -have procured her brother’s company, and that her father’s -melancholy and her own would have been alleviated by it. Sensible -of the difficulties Oscar must undergo, without friends or -fortune, the tears stole down her cheeks, and she almost dreaded -she could no more behold him.</p> - -<p>Her father besought her to spare him the misery of seeing -those tears. He leaned upon her for comfort and support, he -said, and bid her not disappoint him. She hastily wiped away -her tears; and though she could not conquer, tried to suppress -her anguish.</p> - -<p>Johnaten and Kate called, in the course of the day, to know -if they could be of any service to Fitzalan. Amanda engaged -Johnaten to go to town the next morning for a physician, and -gave Kate the key of a wardrobe where she had left some -things, which she desired her to pack up and send to the cabin -in the evening. Mrs. Byrne gave them one of her fowls for -dinner, and Fitzalan assumed an appearance of cheerfulness, -and the evening wore away somewhat better than the preceding -part of the day had done.</p> - -<p>Johnaten was punctual in obeying Amanda’s commands, -and brought a physician the next morning to the cabin. Fitzalan -appeared much worse, and Amanda rejoiced that she had -been resolute in procuring him advice.</p> - -<p>She withdrew from the room soon after the physician had -entered it, and waited without in trembling anxiety for his appearance. -When he came out she asked, with a faltering voice, -his opinion, and besought him not to deceive her from pity to -her feelings.</p> - -<p>He shook his head, and assured her he would not deviate -from truth for the world. The captain was indeed in a ticklish -situation, he said, but the medicines he had ordered, and -sea bathing, he doubted not, would set all to rights; it was -fortunate, he added, she delayed no longer sending for him; -mentioned twenty miraculous cures he had performed; admired -the immense fine prospect before the door, and wished -her good-morning, with what he thought quite a degagee and -irresistible air.</p> - -<p>She was willing to believe his assurance of her father’s recovery; -as the drowning wretch will grasp at every straw, she -eagerly embraced the shadow of comfort, and in the recovery -of her father, looked forward to consolation for all her sorrows. -She struggled against her own illness, that no assidu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>ous -attention might be wanting to him; and would have sat -up with him at night, had he not positively insisted on her going -to bed.</p> - -<p>The medicines he was ordered he received from her hands, -but with a look which seemed to express his conviction of their -inefficacy. All, however, she wished him to do, he did, and -often raised his eyes to Heaven, as if to implore it to reward her -care, and yet a little longer spare him to this beloved child, -whose happiness so much depended on the prolongation of his -existence.</p> - -<p>Four days passed heavily away, and the assurances of the -physician, who was punctual in his attendance, lost their effect -upon Amanda. Her father was considerably altered for the -worse, and unable to rise, except for a few minutes in the evening, -to have his bed made. He complained of no pain or sickness, -but seemed sinking beneath an easy and gradual decay. -It was only at intervals he could converse with his daughter. -His conversation was then calculated to strengthen her fortitude -and resignation, and prepare her for an approaching melancholy -event. Whenever she received a hint of it, her agony -was inexpressible; but pity for her feelings could not prevent -her father from using every opportunity that occurred for laying -down rules and precepts which might be serviceable to her -when without a guide or protector. Sometimes he adverted -to the past, but this was only done to make her more cautious -in the future.</p> - -<p>He charged her to avoid any further intimacy with Lord -Mortimer, as an essential measure for the restoration of her -peace, the preservation of her fame, and the removal of Lord -Cherbury’s unjust suspicions, “who will find at last,” continued -he, “how much he wronged me and may, perhaps, feel -compunction when beyond his power to make reparation.”</p> - -<p>To all he desired, Amanda promised a religious observance; -she thought it unnecessary in him, indeed, to desire her to -avoid Lord Mortimer, convinced as she was that he had utterly -abandoned her; but the grief this desertion occasioned, she -believed she should soon overcome was her father once restored -to health, for then she would have no time for useless -regrets or retrospections, but be obliged to pass every hour in -active exertions for his support and comfort.</p> - -<p>A week passed away in this manner at the cabin—a week -of wretchedness to Amanda, who perceived her father growing -weaker and weaker. She assisted him, as usual, to rise one -evening for a few minutes; when dressed, he complained of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> -oppression in his breathing, and desired to be supported to the -air. Amanda with difficulty led him to the window, which she -opened, and seated him by it, then knelt before him, and putting -her arms round his waist, fastened her eyes with anxious -tenderness upon his face.</p> - -<p>The evening was serenely fine; the sun was setting in all -its glory, and the sea, illumined by its parting beams, looked -like a sheet of burnished silver.</p> - -<p>“What a lovely scene!” cried Fitzalan faintly; “with what -majesty does the sun retire from the world! the calmness which -attends its departure is such, I think, as must attend the exit -of a good man.” He paused for a few minutes, then raising -his eyes to heaven, exclaimed—“Merciful Power! had it -pleased thee, I could have wished yet a little longer to have -been spared to this young creature; but thy will, not mine, be -done! Confiding in thy mercy, I leave her with some degree -of fortitude.”</p> - -<p>Amanda’s tears began to flow as he spoke. He raised his -hand, on which they fell, and, kissing them off, exclaimed—“Precious -drops! My Amanda, weep not too bitterly for me—like -a weary traveller, think that rest must now be acceptable -to me.”</p> - -<p>She interrupted him, and conjured him to change the discourse. -He shook his head mournfully, pressed her hands between -his, and said:—</p> - -<p>“Yet a little longer, my child, bear with it;” then bade her -assure her brother, whenever they met, which he trusted and -believed would be soon, he had his father’s blessing,—“the -only legacy,” he cried, “I can leave him, but one, I am confident, -he merits, and will value. To you, my girl, I have no -doubt he will prove a friend and guardian. You may both, -perhaps, be amply recompensed for all your sorrows. Providence -is just in all its dealings, and may yet render the lovely -offspring of my Malvina truly happy.”</p> - -<p>He appeared exhausted by speaking, and Amanda assisted -him to lie down, entreating him, at the same time, to take some -drops. He consented, and while she was pouring them out at -a little table, her back to the bed, she heard a deep groan. -The bottle dropped from her hand, she sprang to the bed, and -perceived her father lying senseless on the pillow. She imagined -he had fainted, and screamed out for assistance. The -woman of the cabin, her husband, and mother, all rushed into -the room. He was raised up, his temples and hands chafed, -and every remedy within the house applied for his recovery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> -but in vain—his spirit had forsaken its tenement of clay -forever.</p> - -<p>Amanda, when convinced of this, wrung her hands together; -then, suddenly opening them, she clasped the lifeless body to -her breast, and sunk fainting beside it.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></h2> - -<p>She remained a considerable time in a state of insensibility, -and, when recovered, she found herself in a bed laid upon -the floor in a corner of the outside room. Her senses were at -first confused—she felt as if waking from a disagreeable dream, -but in a few minutes a perfect recollection of what had passed -returned. She saw some one sitting by the bed—she raised -herself a little, and perceived Sister Mary. “This is, indeed, -a charitable visit,” cried she, extending her hand, and speaking -in a low broken voice. The good-natured nun jumped from -her seat on hearing her speak, and embraced her most tenderly. -Her caresses affected Amanda inexpressibly—she dropped -her head upon her breast, and wept with a vehemence which -relieved the oppression of her heart.</p> - -<p>Sister Mary said she had never heard of her return to the -country, till Mrs. Byrne came to St. Catherine’s for a few sprigs -of rosemary to strew over the poor captain. She had returned -with her then to the cabin, to try if she could be of any service, -and to invite her, in the name of the prioress and the whole -sisterhood, to the convent.</p> - -<p>Amanda thanked her for her kind invitation, which, she -said, she must decline accepting for a few days, till she had -performed all her duties, which, in a voice half stifled by sobs, -she added, “the grave would soon terminate.” She was sorry, -she said, that they had undressed her, and requested Sister -Mary to assist her in putting on her clothes. The sister -tried to dissuade her from this, but soon found she was determined -to spend the remainder of the night in her father’s apartment. -She accordingly dressed her—for Amanda’s trembling -hands refused their accustomed office—and made her take a -glass of wine and water, ere she suffered her to move towards -the door. Amanda was astonished, as she approached it, to -hear a violent noise, like the mingled sounds of laughing and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> -singing. Her soul recoiled at the tumult, and she asked Sister -Mary, with a countenance of terror, “what it meant?” She -replied, “it was only some friends and neighbors doing honor -to the captain.” Amanda hastily opened the door, anxious to -terminate the suspense these words occasioned, but, how great -was her horror, when she perceived a set of the meanest rustics -assembled round the bed, with every appearance of inebriety, -laughing, shouting, and smoking. What a savage scene for a -child, whose heart was bursting with grief! She shrieked with -horror, and, flinging herself into the arms of Sister Mary, conjured -her to have the room cleared.</p> - -<p>Sister Mary, from being accustomed to such scenes, felt -neither horror nor disgust: she complied, however, with the request -of Amanda, and besought them to depart, saying: “that -Miss Fitzalan was a stranger to their customs, and besides, poor -thing, quite beside herself with grief.” They began to grumble -at the proposal of removing; they had made preparations for -spending a merry night, and Mrs. Byrne said, “if she had -thought things would have turned out in this way, the captain -might have found some other place to die in—for the least one -could have, after his giving them so much trouble, was a little -enjoyment with one’s neighbors at the latter end.” Johnaten -and Kate, who were among the party, joined their entreaties to -Sister Mary’s, and she, to tempt them to compliance, said, -“that in all probability they would soon have another and a -better opportunity for making merry than the present.” They -at length retired, and Sister Mary and Amanda were left alone -in the chamber of death. The dim light which remained cast a -glimmering shade upon the face of Fitzalan, that added to its -ghastliness. Amanda now indulged in all the luxury of grief, -and found in Sister Mary a truly sympathetic friend, for the -good nun was famed throughout the little circle of her acquaintance -for weeping with those that wept, and rejoicing with those -that rejoiced. She obtained a promise from Amanda of accompanying -her to St. Catherine’s as soon as her father was interred; -and in return for this she gave an assurance of continuing with -her till the last melancholy offices were over, and also that, with -the assistance of Johnaten, she would see everything proper -provided. This was some comfort to Amanda, who felt herself -at present unequal to any exertion; yet, notwithstanding her -fatigue and illness, she persevered in her resolution of sitting -up with her father every night, dreading that, if she retired to -bed, a scene of riot would again ensue, which, in her opinion, -was sacrilege to the dead. She went to bed every morning and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> -was nursed with the most tender attention by Sister Mary, who -also insisted on being her companion at night. This, however, -was but a mere matter of form, for the good sister was totally -unable to keep her eyes open, and slept as comfortably upon the -earthen floor, with her gown made into a pillow for her head, -as if laid upon down: then was poor Amanda left to her own -reflections, and the melancholy contemplation of her beloved -father’s remains. The evening of the fourth day after his decease -was fixed upon for his interment; with streaming eyes -and a breaking heart, Amanda beheld him put into the coffin, -and in that moment felt as if he had again died before her. A -small procession attended, consisting of the people of the house, -Johnaten and Kate, and a few respectable farmers, to whom -Fitzalan had endeared himself during his short abode at Castle -Carberry; the men had scarfs and hat-bands, and the women -hoods.</p> - -<p>Johnaten, who had been a soldier in his youth, resolved to -pay him some military honors, and placed his hat and sword upon -the coffin. Amanda, by the most painful efforts, supported the -preparations for his removal; but when she saw the coffin actually -raised to be taken out, she could no longer restrain her -feelings; she shrieked in the agony of her soul, a sickness, -almost deadly, seized her and she fell fainting upon Sister -Mary’s bosom.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i4">“Oh, let me unlade my breast,</span> -<span class="i0">Pour out the fulness of my soul before you,</span> -<span class="i0">Show every tender, every grateful thought,</span> -<span class="i0">This wondrous goodness stirs. But ’tis impossible,</span> -<span class="i0">And utterance all is vile; since I can only</span> -<span class="i0">Swear you reign here, but never tell how much.”—<span class="smcap">Rowe.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Sister Mary recovered her with difficulty, but found it impossible -to remove her from the cabin till she was more composed. -In about two hours its inhabitants returned, and the -car having arrived which she had ordered to convey Amanda to -St. Catherine’s, she was placed upon it in a state scarcely animate, -and, supported by Sister Mary, was conveyed to that -peaceful asylum. On arriving at it she was carried immediately -into the prioress’s apartment, who received and welcomed her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> -with the most tender affection and sensibility—a tenderness -which roused Amanda from the stupefaction into which she appeared -sinking, and made her weep violently. She felt relieved -from doing so, and, as some return for the kindness she received, -endeavored to appear benefited by it. She therefore declined -going to bed, but lay down upon a little matted couch in the -prioress’s room. The tea-table was close by it. As she refused -any other refreshment, she obtained this by a promise of eating -something with it. None of the sisterhood—Sister Mary excepted—were -admitted; and Amanda felt this delicate attention -and respect to her sorrows with gratitude. She arrived on the -eve of their patron saint at the convent, which was always -celebrated with solemnity. After tea, therefore, the prioress -and Sister Mary were compelled to repair to the chapel; but -she removed the reluctance they felt to leave her alone by complaining -of being drowsy. A pillow being laid under her head -by Sister Mary, soon after they quitted her she fell into a profound -slumber, in which she continued till awoke by distant -music, so soft, so clear, so harmonious, that the delightful sensations -it gave her she could only compare to those which she -imagined a distressed and pensive soul would feel when, springing -from the shackles of mortality, it first heard the heavenly -sounds that welcomed it to the realms of bliss. The chapel from -which those celestial sounds proceeded was at the extremity of -the house, so that they sometimes swelled upon her ear, sometimes -faintly sunk upon it. The pauses in the organ, which was -finely played, were filled up by the sweet, though less powerful -strains of the sisterhood, who sung a hymn in honor of their -saint.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i4">“No one was here exempt,</span> -<span class="i0">No voice but well could join melodious part.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>’Tis a foretaste of heaven, thought Amanda. She heard a -deep sigh behind her. She turned her head hastily, and perceived -a figure standing near, which bore a strong resemblance -to Lord Mortimer. She was alarmed. She could not believe -it was him. The light which the small and heavy-arched window -admitted was imperfect, and she rose from the couch to be -better assured it was or was not him. A second glance convinced -her. She might have believed her eyes at first. Trembling -and astonished, she sunk upon a seat, exclaiming, “Gracious -heaven! what can have brought Lord Mortimer hither?”</p> - -<p>He made no reply, but, kneeling before her, took her hands -in his, pressed them to his forehead and lips, and laid his head -upon them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> -“Why,” cried Amanda, unutterably affected by the emotions -he betrayed, “why, my lord, are you come hither?” -“To try,” he replied, in a voice scarcely articulate, “whether -Miss Fitzalan will yet consider me as her friend.” “That, my -lord,” said she, “depends upon circumstances; but while your -lordship remains in your present position, what they are I cannot -explain.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer instantly rose and seated himself beside her. -“Now, tell me,” said he, “what those circumstances are.” -“The first, my lord, is to exculpate my father in the opinion of -Lord Cherbury, and, by declaring the commencement and -progress of our acquaintance, eradicate from his lordship’s mind -the injurious suspicions he entertained against him. This, -perhaps, you will say is useless, considering those suspicions -can no longer wound him; but, my lord, I deem it an incumbent -duty on me to remove from his memory the obloquy on -my account cast on it.” “I promise you most solemnly,” -said Lord Mortimer, “you shall be obeyed. This is a debt of -justice, which I had resolved to pay ere I received your injunction -for doing so. It is but lately I heard of the unjust charges -made against him, nor do I know now what fiend gave rise to -them.” “The same, perhaps,” cried Amanda, “who spread -such complicated snares for my destruction, and involved me -in every horror but that which proceeds from conscious guilt. -Oh, my lord! the second circumstance I allude to is, if you -should hear my name treated with scorn and contempt by those -few—those very few—whom I had reason to esteem, and to -believe esteemed me, that you would kindly interpose in my -justification, and say I merited not the aspersions cast upon -me. Believe me innocent, and you will easily persuade others -I am so. You shake your head, as much as to say you cannot -think me so, after the proofs you have seen to the contrary. -Ah, my lord! the proofs were contrived by malice and treachery, -to ruin me in the estimation of my friends, and by perfidy, to -force me into a crime, of which I already bear the appearance -and the stigma. Surely, in this solemn hour, which has seen -my beloved father consigned to his kindred earth, when, with -a mind harassed by sorrow, and a body worn out with fatigue, -I feel as if standing on the verge of the grave, I should be the -most abandoned of wretches, if I could assert my innocence -without the consciousness of really possessing it. No, my -lord; by such a falsehood I should be not only wicked, but -foolish, in depriving myself of that happiness hereafter which -will so fully recompense my present miseries.” “Oh, Amanda!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> -cried Lord Mortimer, who had been walking backward and -forward in an agitated manner while she spoke, “you would -almost convince me against the evidence of my own senses.” -“Almost,” she repeated. “Then I see, my lord, you are -determined to disbelieve me. But why, since so prejudiced -against me, have you come hither? Was it merely to be assured -of my wretchedness? to hear me say that I stand alone in the -world, without one being interested about my welfare; that my -present asylum is bestowed by charity; and that, if my life be -prolonged, it must be spent in struggling against constitution, -sorrow, and ill-fame, to procure a subsistence?” “No, no,” -exclaimed Lord Mortimer, flinging himself at her feet; “never -shall you suffer such misery. Were you even the being I was -tempted to think you some time ago, never would Mortimer -suffer the woman his heart doated on to feel such calamity. I -do not, I cannot believe you would deceive me. There is an -irresistible eloquence in your words that convinces me you have -been the victim of treachery, and I its dupe. I cannot give you -a more convincing proof of my confidence in you, than by again -renewing my entreaties to have one fame, one fate, one fortune -ours.”</p> - -<p>The resolution which Amanda had forced to support her -through the painful scene she guessed would ensue the moment -she saw Lord Mortimer, now vanished, and she burst into a -flood of tears. She saw his conduct in the most generous, the -most exalted light. Notwithstanding appearances were so much -against her, he was willing to rely solely on her own asseveration -of innocence, and to run every risk on her account, that -by a union he might shelter her from the distress of her present -situation. But while her sensibility was affected by his expressions, -her pride was alarmed lest he should impute her -ardent desire of vindicating herself to the expectation of having -his addresses renewed. In broken accents she endeavored to -remove such an idea, if it had arisen, and to convince him that -all further intimacy between them must now be terminated. -Lord Mortimer ascribed the latter part of her speech to the -resentment she felt against him for ever entertaining doubts of -her worth. She desired him to rise, but he refused till he was -forgiven. “My forgiveness is yours indeed, my lord,” she said, -“though your suspicions wounded me to the soul. I can -scarcely wonder at your entertaining them, when I reflect on -the different situations in which I was found, which, if your -lordship can spare a little longer time, or deem it worth devoting -to such a purpose, as well as I am able I will account for being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> -involved in.” Lord Mortimer declared his ardent desire to -hear those particulars, which nothing but a fear of fatiguing or -agitating her could have prevented his before expressing. He -then seated himself by her, and taking her cold and emaciated -hand in his, listened to her little narrative.</p> - -<p>She briefly informed him of her father’s residing in Devonshire -after the death of her mother, of the manner in which -they became acquainted with Colonel Belgrave, of his having -ingratiated himself into their friendship, by pretending to be -Oscar’s friend, and then plunging them in distress, when he -found they not only resisted but resented his villanous designs. -She related the artful manner in which Lady Greystock had -drawn her from her father’s protection, and the cold and insolent -reception she met from the marchioness and her daughter, -when introduced by the above-mentioned lady, the enmity the -marchioness bore her father, the sudden alteration in her -behavior, the invitation to her house so unexpected and unnecessary, -all tended to inspire a belief that she was concerned -in contriving Colonel Belgrave’s admittance to the house, and -had also given Lord Cherbury reason to suspect the integrity -of her father.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer here interrupted Amanda, to mention the -conversation which passed between him and Mrs. Jane in the -hall.</p> - -<p>She raised her hands and eyes to heaven with astonishment -at such wickedness, and said, “Though she always suspected -the girl’s integrity, from a certain sycophant air, she never -imagined she could be capable of such baseness.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer again interrupted her, to mention what Lady -Greystock had told him concerning Mrs. Jennings, as also -what the housekeeper had said of the note he gave her for -Amanda.</p> - -<p>“Good God!” said Amanda, “when I hear of all the enemies -I had, I almost wonder I escaped so well.” She then resumed -her narrative, accounted for the dislike Mrs. Jennings had to -her, and explained the way in which she was entrapped into -Colonel Belgrave’s power, the almost miraculous manner in -which she was freed from his house, the friendship she received -from Howel, and the situation in which she arrived at Castle -Carberry, and found her father. The closing scene she could -not describe, for sighs and sobs impeded her utterance. Lord -Mortimer gently folded her to his breast. He called her his -dear, his unfortunate, his lovely girl, more precious than ever -to his heart, and declared he never again would quit her till<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> -she had given him a right to espouse her quarrels, and secure -her from the machinations of her enemies. Her warm tears -wet his cheek as she exclaimed, “that could never be.”</p> - -<p>“My promise is already past,” cried she. “That which -was given to the living shall not be forfeited to the dead; and -this, my lord, by design, is the last time we must ever meet.” -“What promise?” exclaimed Lord Mortimer. “Surely no -one could be so inhuman as to extort a promise from you to -give me up?” “It was not inhumanity extorted it,” replied -Amanda, “but honor, rectitude, and discretion; without forfeiting -those never can I violate it. There is but one event -could make me acquiesce in your wishes, that is, having a -fortune adequate to yours to bring you, because then Lord -Cherbury could ascribe no selfish motive to my conduct; but -as such an event is utterly improbable, I might almost say impossible, -it is certain we shall never be united. Any further -intercourse between us, you must therefore be convinced, would -injure me. Disturb not, therefore, my lord, my retirement; -but ere you depart, allow me to assure you you have lightened -the weight on my heart by crediting what I have said. Should -I not recover from the illness which now preys upon me, it will -cheer my departing spirit to know you think me innocent; and, -if I live, it will support me through many difficulties, and often, -perhaps, after the toils of a busy day, shall I comfort myself by -reflecting that those I esteem, if they think of me, it is with -their wonted regard.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was affected by the manner in which she -spoke, his eyes began to glisten, and he was again declaring he -would not suffer her to sacrifice happiness at the shrine of a -too scrupulous and romantic generosity, when the door opened, -and the prioress and Sister Mary (who had been detained in -the chapel by a long discourse from the priest) entered, bearing -lights.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer started in much confusion, retreated to one -of the windows, and drew out his handkerchief to conceal the -emotions Amanda had excited. She was unable to speak to -the prioress and Sister Mary, who stared round them, and then -at each other, not certain whether they should advance or -retreat. Lord Mortimer in a few moments recovered his composure, -and advancing to the prioress, apologized for his intrusion -into her apartment; but said he had the honor of being -a friend of Miss Fitzalan’s, and could not resist his wish of -inquiring in person after her health as soon as he arrived in -the country.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> -The prioress, who had once seen a good deal of the polite -world, received his address with ease and complaisance. Sister -Mary went over to Amanda, and found her weak, trembling, -and weeping. She expressed the utmost concern at seeing -her in such a situation, and immediately procured her a glass -of wine, which she insisted on her taking. The lights now -gave Lord Mortimer an opportunity of contemplating the depredations -which grief and sickness had made upon her. Her -pale and sallow complexion, her heavy and sunken eyes, struck -him with horror. He could not conceal his feelings. “Gracious -Heaven!” cried he, going to the couch, and taking her hand, -“I fear you are very ill.”</p> - -<p>She looked mournfully in his face without speaking; but -this look was sufficient to assure him he was not mistaken. -The efforts she had made to converse with him, and the yet -greater efforts she made to banish him forever from her, quite -exhausted her; after the various miseries she had gone through, -how soothing to her soul would have been the attentions of -Lord Mortimer, how pleasing, how delightful, the asylum she -should have found in his arms! But no temptation, no distress, -she resolved, should ever make her disobey the injunction of her -adored father.</p> - -<p>“She is very bad indeed,” said Sister Mary, “and we must -get her to bed as soon as possible.” “She requires rest and -repose indeed,” said Lord Mortimer; “but tell me, my dear -Miss Fitzalan (taking her hand), if I have those good ladies’ -permission for calling here to-morrow, will you, if able to rise, see -me?” “I cannot, indeed,” said Amanda; “I have already -declared this must be our last interview, and I shall not retract -from what I have said.” “Then,” exclaimed Lord Mortimer, -regardless, or rather forgetful, of those who heard him, from -the agitation and warmth of his feelings, “I shall, in one respect -at least, accuse you of dissimulation, that of feigning a -regard for me you never felt.” “Such an accusation is now of -little consequence,” replied Amanda; “perhaps you had better -think it just.” “Cruel, inexorable girl, to refuse seeing me, to -wish to have the anxiety which now preys upon my heart -prolonged!”</p> - -<p>“Young man,” said the prioress, in an accent of displeasure, -seeing the tears streaming down Amanda’s cheeks, “respect -her sorrows.”</p> - -<p>“Respect them, madam,” repeated he; “Oh! Heaven, I -respect, I venerate them; but will you, my dear lady, when -Miss Fitzalan is able, prevail on her to communicate the par<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>ticulars -of our acquaintance; and will you then become my -advocate, and persuade her to receive my visits?” “Impossible -sir,” said the prioress, “I shall never attempt to desire a -larger share of confidence from Miss Fitzalan than she desires -to bestow upon me. From my knowledge of her I am convinced -her conduct will be always guided by discretion; she -has greatly obliged me by choosing this humble retreat for her -residence; she has put herself under my protection, and I -shall endeavor to fulfil that sacred trust by securing her from -any molestation.” “Well, madam,” said Lord Mortimer, “I -flatter myself Miss Fitzalan will do me justice in declaring my -visits proceeded from wishes, which, though she may disappoint, -she cannot disapprove. I shall no longer intrude upon your -time or hers, but will still hope I shall find you both less inflexible.”</p> - -<p>He took up his hat, he approached the door; but when he -glanced at Amanda, he could not depart without speaking to -her, and again went to the couch.</p> - -<p>He entreated her to compose and exert herself; he desired -her forgiveness for any warmth he had betrayed, and he whispered -to her that all his earthly happiness depended on her restoration -to health, and her becoming his. He insisted on her -now giving him her hand as a pledge of amity between them. -She complied; but when presuming on this he again asked her -consent to repeat his visits, he found her inexorable as ever, -and retired, if not with a displeased, a disappointed countenance. -Sister Mary attended him from the apartment. At the door -of the convent he requested her to walk a few paces from it -with him, saying he wanted to speak to her. She consented, -and remembering he was the person who frightened her one -evening amongst the ruins, determined now, if she had a good -opportunity, to ask what had then brought him thither?</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer knew the poverty of the convent, and feared -Amanda might want many things, or its inhabitants be distressed -to procure them for her; he therefore pulled out a purse and -presenting it to Sister Mary, requested she would apply it for -Miss Fitzalan’s use, without mentioning anything about it to -her. Sister Mary shook the purse. “Oh! Jesu Maria,” exclaimed -she, “how heavy it is!”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was retiring, when, catching hold of him, -she cried, “Stay, stay, I have a word or two to say to you. I -wonder how much there is in this purse?”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer smiled, “If not enough for the present -emergencies,” said he, “it shall soon be replenished.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> -Sister Mary sat down on a tombstone, and very deliberately -counted the money into her lap. “Oh! mercy,” said she, “I -never saw so many guineas together before in all my life!”</p> - -<p>Again Lord Mortimer smiled, and was retiring; but again -stopping him, she returned the gold into the purse, and declared, -“she neither would nor durst keep it.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was provoked at this declaration, and, without -replying to it, walked on. She ran nimbly after him, and -dropping the purse at his feet, was out of sight in a moment. -When she returned to the prioress’s apartment, she related the -incident, and took much merit to herself for acting so prudently. -The prioress commended her very much, and poor Amanda, -with a faint voice, said, “she had acted quite right.”</p> - -<p>A little room inside the prioress’s chamber was prepared for -Amanda, into which she was now conveyed, and the good-natured -Sister Mary brought her own bed, and laid it beside -hers.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i4">“With dirges due, and sad array,</span> -<span class="i0">Slow through the church-way path I saw him borne.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>It will now be necessary to account for the sudden appearance -of Lord Mortimer at the convent. Our reader may recollect -that we left him in London, in the deepest affliction for -the supposed perfidy of Amanda—an affliction which knew no -diminution from time; neither the tenderness of his aunt, Lady -Martha Dormer, nor the kind consideration his father showed -for him, who, for the present, ceased to importune him about -Lady Euphrasia, could have any lenient effect upon him—he -pined in thought, and felt a distaste to all society. He at last -began to think, that though Amanda had been unhappily led -astray, she might, ere this, have repented of her error, and forsaken -Colonel Belgrave. To know whether she had done so, -or whether she could be prevailed upon to give him up, he believed, -would be an alleviation of his sorrows. No sooner had -he persuaded himself of this, than he determined on going to -Ireland, without delay, to visit Captain Fitzalan, and, if she was -not returned to his protection, advise with him about some -method of restoring her to it.</p> - -<p>He told Lord Cherbury he thought an excursion into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> -Wales would be of service to him. His lordship agreed in -thinking it might, and, secretly delighted that all danger relative -to Amanda was over, gladly concurred in whatever could -please his son, flattering himself that, on his return to London, -he would no lodger raise any objections to an alliance with the -fair Scotch heiress.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer travelled with as much expedition to Holyhead -as if certain that perfect happiness, not a small alleviation -of misery, would be the recompense of his journey. He concealed -from his aunt the real motives which actuated him to it, -blushing, even to himself, at the weakness which he still felt relative -to Amanda. When he crossed the water he again set off -post, attended on horseback only by his own man. Within one -mile of Castle Carberry he met the little mournful procession -approaching, which was attending poor Fitzalan to his last -home. The carriage stopped to let them pass, and in the last -of the group he perceived Johnaten, who, at the same moment, -recognized him. Johnaten, with much surprise in his countenance, -stepped up to the carriage, and, after bowing, and -humbly hoping his lordship was well, with a melancholy shake -of his head informed him whose remains he was following.</p> - -<p>“Captain Fitzalan dead!” repeated Lord Mortimer, with a -face as pale as death, and a faltering voice, while his heart -sunk within him at the idea that his father was, in some degree, -accessory to the fatal event; for, just before he left London, -Lord Cherbury had informed him of the letter he wrote to -Fitzalan, and this, he believed, joined to his own immediate -family misfortunes, had precipitated him from the world. -“Captain Fitzalan dead!” he exclaimed. “Yes, and please -you, my lord,” said Johnaten, wiping away a tear, “and he -has not left a better or a braver man behind him. Poor gentleman, -the world pressed hard upon him.” “Had he no -tender friend about him?” asked Lord Mortimer. “Were -neither of his children with him?” “Oh! yes my lord, poor -Miss Amanda.” “She was with him!” said Lord Mortimer, -in an eager accent. “Yes, my lord, she returned here about -ten days ago, but so sadly altered, I think she won’t stay long -behind him. Poor thing, she is going fast, indeed, and the -more’s the pity, for she is a sweet creature.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was inexpressibly shocked. He wished to -hide his emotions, and waved his hand to Johnaten to depart; -but Johnaten either did not, or would not, understand the -motion, and he was obliged, in broken accents, to say, “he -would no longer detain him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> -The return of Amanda was to him a conviction that she -had seen her error in its true light. He pictured to himself -the affecting scene which must have ensued between a dying -father and a penitent daughter, so loved, so valued, as was -Amanda; her situation, when she received his forgiveness and -benediction; he represented her to himself as at once bewailing -the loss of her father, and her offences, endeavoring, by -prayers, by tears, by sighs, to obliterate them in the sight of -Heaven, and render herself fit to receive its awful fiat.</p> - -<p>He heard she was dying; his soul recoiled at the idea of -seeing her shrouded in her native clay, and yet he could not -help believing this the only peaceful asylum she could find, to -be freed from the shafts of contempt and malice of the world. -He trembled lest he should not behold the lovely penitent -while she was capable of observing him; to receive a last -adieu, though dreadful, would yet, he thought, lighten the -horrors of an eternal separation, and perhaps, too, it would be -some comfort to her departing spirit to know from him he had -pardoned her; and conscious, surely, he thought to himself, -she must be of needing pardon from him, whom she had so -long imposed on by a specious pretext of virtue. He had -heard from Lord Cherbury that Captain Fitzalan had quitted -the castle; he knew not, therefore, at present, where to find -Amanda, nor did he choose to make any inquiries till he again -saw Johnaten.</p> - -<p>As soon as the procession was out of sight, he alighted -from the carriage, and ordering his man to discharge it, on -arriving at Castle Carberry, he took a path across the fields, -which brought him to the side of the church-yard where Fitzalan -was to be interred.</p> - -<p>He reached it just as the coffin was lowering into the earth. -A yew-tree, growing by the wall against which he leaned, hid -him from observation. He heard many of the rustics mentioning -the merits of the deceased in terms of warm, though artless, -commendation, and he saw Johnaten receiving the hat and -sword (which, as military trophies, he had laid upon the -coffin), with a flood of tears.</p> - -<p>When the church-yard was cleared, he stepped across the -broken wall to the silent mansion of Fitzalan. The scene was -wild and dreary, and a lowering evening seemed in unison with -the sad objects around. Lord Mortimer was sunk in the deepest -despondence. He felt awfully convinced of the instability -of human attainments, and the vanity of human pursuits, not -only from the ceremony he had just witnessed, but his own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> -situation. The fond hopes of his heart, the gay expectations -of his youth, and the hilarity of his soul, were blasted, never, -he feared, to revive. Virtue, rank, and fortune, advantages so -highly prized by mankind, were unable to give him comfort, to -remove the malady of his heart, to administer one oblivious -antidote to a mind diseased.</p> - -<p>“Peace to thy shade, thou unfortunate soldier,” exclaimed -he, after standing some time by the grave with folded arms. -“Peace to thy shade—peace which shall reward thee for a life -of toil and trouble. Happy should I have deemed myself, had -it been my lot to have lightened thy grief, or cheered thy -closing hours. But those who were dearer to thee than existence -I may yet serve, and thus make the only atonement now -in my power for the injustice, I fear, was done thee. Thy -Amanda, and thy gallant son, shall be my care, and his path, I -trust, it will be in my power to smooth through life.”</p> - -<p>A tear fell from Lord Mortimer upon the grave, and he -turned mournfully from it towards Castle Carberry. Here -Johnaten was arrived before him, and had already a large fire -lighted in the dressing-room poor Amanda, on coming to the -castle, had chosen for herself. Johnaten fixed on this for -Lord Mortimer, as the parlors had been shut up ever since -Captain Fitzalan’s departure, and could not be put in any -order till the next day; but it was the worst place Lord Mortimer -could have entered, as not only itself but everything in it -reminded him of Amanda; and the grief it excited at his first -entrance was so violent as to alarm not only his man (who was -spreading a table with refreshments), but Johnaten, who was -assisting him. He soon checked it, however; but when he -again looked round the room, and beheld it ornamented with -works done by Amanda, he could scarcely prevent another -burst of grief as violent as the first.</p> - -<p>He now learned Amanda’s residence; and so great was his -impatience to see her that, apprehensive the convent would -soon be closed, he set off, fatigued as he was, without recruiting -himself with any refreshment. He intended to ask for one -of the ladies of St. Catherine’s, and entreat her, if Amanda -was then in a situation to be seen, to announce his arrival to -her; but after rapping repeatedly with a rattan against the -door, the only person who appeared to him was a servant girl. -From her he learned the ladies were all in the chapel, and that -Miss Fitzalan was in the prioress’s apartment. He asked, -“Was she too ill to be seen?” The girl replied, “No"—for -having only entered the room to leave the kettle in it, at a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> -time when Amanda was composed, she imagined she was very -well. Lord Mortimer then told her his name, and desired her -to go up to Miss Fitzalan and inquire whether she would see -him. The girl attempted not to move. She was in reality so -struck of a heap by hearing that she had been talking to a -lord, that she knew not whether she was standing on her head -or her heels. Lord Mortimer imputing her silence to disinclination -to comply with his request, put a guinea into her -hand, and entreated her to be expeditious. This restored her -to animation, but ere she reached the room she forgot his title, -and being ashamed to deliver a blundering message to Miss -Fitzalan, or to appear stupid to Lord Mortimer, she returned -to him, pretending she had delivered his message, and that he -might go up. She showed him the door, and when he entered -he imputed the silence of Amanda, and her not moving, to -the effects of her grief. He advanced to the couch, and was -not a little shocked on seeing her eyes closed—concluding from -this that she had fainted, but her easy respiration soon convinced -him that this was a mistake, and he immediately concluded -that the girl had deceived him. He leaned over her -till she began to stir, and then retreated behind her, lest his -presence, on her first awaking, should alarm her.</p> - -<p>What took place in the interview between them has already -been related. Notwithstanding appearances were so much -against her, and no explanation had ensued relative to them, -from the moment she asserted her innocence with solemnity -he could no longer doubt it; and yielding at once to its conviction, -to his love, to his pity for her, he again renewed his -overtures for a union. Hearing of the stratagems laid for her -destruction, the dangers she had escaped, the distresses she -had experienced, made him more anxious than ever for completing -it, that by his constant protection he might secure her -from similar trials, and by his tenderness and care restore her -to health, peace, and happiness. He longed for the period of -her triumphing over the perfidious marchioness, and the detestable -Lady Euphrasia, by being raised to that station they had -so long attempted to prevent her attaining, and thus proving -to them that virtue, sooner or later, will counteract the designs -of vice. He felt a degree of rapture at the idea of his being -no longer obliged to regret the ardent, the unabated affection -he felt for her. His transports were somewhat checked when -she solemnly declared a union between them impossible, and -forbade his seeing her again. He was piqued by the steadiness -with which she repeated this resolution, but her present<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> -weak state prevented his betraying any resentment, and he -flattered himself he would be able to conquer her obstinacy. -He could not now, indeed, despair of any event after the unexpected -restoration of Amanda to his esteem, and the revival -of those hopes of felicity, which in the certainty of having -lost her had faded away. He returned, as Johnaten said, an -altered man, to the castle. He no longer experienced horror -at entering the dressing-room which displayed so many vestiges -of his Amanda’s taste.</p> - -<p>He resolved on an immediate union as the surest proof he -could give her of his perfect confidence in her sincerity, not -allowing himself to suppose she would continue firm in the -resolution she had recently avowed to him. He then intended -setting off for London, and sparing neither time, trouble nor -expense, to obtain from the inferior agents in the plot laid -against her, a full avowal of the part they had themselves acted -in it, and all they knew relative to those performed by others. -This was not designed for his own satisfaction. He wanted -no confirmation of what Amanda asserted, as his proposal to -marry her immediately demonstrated; it was to cover with confusion -those who had meditated her destruction, and add to the -horrors they would experience when they found her emerging -from obscurity—not as Miss Fitzalan, but as Lady Mortimer. -Such proofs of her innocence would also prevent malice from -saying he was the dupe of art, and he was convinced, for both -their sakes, it was requisite to procure them. He would then -avow his marriage, return for his wife, introduce her to his -friends, and, if his father kept up any resentment against them -longer than he expected, he knew in Lady Martha Dormer’s -house, and at Tudor Hall, he would find not only an eligible, -but pleasant residence. Those delightful schemes kept him -awake half the night, and when he fell asleep it was only to -dream of happiness and Amanda.</p> - -<p>In the morning, notwithstanding the prohibition he had received -to the contrary, he went to inquire how she was, and to -try and see her. The girl who had answered his repeated knocks -the preceding evening, appeared, and told him Miss Fitzalan -was very bad. He began to think that this must be a pretext -to avoid seeing him, and to come at the truth was slipping a -bribe into her hand, when Sister Mary, who had been watching -them from an adjoining room, appeared, and stopped this -measure. She repeated what the girl had just said, and, in -addition to it, declared that even if Miss Fitzalan was up she -would not see him, and that he must come no more to St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> -Catherine’s, as both Miss Fitzalan and the prioress would resent -such conduct exceedingly; and that, if he wanted to inquire -after the health of the former, he might easily send a -servant, and it would be much better done than to come frisking -over there every moment.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was seriously displeased with this unceremonious -speech. “So, I suppose,” cried he, “you want to -make a real nun of Miss Fitzalan, and to keep her from all -conversation.” “And a happy creature she would be were she -to become one of us,” replied Sister Mary; “and as to keeping -her from conversation, she might have as much as she -pleased with any one. Indeed, I believe the poor thing likes -you well enough; the more’s her misfortune for doing so.” -“I thank you, madam,” cried Lord Mortimer; “I suppose it -one of your vows to speak truth; if so, I must acknowledge -you keep it religiously.” “I have just heard her,” proceeded -Sister Mary, without minding what he had said, “tell the prioress -a long story about you and herself, by which I find it was -her father’s desire she should have nothing more to say to you, -and I dare say the poor gentleman had good reasons for doing -so. I beg, my lord, you will come no more here, and, indeed, -I think it was a shame for you to give money to the simpleton -who answered you. Why, it is enough to turn the girl’s -head, and set her mad after one fal-lal or other.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer could not depart without an effort to win -Sister Mary over to his favor, and engage her to try and persuade -Miss Fitzalan to permit his visits, but she was inflexible; -he then entreated to know if Amanda was so ill as to be unable -to rise. She assured him she was, and, as some little consolation -to the distress she perceived this assurance gave him, said -he might send when he pleased to inquire after her health, and -she would take care to answer the messenger herself.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer began now to be seriously alarmed lest Captain -Fitzalan had prevailed on his daughter to make a solemn -renunciation of him. If this was the case, he knew nothing -could prevail on her to break her promise. He was half distracted -with doubt and anxiety, which were scarcely supportable, -when he reflected that they could not for some time be -satisfied, since, even if he wrote to her for that purpose, she -could not at present be able to answer his letter; again he felt -convinced of the instability of earthly happiness, and the close -connection there has ever been between pleasure and pain.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Thy presence only ’tis can make me blest,</span> -<span class="i0">Heal my unquiet mind, and tune my soul.”—<span class="smcap">Otway.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The fatigue, distress, and agitation of Amanda could no -longer be struggled with; she sunk beneath their violence, and -for a week was confined to her bed by the fever which had -seized her in England, and ever since lurked in her veins. -The whole sisterhood, who took it in turn to attend her, vied -with each other in kindness and care to the poor invalid. -Their efforts for her recovery were aided by a skilful physician -from the next town, who called, without being sent for, at the -convent. He said he had known Captain Fitzalan, and that, -hearing that Miss Fitzalan was indisposed, he had come in -hopes he might be of service to the daughter of a man he so -much esteemed. He would accept of no fee, and the prioress, -who was a woman of sagacity, suspected, as well as Amanda, -that he came by the direction of Lord Mortimer. Nor were -they mistaken, for, distracted by apprehensions about her, he -had taken this method of lightening his fears, flattering himself, -by the excellent advice he had procured, her recovery would be -much expedited, and, of course, his suspense at least terminated. -The doctor did not withdraw his visits when Amanda was able -to rise; he attended her punctually, and often paid her long -visits, which were of infinite service to her spirits, as he was -a man of much information and cheerfulness. In a few days -she was removed from her chamber into a pleasant room below -stairs, which opened into the garden, where, leaning on the -friendly doctor’s arm, or one of the nuns’, she walked at different -times a few minutes each day. Lord Mortimer, on hearing -this, thought he might now solicit an interview, and accordingly -wrote for that purpose:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS FITZALAN.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer presents his compliments to Miss Fitzalan, flatters himself -she will allow him personally to express the sincere happiness her restoration -to health has afforded him. He cannot think she will refuse so -reasonable a request. He is almost convinced she would not hesitate a -moment in granting it, could she form an idea of the misery he has experienced -on her account, and the anxiety he feels, and must continue to feel, -till some expressions in the last interview are explained.</p> - -<p>Castle Carberry, 10th May.</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> -This letter greatly distressed Amanda. She had hoped the -pain of again rejecting his visits and requests would have been -spared her. She guessed at the expressions he alluded to in -his letter; they were those she had dropped relative to her -promise to her father, and from the impetuous and tender feelings -of Lord Mortimer she easily conceived the agony he would -experience when he found this promise inviolable. She felt -more for his distress than her own. Her heart, seasoned in -the school of adversity, could bear its sorrows with calmness; -but this was not his case, and she paid the tribute of tears to a -love so fervent, so faithful, and so hopeless.</p> - -<p>She then requested Sister Mary to acquaint his messenger -that she received no visits; that, as she was tolerably recovered, -she entreated his lordship would not take the trouble of continuing -his inquiries about her health, or to send her any more -written messages, as she was unable to answer them. The -prioress, who was present when she received the letter, commended -her exceedingly for the fortitude and discretion she -had manifested. Amanda had deemed it necessary to inform -her, after the conversation she heard between her and Lord -Mortimer, of the terms on which they stood with each other; -and the prioress, who doubted whether his lordship was in -reality as honorable as he professed himself, thought Amanda -on the sure side in declining his visits.</p> - -<p>The next morning the doctor called as usual. He told -Amanda he had brought her an entertaining book, for no such -thing could be procured at St. Catherine’s, and, as she had expressed -her regret at this, from the time she had been able to -read he had supplied her from his library, which was extensive -and well chosen.</p> - -<p>He did not present it to her till he was retiring, and then -said, with a significant smile, she would find it contained something -worthy of her particular attention. Amanda was alone, -and immediately opened it. Great was her astonishment when -a letter dropped from it into her lap. She snatched it up, and, -perceiving the direction in Lord Mortimer’s hand, she hesitated -whether she should open a letter conveyed in this manner; -but to return it unopened was surely a slight Lord Mortimer -merited not, and she broke the seal with a trembling hand and -a palpitating heart:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>Unkind Amanda, to compel me to use stratagems in writing to you, and -destroy the delightful hopes which had sprung in my soul, at the prospect of -being about to receive a reward for my sufferings. Am I ever to be involved -in doubts and perplexity on your account? Am I ever to see difficulty succeeded -by difficulty, and hope by disappointment?</p></blockquote> - -<blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> -You must be sensible of the anxiety I shall feel, until your ambiguous -expressions are fully explained, and yet you refuse this explanation! But -you have no pity for my feelings. Would it not be more generous in you to -permit an interview than to keep me in suspense? To know the worst is -some degree of ease; besides, I should then have an opportunity of perhaps -convincing you that virtue, unlike vice, has its bounds, and that we may -sometimes carry our notions of honor and generosity too far, and sacrifice our -real happiness to chimerical ideas of them. Surely I shall not be too presumptuous -in saying that, if the regard Amanda once flattered me with is -undiminished, she will, by rejecting a union with me, leave me not the only -sufferer.</p> - -<p>Oh! do not, my dear and too scrupulous girl, think a moment longer of -persevering in a resolution so prejudicial to your welfare. Your situation requires -particular protection: young, innocent, and beautiful; already the object -of licentious pursuits; your nearest relations your greatest enemies; your -brother, from his unsettled line of life, unable to be near you. Oh! my -Amanda, from such a situation what evils may accrue? Avoid them, by -taking refuge in his arms, who will be to you a tender friend and faithful -guardian. Before such evils, the obligation for keeping a promise to reject -me, fades away, particularly when the motives which led to such a promise -are considered. Captain Fitzalan, hurt by the unfortunate letter he received -from my father, extended his resentment to his son, and called upon you -without reflecting on the consequences of such a measure to give me up. -This is the only reason I can conceive for his desiring such a promise, and -had I but arrived while he could have listened to my arguments, I am firmly -convinced, instead of opposing, he would have sanctioned our union, and -given his beloved girl to a man who, in every instance, would study to evince -his gratitude for such a gift, and to supply his loss.</p> - -<p>Happiness, my dear Amanda, is in long arrears with us. She is now -ready to make up for past deficiencies, if it is not our own faults; let us not -frighten her from performing her good intentions, but hand in hand receive -the lovely and long absent guest to our bosoms.</p> - -<p>You will not, cannot, must not, be inflexible; I shall expect, as soon as -you read this, a summons to St. Catherine’s to receive the ratification of my -hopes. In everything respecting our union I will be guided by you, except -delaying it; what we have both suffered already from deceit makes me -doubly anxious to secure you mine, lest another vile scheme should be -formed to effect our separation.</p> - -<p>Oh! Amanda, the faintest prospect of calling you mine gives to my -heart a felicity no language can express. Refuse not being mine except you -bring me an addition of fortune; already rich in every virtue, I shall, in -obtaining you, obtain a treasure which the wealthiest, the proudest, and -the vainest of the sons of men may envy me the possession of, and which -the good, the sensible, and elegant, must esteem the kindest gift indulgent -heaven could bestow on me. Banish all uneasy doubts and scruples, my -Amanda, from your mind, nor think a promise, which was demanded without -reflecting on the consequences that must attend it, can be binding. The -ingenuous soul of your father would have cancelled it in a moment, had those -consequences been represented to him; and now, when our own reason convinces -us of them, I make no doubt, if departed souls are permitted to view -the transactions of this world, his spirit would behold our union with approbation. -Yes, my Amanda, I repeat your father’s approving spirit will smile -upon an act which gives to his lovely and beloved orphan a faithful friend -and steady protector, in her adoring</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Mortimer</span>.</p> - -<p>Castle Carberry, 11th May.</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> -This letter deeply affected the sensibility, but could not -shake the resolution of Amanda. She would not have answered -it, as she considered any correspondence an infringement on -the promises she had given her father to decline any further intimacy -with him; but from the warmth and agitation displayed -in his letter, it was evident to her that, if he did not receive an -immediate answer to it, he would come to St. Catherine’s and -insist on seeing her; and she felt assured, that she could much -better deliver her sentiments upon paper than to him; she accordingly -wrote as follows:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO LORD MORTIMER.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Lord</span>,—You cannot change my resolution; surely, when I solemnly -declare to you it is unalterable, you will spare me any further importunity -on so painful a subject. In vain, my lord, would you, by sophistry, cloaked -with tenderness for that purpose, try to influence me. The arguments you -have made use of, I am convinced, you never would have adopted, had you -not been mistaken in regard to those motives which prompted my father to -ask a promise from me of declining any farther connection with you. It was -not from resentment, my lord; no, his death was then fast approaching, and -he, in charity for all mankind, forgave those who had wounded him by unjust -reproach and accusation; it was a proper respect for his own character, -and not resentment, which influenced his conduct, as he was convinced if I -consented to an alliance with you, Lord Cherbury would be confirmed in all -the suspicions he entertained of his having entangled you with me, and consequently -load his memory with contempt. Tenderness also for me actuated -him; he was acquainted with the proud heart of Lord Cherbury, and -knew that if, poor and reduced as I was, I entered his family I should be -considered and treated as a mean intruder. So thoroughly am I convinced -that he did not err in this idea, that, whenever reason is predominant in my -mind, I think, even if a promise did not exist for such a purpose, I should -decline your addresses; for, though I could submit with cheerfulness to -many inconveniences for your sake, I never could support indignities. We -must part, my lord; Providence has appointed different paths for us to -pursue in life: yours smooth and flowery, if by useless regrets you do not -frustrate the intentions of the benevolent Donor; mine rough and thorny; -but both, though so different, will lead to the same goal, where we shall -again meet to be no more separated.</p> - -<p>Let not your lordship deem me either unkind or ungrateful; my heart -disavows the justice of such accusations, and is but too sensible of your tenderness -and generosity. Yes, my lord, I will confess that no pangs can be -more pungent than those which now rend it, at being obliged to act against -its feelings; but the greater the sacrifice the greater the merit of submitting -to it, and a ray of self-approbation is perhaps the only sunshine of the soul -which will brighten my future days.</p> - -<p>Never, my lord, should I enjoy this, if my promise to my father was -violated. There is but one circumstance which could set it aside, that is, -having a fortune, that even Lord Cherbury might deem equivalent to your -own to bring you; for then my father has often said he would approve our -union; but this is amongst the improbabilities of this life, and we must endeavor -to reconcile ourselves to the destiny which separates us.</p> - -<p>I hope your lordship will not attempt to see me again; you must be sen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>sible -that your visits would be highly injurious to me. Even the holy and -solitary asylum which I have found would not protect me from the malice -which has already been so busy with my peace and fame. Alas! I now -need the utmost vigilance—deprived as I am of those on whom I had claim -of protection, it behooves me to exert the utmost circumspection in my conduct; -he in whom I expected to have found a guardian, Oscar, my dear unfortunate -brother, is gone, I know not whither, persecuted and afflicted by -the perfidious monster who has been such a source of misery to me! Oh, -my lord, when I think what his sufferings may now be, my heart sinks -within me. Oh! had I been the only sufferer I should not have felt so great -a degree of agony as I now endure; but I will not despair about my dear -Oscar. The Providence which has been so kind to his sister, which so unexpectedly -raised her friends at the moment she deemed herself deprived of -all earthly comfort, may to him have been equally merciful. I have trespassed -a long time upon your lordship’s attention, but I wished to be explicit, -to avoid the necessity of any further correspondence between us. You -now know my resolves; you also know my feelings; in pity to them spare -me any further conflicts. May the tranquil happiness you so truly deserve -soon be yours! Do not, my lord, because disappointed in one wish, lose -your sense of the many valuable blessings with which you are surrounded, -in fulfilling the claims which your friends, your country, have upon you; -show how truly you merit those blessings, and banish all useless regrets -from your heart. Adieu, my lord!—suffer no uneasiness on my account. -If Heaven prolongs my life, I have no doubt but I shall find a little comfortable -shelter from the world, where, conscious I have acted according to -my principles of right, I shall enjoy the serenity which ever attends self-approbation—a -serenity which no changes or chances in this life will, I trust, -ever wrest from</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Amanda Fitzalan</span>.</p> - -<p>St. Catherine’s, May 12th.</p></blockquote> - -<p>She dispatched this by an old man who was employed in -the garden at St. Catherine’s ; but her spirits were so much affected -by writing it, she was obliged to go up and lie on the -bed. She considered herself as having taken a final adieu of -Lord Mortimer, and the idea was too painful to be supported -with fortitude. Tender and fervent as his attachment was now -to her, she believed the hurry and bustle of the world, in which -he must be engaged, would soon eradicate it. A transfer of -his affections, to one equal to himself in rank and fortune, was -a probable event, and of course a total expulsion of her from -his memory would follow. A deadly coldness stole upon her -heart at the idea of being forgotten by him, and produced a -flood of tears. She then began to accuse herself of inconsistency. -She had often thought, if Lord Mortimer was restored -to happiness, she should feel more tranquil. And now, when -the means of effecting this restoration occurred, she trembled -and lamented as if it would increase her misery. “I am selfish,” -said she to herself, “in desiring the prolongation of an -affection which must ever be hopeless. I am weak in regretting -the probability of its transfer, as I can never return it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> -To conquer those feelings, she found she must banish Lord -Mortimer from her thoughts. Except she succeeded in some -degree in this, she felt she never should be able to exert the -fortitude her present situation demanded. She now saw a -probability of her existence being prolonged, and the bread of -idleness or dependence could never be sweet to Amanda -Fitzalan.</p> - -<p>She had lain about an hour on the bed, and was about rising -and returning to the parlor, when Sister Mary entered the -chamber, and delivered her a letter. Ere Amanda looked at -the superscription, her agitated heart foretold her whom it -came from. She was not mistaken in her conjecture; but as -she held it in her hand, she hesitated whether she should open -it or not. “Yet,” said she to herself, “it can be no great harm. -He cannot, after what I have declared, suppose my resolution -to be shaken. He writes to assure me of his perfect acquiescence -to it.” Sister Mary left her at the instant her deliberations -ended, by opening the letter.</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS FITZALAN.</p> - -<p>Inexorable Amanda! but I will spare both you and myself the pain of -farther importunity. All I now request is, that for three months longer at -least, you will continue at St. Catherine’s ; or that, if you find a much longer -residence there unpleasant, you will, on quitting it, leave directions where -to be found. Ere half the above-mentioned period be elapsed, I trust I -shall be able satisfactorily to account for such a request. I am quitting -Castle Carberry immediately. I shall leave it with a degree of tranquillity -that would perhaps surprise you, after what has so lately passed, if in this -one instance you will oblige your ever faithful</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Mortimer</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>This laconic letter astonished Amanda. By its style it was -evident Lord Mortimer had recovered his cheerfulness—recovered -it not from a determination of giving her up, but from -a hope of their again meeting, as they could both wish. A -sudden transport rushed upon her heart at such an idea, but -quickly died away when she reflected it was almost beyond the -possibility of things to bring about a pleasing interview between -them. She knew Lord Mortimer had a sanguine temper, and -though it might mislead him, she resolved it should not mislead -her. She could not form the most distant surmise of what he -had now in agitation; but whatever it was, she firmly believed -it would end in disappointment. To refuse every request of his -was painful; but propriety demanded she should not accede to -the last, for one step, she wisely considered, from the line of -prudence she had marked out for herself to take, might plunge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> -her in difficulties from which she would find it impossible to -extricate herself. With an unsteady hand she returned the following -answer:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO LORD MORTIMER.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Lord</span>,—I cannot comply with your request. You may, if you please, -repeat inexorable Amanda. I had rather incur the imputation of obstinacy -than imprudence, and think it much better to meet your accusation, than -deserve my own. How long I may reside at St. Catherine’s is to myself -unknown. When I quit it, I certainly will not promise to leave any directions -where you may find me.</p> - -<p>The obstacles which have rendered our separation necessary, are, I am -convinced, beyond your lordship’s power to conquer. Except they were -removed, any farther interviews between us would be foolish and imprudent -in the extreme. I rejoice to hear you are leaving the castle. I also rejoice, -but am not surprised, to hear of your tranquillity. From your good sense -I expected you would make exertions against useless regrets, and those exertions -I knew would be attended with success; but, as some return for the -sincere pleasure I feel for your restoration to tranquillity, seek not to disturb -again that of</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Amanda Fitzalan</span>.</p> - -<p>St. Catherine’s, May 12th.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Scarcely had she sealed this letter when she was called to -dinner; but though she obeyed the summons she could not -eat. The exertions her writing to Lord Mortimer required, and -the agitation his letter had thrown her into, quite exhausted -her strength and spirits. The nuns withdrew soon after dinner, -and left her alone with the prioress. In a few minutes after -their departure, the old gardener returned from Castle Carberry, -where he had been delivering her letter. After informing -her he had put it safely into his lordship’s hands, he added, with -a look which seemed to indicate a fear lest she should be distressed, -that he had received neither letter nor message from -him, though he waited a long time in expectation of receiving -either one or the other; but he supposed, he said, his lordship -was in too great a hurry just then to give any answer, as a chaise -and four was waiting to carry him to Dublin.</p> - -<p>Amanda burst into tears as the man retired from the room. -She saw she had written to Lord Mortimer for the last time, -and she could not suppress this tribute of regret. She was -firmly convinced, indeed, she should behold him no more. The -idea of visiting her she was sure, nay, she hoped, he would relinquish, -when he found, which she supposed would soon be the -case, the schemes or hopes which now buoyed up his spirits -impossible to be realized.</p> - -<p>The prioress sympathized in her sorrow; though not from -her own experience, yet from the experience of others, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> -knew how dangerous and bewitching a creature man is, and -how difficult it is to remove the chains which he twines around -the female heart. To remove those which lay so heavy upon -the delicate and susceptible heart of her young friend, without -leaving a corrosive wound, was her sincere wish, and by strengthening -her resolution, she hoped success would crown their endeavors.</p> - -<p>Two hours were elapsed since her messenger’s return from -the castle, when Sister Mary entered the room with a large -packet, which she put into Amanda’s hands, saying, it was -given her by Lord Mortimer’s servant, who rode off the moment -he delivered it.</p> - -<p>Sister Mary made no scruple of saying, she should like to -know what such a weighty packet contained. The prioress -chide her in a laughing manner for her curiosity, and drew her -into the garden, to give Amanda an opportunity of examining -the contents.</p> - -<p>She was surprised, on breaking the seal, to perceive a very -handsome pocket-book in a blank cover, and found unsealed, -a letter to this effect:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS FITZALAN.</p> - -<p>I have put it out of your power to return this, by departing long ere you -receive it. Surely, if you have the laudable pride you profess, you will not -hesitate to use the contents of the pocket-book, as the only means of avoiding -a weight of obligations from strangers. Though discarded as a lover, -surely I may be esteemed as a friend, and with such a title I will be contented -till I can lay claim to a tenderer one. You start at this last expression, -and I have no doubt you will call me a romantic visionary, for entertaining -hopes which you have so positively assured me can never be realized; -but ere I resign them, I must have something more powerful than -this assurance, my sweet Amanda, to convince me of their fallacy. I was -inexpressibly shocked this morning to learn by your letter, that your brother -had met with misfortune. My blood boils with indignation against the monster -who has, to use your emphatical expression, been such a source of -misery to you both. I shall make it my particular care to try and discover -the place to which Mr. Fitzalan is gone, and in what situation. By means -of the agents, or some of the officers belonging to the regiment, I flatter -myself with being able to gain some intelligence of him. I need not add, -that, to the utmost extent of my power I will serve him. My success in this -affair, as well as in that which concerns a much dearer being, you may be -convinced you shall soon hear. Adieu, my Amanda; I cannot say, like -Hamlet, “Go, get you to a nunnery;" but I can say, “Stay there, I charge -you.” Seriously, I could wish, except you find your present situation very -unpleasant and inconvenient, not to change it for a short time. I think, for -a temporary abode, you could not find a more eligible one; and, as I shall -be all impatience when I return to Ireland to see you, a search after you -would be truly insupportable. You have already refused to inform me of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> -your determination relative to this matter; surely I may venture to request -it may be as I wish, when I assure you, that, except I can see you in -a manner pleasing to both, I never will force into your presence him, who, -let things turn out as they may, must ever continue Your faithful</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Mortimer</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>“Gracious Heaven!” said Amanda to herself, “what can -he mean? What scheme can he have in agitation which will -remove the obstacles to our union? He here seems to speak -of a certainty of success. Oh, grant, merciful Power!” she -continued, raising her meek eyes to heaven, while a rosy blush -stole upon her cheeks, “grant that indeed he may be successful. -He talks of returning to Ireland; still,” proceeded she, reading -over the letter, “of requiring something more powerful than -my assurance to convince him of the fallacy of his hopes. -Surely, Lord Mortimer would not be so cruel as to raise expectations -in my bosom without those in his own were well founded. -No, dear Mortimer, I will not call you a romantic visionary, but -the most amiable, the most generous of men, who for poor -Amanda encounters difficulties and sacrifices every splendid -expectation.” She rejoiced at the intention he had declared of -seeking out Oscar. She looked forward either to a speedy -interview, or speedy intelligence of this beloved brother, as -she knew Lord Mortimer would seek him with the persevering -spirit of benevolence, and leave no means untried to restore him -to her.</p> - -<p>She now examined the contents of the pocket-book. It contained -a number of small bills, to the amount of two hundred -pounds,—a large present, but one so delicately presented, that -even her ideas of propriety could scarcely raise a scruple against -her accepting it. They did, however, suggest one. Uncertain -how matters would yet terminate between her and Lord Mortimer, -she was unwilling to receive pecuniary obligations from -him. But when she reflected on his noble and feeling heart, -she knew she should severely wound it by returning his present; -she therefore resolved on keeping it, making a kind of compromise -with her feelings about the matter, by determining that, -except entitled to receive them, she would never more accept -favors of this nature from his lordship. The present one, indeed, -was a most seasonable relief, and removed from her heart -a load of anxiety which had weighed on it. After paying her -father’s funeral expenses, the people with whom he lodged, and -the apothecary who had attended him, she found herself mistress -of but twenty guineas in the whole world, and more than -half of this she considered as already due to the benevolent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> -sisters of St. Catherine’s, who were ill able to afford any additional -expense.</p> - -<p>She had resolved to force them to accept, what indeed she -deemed a poor return for their kindness to her, and she then -intended to retire to some obscure hovel in the neighborhood, -as better suited to the state of her finances, and continue there -till her health was sufficiently restored to enable her to make -exertions for her livelihood. But she shuddered at the idea of -leaving St. Catherine’s and residing amongst a set of boors. -She felt sensations something similar to those we may suppose -a person would feel who was about being committed to a tempestuous -ocean without any means of security.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer had prevented the necessity which had -prompted her to think of a removal, and she now resolved to -reside, at least for the time he had mentioned, in the convent, -during which she supposed her uncertainties relative to him -would be over, and that, if it was not her fate to be his, she -should, by the perfect re-establishment of her health, be enabled -to use her abilities in the manner her situation required. Tears -of heartfelt gratitude and sensibility flowed down her cheeks -for him who had lightened her mind of the care which had so -oppressed it.</p> - -<p>She at length recollected the prioress had retired into the -garden from complaisance to her, and yet continued in it, waiting -no doubt to be summoned back to her. She hastily wiped -away her tears, and folding up the precious letter which was -bedewed with them, repaired to the garden, resolving not to -communicate its contents, as the divulgement of expectations -(considering how liable all human ones are to be disappointed) -she ever considered a piece of folly.</p> - -<p>She found the prioress and Sister Mary seated under a -broken and ivy-covered arch. “Jesu! my dear,” said the latter, -“I thought you would never come to us. Our good mother -has been keeping me here in spite of my teeth, though I told -her the sweet cakes I made for tea would be burned by this -time, and that, supposing you were reading a letter from Lord -Mortimer, there could be no harm in my seeing you.” Amanda -relieved the impatient Mary, and she took her seat. The -prioress cast her piercing eyes upon her. She perceived she -had been weeping, and that joy rather than sorrow caused her -tears. She was too delicate to inquire into its source; but she -took Amanda’s hand, and gave it a pressure, which seemed to -say, “I see, my dear child, you have met with something which -pleases you, and my heart sympathizes as much in your happiness -as in your grief.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> -Amanda returned the affectionate pressure with one equally -tender and a starting tear. They were soon called by Sister -Mary to partake of her hot cakes, which she had made indeed -in hopes of tempting Amanda to eat after her bad dinner. The -whole community were assembled at tea when the doctor entered -the parlor. Amanda blushed and looked grave at his first -entrance; but he soon rallied her out of her gravity. And when -the prioress and the nuns, according to custom, had withdrawn -to evening vespers, he said, with a significant smile, “he feared -she had not attended as much as he wished she should to the -contents of the book he had last brought her.” She saw by -his manner he was acquainted with her situation relative to -Lord Mortimer, and therefore replied by saying, “that perhaps, -if he knew the motives which influenced her conduct, he would -not think her wrong in disregarding what he had just mentioned.” -She also said, “she detested all kinds of stratagem, -and was really displeased with him for practising one upon -her.” “In a good cause,” he said, “he should never hesitate -using one. Lord Mortimer was the finest young fellow he had -ever seen, and had won his favor, and the best wishes of his -heart, from the first moment that he beheld him. He made me -contrive,” continued the doctor, “a story to gain admission to -your ladyship, and when I found him so dreadfully anxious -about you, I gave you credit (as I had then no opportunity of -judging for myself) for all the virtues and graces he ascribed to -you, and which I have since perceived you to possess. You -smile, and look as if you would call me a flatterer; seriously, I -assure you I am not one. I really think you worthy of Lord -Mortimer, and I assure you that is as great a compliment as -could be paid any woman. His mind was troubled with grief; -he revealed his troubles and perplexities to me, and after hearing -them, no good Christian ever prayed more devoutly for -another than I prayed for your recovery, that all your sorrows, -like a novel, might terminate in marriage.” “You are obliging -in your wishes,” said Amanda, smiling. “Faith, I am sincere -in them,” exclaimed he, “and do not know when I have been -so disconcerted as at things not turning out smoothly between -you and his lordship; but I will not despair. In all my -troubles, and Heaven has given me my share, I ever looked to -the bright side of things, and shall always do so for my friends. -I yet expect to see you settled at Castle Carberry, and to be -appointed myself physician-general to your ladyship’s household.” -The mention of an event yet so uncertain greatly agitated -Amanda; she blushed and turned pale alternately, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> -convinced her good-natured but loquacious friend, he had -touched a chord which could not bear vibration. He hastily -changed the discourse, and as soon as he saw her composed, -rose to take his leave. Amanda detained him for a minute, to -try and prevail on him to take a ten-guinea note; but he was -inflexible, and said with some archness, “till the disorder which -preyed upon Lord Mortimer’s heart was in some degree alleviated, -he would receive no recompense for his visits, which he -assured Amanda, from time to time, he would continue to pay -her, adding, a certain person had enjoined him now and then -to take a peep within the holy walls of St. Catherine’s.”</p> - -<p>The next morning Amanda set about a temporary arrangement -of her affairs. She presented thirty guineas to the sisterhood, -which, with much difficulty, she forced them to accept, -though, in reality, it was much required by them. But -when she came to speak of paying for a continuance, they -positively declared they would agree to no such thing, as she -had already so liberally rewarded them for any expense they -had incurred on her account. She told them that if they would -not agree to be paid for lodging and board, she would certainly -leave them, though such a step was contrary to her inclinations; -she assured them also she was at present well able to pay.</p> - -<p>At last it was settled she should give them at the rate of -forty pounds a-year—a salary they thought extremely ample, -considering the plain manner in which they lived. She then -had all the things which belonged to her father and herself -brought to the convent, and had the former, with whatever she -did not immediately want, nailed up in a large chest, that on a -short notice they might be removed. Her harp and guitar she -had, in her distress, proposed sending back to the person in -Dublin from whom they were purchased, to sell for her; but -she now determined to keep those presents of her beloved -father, except again urged by necessity to part with them. She -had a variety of materials for painting and working, and proposed -employing herself in executing pieces in each way, not -only as a means of amusing her time, but as a resource on -an evil day; thus wisely making use of the present sunshine, -lest another storm should arise which she should not be so well -able to struggle against.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i2">“In struggling with misfortunes</span> -<span class="i0">Lies the proof of virtue,”—<span class="smcap">Shakspeare</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The turbulence of grief, and the agitation of suspense, -gradually lessened in the mind of Amanda, and were succeeded -by a soft and pleasing melancholy, which sprang from the consciousness -of having always, to the best of her abilities, performed -the duties imposed upon her, and supported her misfortunes -with placid resignation. She loved to think on her -father, for amidst her sighs for his loss were mingled the delightful -ideas of having ever been a source of comfort to him, -and she believed, if departed spirits were allowed to review -this world, his would look down upon her with delight and approbation -at beholding her undeviating in the path he had -marked out for her to take. The calm derived from such meditations -she considered as a recompense for many sorrows; it -was such, indeed, as nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, and -what the good must experience, though “amidst the wreck of -matter and the crush of worlds.”</p> - -<p>She tried to prevent her thoughts from wandering to Lord -Mortimer, as the surest means of retaining her composure, -which fled whenever she reflected on the doubtful balance in -which her fate yet hung concerning him.</p> - -<p>The solitude of St. Catherine’s was well adapted to her -present situation and frame of mind. She was neither teased -with impertinent or unmeaning ceremony, but perfect mistress -of her own time and actions, read, worked, and walked, as most -agreeable to herself. She did not extend her walks beyond -the convent, as the scenes around it would awaken remembrances -she had not sufficient fortitude to bear; but the space -it covered was ample enough to afford her many different and -extensive rambles. And of a still evening, when nothing but -the lowing of the cattle, or the buzzing of the summer flies, -was to be heard, she loved to wander through the solemn and -romantic ruins, sometimes accompanied by a nun, but much -oftener alone.</p> - -<p>A fortnight had elapsed in this manner since Lord Mortimer’s -departure, when, one morning, a carriage was heard -driving across the common and stopping at the outer gate of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> -St. Catherine’s. Amanda, who was sitting at work in the parlor -with the prioress, started in a universal trepidation at the sound. -It may be easily imagined the idea of Lord Mortimer was -uppermost in her thoughts. The door opened in a few minutes, -and, to her great astonishment, Mrs. Kilcorban and her two -daughters made their appearance.</p> - -<p>Agitation and surprise prevented Amanda from speaking; -she curtseyed, and motioned them to be seated. The young -ladies saluted her with an icy civility, and the mother treated -her with a rude familiarity, which she thought herself authorized -in using to one so reduced in circumstances as Amanda. -“Dear me,” cried she, “you can’t think, child, how shocked -we have all been to hear of your misfortunes. We only -returned to the country yesterday, for we have been in town -the whole winter, and to be sure a most delightful winter we -have had of it—such balls, such routs, such racketings; but, -as I was going to say, as soon as we came home I began, -according to my old custom, to inquire after all my neighbors; -and to be sure the very first thing I heard of was the poor -captain’s death. Don’t cry, my dear, we must all go one time -or another; those are things, of course, as the doctor says in his -sermon; so, when I heard of your father’s death and your -distress, I began to cast about in my brains some plan for -helping you; and at last I hit upon one which, says I to the -girls, will delight the poor soul, as it will give her an opportunity -of earning decent bread for herself. You must know, my dear, -the tutoress we brought to town would not come back with us—a -dirty trollop, by the bye, and I think her place would be -quite the thing for you. You will have the four young girls to -learn French and work too, and I will expect you, as you have -a good taste, to assist the eldest Miss Kilcorbans in making -up their things and dressing. I give twenty guineas a-year. -When we have no company, the tutoress always sits at the table, -and gets, besides this, the best of treatment in every respect.”</p> - -<p>A blush of indignation had gradually conquered Amanda’s -paleness during Mrs. Kilcorban’s long and eloquent speech. -“Your intentions may be friendly, madam,” cried she, “but I -must decline your proposal.” “Bless me, and why must you -decline it? perhaps you think yourself not qualified to instruct; -indeed, this may be the case, for people often get credit for -accomplishments they do not possess. Well, if this is so, I am -still content to take you, as you were always a decent behaved -young body. Indeed, you cannot expect I should give you -twenty guineas a-year. No, no, I must make some abatement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> -in the salary, if I am forced to get masters to help you in learning -the girls.” “Miss Fitzalan, madam,” exclaimed the prioress, -who had hitherto continued silent, “never got credit for accomplishments -which she did not possess; her modesty has rather -obscured than blazoned forth her perfections; she does not, -therefore, madam, decline your offer from a consciousness of -inability to undertake the office of an instructor, but from a -conviction she never could support impertinence and folly; -should her situation ever require her to exert her talents for -subsistence, I trust she will never experience the mortification -of associating with those who are insensible of her worth, or -unwilling to pay her the respect she merits.” “Hoity, toity,” -cried Mrs. Kilcorban, “what assurance! Why, madam, many -a better man’s child would be glad to jump at such an offer.” -“Dear madam,” said Miss Kilcorban, “perhaps the young -lady has a better settlement in view. We forget Lord Mortimer -has been lately at Castle Carberry, and we all know his lordship -is a friend to Captain Fitzalan’s daughter.” “Or perhaps,” -cried Miss Alicia, in a giggling tone, “she means to be a nun.” -“Indeed, I suppose she means to be nothing good,” rejoined -Mrs. Kilcorban; “and I suppose it was by some impertinence -or other she had a tiff with Lady Greystock. Lord! (looking -round the room), only see her music-books—her harp—her -guitar—as if she had nothing to do but sing and thrum away -the whole day. Well, miss (rising from her chair), you may -yet be sorry your friend said so much about you. I did not -come merely to offer to take you into my house, but to offer -you also a good sum for your harp and guitar, supposing you -had no business with such things nowadays; but I dare say -you would have refused this offer.” “I certainly should, -madam,” said Amanda; “it must be strong necessity which -compels me to part with my beloved father’s presents.” “Well, -well, child, I wish this pride of thine may not yet be humbled.” -So saying, she flounced out of the room, followed by her daughters, -who, under an affectation of contempt, evidently showed -they were chagrined by the reception they had met.</p> - -<p>The prioress indulged herself in a long fit of laughter at -the passion into which she had thrown Mrs. Kilcorban; and -Amanda, who considered the lady and her daughters as the -most insignificant of beings, soon recovered from the discomposure -their visit had occasioned. In the course of the evening -a letter was delivered her by the servant, who said the messenger -who brought it waited for an answer. Amanda, in a -universal trepidation, broke the seal; but, instead of Lord<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> -Mortimer’s as she expected, a hand, to her entirely new, struck -her view:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS FITZALAN.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My dear Creature</span>,—I think I never was so diverted in my life as at -the account my mother and sisters gave of the reception they met with from -you to-day at St. Catherine’s. I vow to God it was excellent. Nor can I -help still wondering at their absurdity, in thinking such a devilish fine girl -as you are would sacrifice your time in instructing a parcel of chits, when it -can be devoted to so much better a purpose! To be brief, my dear girl, I -will take you immediately under my protection, if not your own fault, bring -you to Dublin, settle you in elegant lodgings with a handsome allowance, -and not only make you, but declare you to be, the grand Sultana of my -affection; a situation which, I can assure you, you will not be a little envied -enjoying. In your answer to this, I shall expect to hear when I may have -the felicity of bringing you from obscurity, to the brilliant scene you were -formed to ornament. Adieu, my dear. Believe me your devoted,</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">B. Kilcorban</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The indignation which filled Amanda’s breast at reading -this scrawl cannot be expressed. Her blood seemed to boil in -her veins. It was some time ere she could sufficiently compose -herself to acquaint the prioress with the cause of her -agitation. It was then agreed that the letter should be returned -with the following lines written on it:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>The author of this effusion of ignorance and impertinence has already -inspired all the contempt he merits. Should he repeat his insolence, something -even more mortifying than contempt—chastisement—must ensue.</p></blockquote> - -<p>That a repetition of this kind would be the case, she did -not believe. From Kilcorban she had no reason to suspect -either the perseverance or designs of Belgrave. One was a -libertine from principle, the other she believed from fashion; and -that to pique his pride would be a sure method of getting rid -of him.</p> - -<p>But the calm she had for some time experienced was -destined to be interrupted. The next morning brought Father -O’Gallaghan, the little fat priest (of whom we have made mention -before in our pages), to the convent. He was not the -officiating priest; but notwithstanding this, paid many visits to -the sisterhood, with whom he was a great favorite; he had -been much concerned about Amanda’s illness. She was sitting -alone in the parlor, drawing, when he entered it. He seated -himself by her, and the expression of his countenance seemed -to declare his heart was brimful of something pleasant.</p> - -<p>“You won’t be offended now, my dear sowl,” said he, -smirking up in her face, “with a body for asking you how you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> -would like to leave this dismal solitude and have a comfortable -home of your own, where you might see your own friends, and -have everything warm and cosy about you?” “Why,” said -Amanda, “though I do not consider this a dismal solitude, yet, -to be sure, I should have no objection to a pleasant settled -habitation.” “Ay, I always thought you a sensible young body. -Well, and what would you say to the person then who could point -out such a habitation? Ay, you little rogue, who could say -they had just such a one in their eye for you.” Amanda stared -at him with astonishment. She had at first believed him jesting, -but now found him serious.</p> - -<p>“Ay, faith, my dear creature,” cried he, continuing his discourse -with a look of the most perfect satisfaction, “I have -an offer to make you, which, I believe, would make many girls -jump out of their skins with joy to hear. You remember the -O’Flannaghans, I am sure, where you took tea last summer. -Well, the eldest of the sons (as honest a lad as ever broke bread) -cast a sheep’s eye upon you then. But what with your going -from the country, and some other matters, he thought there -was no use then in revealing his flame; but now, when you are -come plump in his way again, faith he plucked up his courage, -and told his father all about it. Old Flannaghan is a good-natured -sowl, and is very willing the match should take place. -They have everything snug about them. The old man will -give everything into your spouse’s hands. The youngest son -will live in the house till he gets married, and goes off to a -farm of his own. The eldest daughter is married; the second -will live with her, and the youngest will be a little handy -assistant to you. So you see, you will not be tormented with -a large family. There is one little matter which, to be sure, -they are a little uneasy about, and that is your being of different -persuasions; but says I to them, when this was started, faith, -says I, you need not give yourself any trouble about it, for I -know the young woman to be a discreet sowl, and I am sure -she will make no hesitation about going to chapel instead of -church, when she knows, too, it is for her own interest. So, -my dear sowl, I hope soon to give you the nuptial benediction, -and to be also your spiritual director.”</p> - -<p>Amanda had listened to this speech in silent amazement. -She now rose, and would have quitted the room without speaking, -to evince her contempt, had not an idea darted into her -mind that such conduct perhaps might not be construed by the -ignorant priest in the manner she wished. She therefore -stopped, and turning to him said; “He could not wonder at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> -her being offended at his pretending to answer so freely for -her in matters so important as religion; but to prove how presumptuous -he was in everything he said about her, she must -assure him his embassy to her was equally fruitless and disagreeable; -and that if Mr. O’Flannaghan consulted his own -happiness, he would seek to unite himself with a woman -brought up in his own sphere of life.” So saying, she quitted -the room with a look of dignity which quite confounded the -poor priest, who snatched up his hat in a great hurry, and waddled -away to the farm, to communicate the ill-success of his -visit, which had quite crushed his expectations of wedding -presents and pudding feasts, which he had contemplated in -idea with delight.</p> - -<p>It was some time ere Amanda recovered from the discomposure -into which the impertinence of the Kilcorbans and the -priest had thrown her. From what she suffered in consequence -of it, she was forcibly convinced how ill-qualified she -was to struggle with a world where she would be continually -liable to such shocks. She had yet a hope of escaping them—a -hope of being guarded by the tutelary care of Lord Mortimer, -and of being one of the happiest of her sex.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Lo! I am here to answer to your vows,</span> -<span class="i0">And be the meeting fortunate! I come</span> -<span class="i0">With joyful tidings; we shall part no more.”—<span class="smcap">Akenside.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>But a shock more severe than those she had lately experienced -was yet in store for our hapless heroine. About a -fortnight after the visit of the Kilcorbans and the priest, as she -was rambling one evening according to custom amongst the -solitary ruins of St. Catherine’s, indulging the pensive meditations -of her soul, the figure of a man suddenly darted from -under a broken arch, and discovered to her view the features -of the hated Belgrave. Amanda gave a faint cry, and in unutterable -dismay tottered back a few paces against a wall. -“Cruel Amanda!” exclaimed Belgrave, while his look seemed -to imply he would take advantage of her situation. His look, -his voice, operated like a charm to rouse her from the kind of -stupefaction into which she had fallen at first sight of him, and -as he attempted to lay hold of her she sprang past him, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> -with a swiftness which mocked his speed, flew through the intricate -windings of the place till she reached the convent. Her -pale and distracted look, as she rushed into the prioress’s -apartment, terrified the good old lady, who hastily interrogated -her as to the cause of her disorder; but Amanda was unable -to speak. The appearance of Belgrave she thought an omen -of every ill to her. Her blood ran cold through her veins at -his sight, and terror totally subdued her powers. The prioress -summoned Sister Mary to her relief; drops and water were -administered, and the overloaded heart of the trembling -Amanda was relieved by tears. The prioress again asked the -cause of her agitation, but perceiving Amanda did not like to -speak before Sister Mary, she immediately pretended to think -it proceeded from fatigue, and Mary, who was simplicity itself, -readily credited the idea. The prioress soon sent her upon some -pretext from the room, and then, in the gentlest terms, begged to -know what had so cruelly alarmed her young friend. Amanda -had already confided to the prioress the events of her life, so -that the good lady, on hearing Belgrave now mentioned, no -longer wondered at the agitation of Amanda; yet, as her fears -she saw were too powerful for her reason, she endeavored to -convince her they were unnecessary. She called to her remembrance -the singular protection she had already experienced -from Heaven, and the protection which, while she was -innocent, she would still have a right to expect. She also -mentioned the security of her present situation—encompassed -by friends whose integrity could not be warped, and whose -utmost zeal would be manifested in defeating any stratagems -which might be laid against her.</p> - -<p>Amanda grew composed as she listened to the prioress. She -was cheered by the voice of piety and friendship, and her heart -again felt firm and elevated. She acknowledged that after the -singular, nay, almost miraculous interpositions of Providence -she had experienced in her favor, to give way to terror or despair -was sinful, since it showed a distrust of the Power who -has promised with guardian care to watch the footsteps of the -innocent. It was, however, agreed that Amanda should venture -no more from the convent, but confine her rambles to the -garden, which was enclosed with a high wall, and had no -places of concealment. Five weeks yet remained of the period -Lord Mortimer had requested her to stay at St. Catherine’s. -Before it was expired she trusted and believed Belgrave would -be weary of watching her, and would decamp; if, then, she -neither saw nor heard from Lord Mortimer, she resolved to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> -relinquish all hope concerning him, and immediately think -upon some plan which should put her in a way of procuring -subsistence.</p> - -<p>Her paintings and embroidery still went on. She had executed -some elegant pictures in both, which, if obliged to dispose -of, she was sure would bring a good price; yet, whenever -compelled by reflection to this idea, the tear of tender melancholy -would fall upon her lovely cheek—a tear which was ever -hastily wiped away, while she endeavored to fortify her mind -with pious resignation to whatever should be her future fate.</p> - -<p>Three weeks more elapsed without any event to discompose -their tranquillity; but as the termination of the destined period -approached, the agitation of Amanda, in spite of all her efforts -to the contrary, increased. She deemed the awful crisis of -her fate at hand, and she trembled at the reflection. She now -for the first time avoided solitude. She wanted to fly from -herself, and sat constantly with the prioress, who had nothing -of the gloomy recluse, save the habit, about her.</p> - -<p>They were chatting together one evening after tea when -Sister Mary entered the room, bearing a large packet, which -she rather tossed than presented to Amanda, exclaiming, -“From Lord Mortimer; I wish the troublesome fellow had -not come back again; here we shall have him frisking or storming -continually, and again plaguing us out of our lives.” “From -Lord Mortimer!” exclaimed Amanda, starting from her chair, -and clasping the letter between her hands, “Oh, gracious -Heaven!” She said no more, but flew from the room to her -chamber. She tore open the seal. The envelope contained -two letters. The first was directed in a hand unknown to her. -Her heart sickened as she dropped it on the ground. The -other was the superscription of Lord Mortimer. She opened -it with revived spirits, and read a follows:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS FITZALAN.</p> - -<p>I am returned—returned to tell my Amanda that nothing but the awful -fiat of Heaven shall part us more. Yes, my love, a sweet reward for all our -difficulties, our trials—let me add, our persevering constancy—is at hand; -and one name, one interest, one fate, I trust, will soon be ours.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Tears of joy gushed from Amanda as she exclaimed, “Can -this, can this be true? Is Lord Mortimer, so long, so hopelessly -beloved, indeed returned to tell me we shall part no -more? ’Tis true, ’tis true, and never can my grateful heart -sufficiently acknowledge the goodness it experiences; but how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> -was this event brought about?” She wiped away her tears, -and resumed the letter.</p> - -<blockquote><p>Your solemn refusal to unite yourself to me threw me into agonies; but -true love, like true courage, will never despair, will never yield to difficulties, -without first trying every effort to conquer them. I soon, therefore, -roused myself from the heavy weight which oppressed my spirits at your -resolution, and ere long conceived a project so feasible, so almost certain of -success, that my impatience to realize it cannot be described; yet you may -conceive some idea of it from the abrupt manner in which I quitted Castle -Carberry, without desiring to bid you adieu; but ere it could be accomplished -I plainly saw I had many difficulties to encounter, difficulties which -it was absolutely essential to overcome, that I might prove to the world I -was not the dupe of love, but the friend, the lover, and the vindicator of real -innocence and virtue. From what I have said, you may suppose the difficulties -I allude to were such as I expected to encounter in my attempt to -unravel the whole of the deep and execrable plot which involved you in a -situation so distressing to your feelings, and injurious to your character; -and, oh! with what mingled pride and pleasure did I meditate on being -your champion, clearing your fame from each dark aspersion, and proving, -clearly proving, that your mind was as lovely, as angelic, as your person!</p> - -<p>I was happy, on my arrival in London, to find Lady Martha Dormer still -at Lord Cherbury’s house. I have already told you that I left town on pretence -of a visit to my sister, in Wales. My father, I soon perceived, suspected -that had not been the real motive of my departure: but I also perceived -he did not desire to reveal his suspicions, as he asked some questions -concerning Lady Araminta, which, you may be sure, I answered awkwardly -enough, and, had a comic writer been present, he might have taken the hint -of a good blundering scene from us both.</p> - -<p>The Marquis of Roslin and his family, I learned, continued at his villa. -Their absence from town rejoiced me, as it not only exempted me from society -I abhorred, but, as it gave me an opportunity of interrogating their -household, amongst whom, I was convinced, I should discover the trusty -agents the amiable marchioness had made use of in her scheme against you. -The morning after my arrival, I accordingly set off to Portman Square. The -man who opened the door knew me not, which I considered a lucky circumstance, -for, not being able to mention my name to the housekeeper, whom I -desired him to send to me, she was not as much on her guard as she would -otherwise have been. She started as she entered the parlor, and lifted up -her hands and eyes with unfeigned astonishment. Soon, however, recovering -herself, she addressed me in the most obsequious manner, and spoke as -if she supposed I was come purposely to inquire after her lord and lady, -an artful way of trying to terminate her own suspense by learning the nature -of my visit. I soon gave her to understand it was not of the most amicable -kind to her. I came, I said, to demand either the letter, or an account of -the letter, which I had intrusted to her care for Miss Fitzalan, which contained -a note of large value, and which, I found, had never been received -by that young lady. Her countenance in a moment condemned her—it -spoke stronger than a thousand tongues against her. She first grew deadly -pale, then fiery red; trembled, faltered, and hung her head, to avoid my -eyes. Her looks, I told her, confirmed the suspicions I was forced to entertain -of her integrity, yet, shocking as the action was which she had committed, -being not only a breach of trust, but humanity, I was willing to -come to an easy and private accommodation about it, provided she would -truly and fully confess the part she had taken, or knew others to have taken,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> -in injuring Miss Fitzalan, while she resided in the marquis’s house, by -bringing Colonel Belgrave into it. I paused for her reply. She appeared -as if considering how she should act. I thought I saw something yielding -in her face, and, eager to take advantage of it, I proceeded: “What I have -already said I am going again to repeat, that is, if you confess all you know -relative to the plot which was contrived, and carried into execution, in this -house, against Miss Fitzalan, I will settle everything relative to the letter -and its contents in a manner pleasing to you. Her innocence is unquestioned -by me; but it is essential to her peace that it should also be so to the -rest of her friends, and they who regard her welfare will liberally reward -those whose allegations shall justify her.”</p> - -<p>Upon this she turned to me, with a countenance of the utmost effrontery, -and said she would not tell a lie to please any one. I will not shock you -by repeating all she said. She ended, by saying, as to the letter she set me -at defiance; true, I had given her one for Miss Fitzalan, but I might remember -Miss Fitzalan was in a fit on the ground at the time, and she had called -in other servants to her assistance, she said, and in the hurry and bustle which -ensued, she knew not what became of it; others might as well be called -upon as her. I could no longer command my temper. I told her she was -a wretch, and only fit for the diabolical service in which she was employed. -The note, which I enclosed in the letter I had given her for you, I had -received from my father’s agent in the country: as a post-note I had endorsed -it, and taken the number in my pocket-book. I therefore left Portman -Square, with a resolution of going to the bank, and, if not already received, -stopping payment. I stepped into the first hackney-coach I met, and had -the satisfaction of finding it had not been offered at the bank. I suspected -she would be glad to exchange it for cash as soon as possible, and therefore -left my direction, as well as a request for the detention of any person who -should present it.</p> - -<p>In consequence of this, a clerk came the following morning to inform me -a woman had presented the note at the bank, and was, agreeably to my -request, detained till I appeared. I immediately returned with him, and -had the satisfaction of seeing the housekeeper caught in the snare. She -burst into tears at my appearance, and coming up to me, in a low voice said, -"If I would have mercy upon her, she would in return make a full confession -of all she knew about the affair I had mentioned to her yesterday.” I -told her, though she deserved no mercy, yet, as I had promised on such condition -to show her lenity, I would not violate my word. I received the note, -sent for a coach, and handing the lady into it, soon conveyed her to Portman -Square. She no sooner entered the parlor than she fell on her knees and -besought my forgiveness. I bade her rise, and lose no time in revealing all -she knew concerning the scheme against you. She then confessed that both -she and Mrs. Jane, the attendant who had been placed about your person, -were acquainted and concerned in all the contrivances the marchioness had -laid against you, who scrupled not in acknowledging to them the inveterate -hatred she bore you. Their scruples—for they pretended to have some in -abetting her schemes—were overruled, by knowing how much it was in her -power to injure them in any future establishment, had they disobliged her, -and by her liberal promises of reward, which the housekeeper added she had -never kept. But this brief and uncircumstantial account was by no means -satisfactory to me. I called for materials for writing, and insisted she -should, to the best of her recollection, relate every word or circumstance -which had ever passed between her and the marchioness and their other -associates relative to you. She hesitated at this. On those terms only I said -I would grant her my forgiveness; and by her complying with them, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> -only that, but a liberal recompense should be hers. This last promise had -the desired effect. She laid open, indeed, a scene of complicated iniquity; -related the manner in which Colonel Belgrave was brought into the house -by her and Mrs. Jane; how they had stationed themselves in a place of concealment -to listen, by which means they knew what passed between you, -which she now, in almost the very same words you made use of, repeated to -me. As she spoke I wrote it, and made her sign the paper under a paragraph, -purporting that it was a true confession of the part she had taken, -and knew others to have taken, in attempting to injure Miss Fitzalan.</p> - -<p>I now mentioned Mrs. Jane, whose evidence I wished for to corroborate -hers. This she assured me I might procure by promising a reward, as Mrs. -Jane was much dissatisfied with the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, -neither of whom had recompensed her as she expected for her faithful services -to them. She was now at the villa; but the housekeeper added that -she would strike out some expedient to bring her to town in the course of -the week, and would inform me immediately of her arrival. I told her the -affair of the note should be no more mentioned, and gave a bill for fifty -pounds, as the reward I had promised, and she eagerly expected. I told her -she might promise a similar one in my name to Mrs. Jane, provided she -also told truth. I also told her I would take care she should suffer no distress -by quitting the marquis’s family, which she lamented would be the -consequence of what she had done.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Jane did not come to town as soon as I expected. But on receiving -a summons to inform me of her arrival, I hastened to the house like an -inquisitor-general with my scroll, prepared to take the confession of the fair -culprit, which exactly corresponded with the housekeeper’s, and I had the -felicity of seeing her subscribe her name to it. I gave her the promised -recompense most cheerfully, as I had not half so much trouble in making -her tell truth as I had with the housekeeper. Mrs. Jennings, your old landlady, -and Lady Greystock’s faithful friend, was the next and last person -whose malice I wanted to refute. I made my servant inquire her character -in the neighborhood, and learned it was considered a very suspicious one. -I went to her one morning in my carriage, well knowing that the appearance -of rank and splendor would have greater weight in influencing a being -like her to justice than any plea of conscience. She appeared lost in astonishment -and confusion at my visit, and I saw waited with trembling expectation -to have the reason of it revealed. I kept her not long in suspense; I -was the friend, I told her, of a young lady, whose character she had vilely -and falsely aspersed. Her conscience, I believed, would whisper to her -heart the name of this lady, and send its crimson current to her face at the -mention of Miss Fitzalan.</p> - -<p>The wretch seemed ready to sink to the earth. I repeated to her all she -had said concerning you to Lady Greystock. I told her of the consequences -of defamation, and declared she might expect the utmost rigor of the law, except -she confessed her assertions were infamous falsehoods, and the motives -which instigated her to them. She trembled with terror, and supplicated -mercy. I desired her to deserve it by her confession. She then acknowledged -she had grossly and cruelly wronged you by what she had said to -Lady Greystock, and that she had many opportunities of being convinced, -while you resided in her house, that your virtue and innocence were of the -purest nature; but that she was provoked to speak maliciously against you -from resentment at losing all the rich gifts Colonel Belgrave had promised -her if she brought you to comply with his wishes. She related all the stratagems -they had mutually concerted for your destruction, and she brought me -some letters which I have kept, from him to you, and which she pretended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> -you had received, lest she should lose the money he always gave when she -was successful in delivering one. I bid her beware how she ever attempted -to vilify innocence, lest the friends of those at whom she levelled the arrows -of defamation should not be as merciful to her as Miss Fitzalan’s had been; -and was the tale of the slanderer thus ever to be minutely investigated, the -evil might die away by degrees, and many hapless victims escape, who are -daily sacrificed to malice, revenge, or envy.</p> - -<p>Oh! my Amanda, I cannot express the transports I felt when I found -the difficulties, which I dreaded as intervening between me and happiness, -thus removed. I felt myself the happiest of men; my heart acknowledged -your worth, I was convinced of your love, and in my hands I held the refutation -of falsehood, and the confirmation of your innocence.</p> - -<p>The period for mentioning my project was now arrived. I desired, the -morning after my visit to Mrs. Jennings, to be indulged in a <i>tete-��-tete</i> in -Lady Martha’s dressing-room. I believed she half guessed what the subject -of it would be; she saw by my countenance there was joyful news at -hand. I shall not recapitulate our conversation; suffice it to say, that her -excellent feeling heart participated largely in my satisfaction; it did more -than participate, it wished to increase it, and ere I could mention my project, -she declared my Amanda should henceforth be considered as her -adopted daughter, and should from her receive such a fortune as such a title -claimed. Yes, my Amanda, the fortune she ever destined for me, she said -she should now consecrate to the purpose of procuring me a treasure the -most valuable Heaven could bestow;—the richest—the most valuable indeed—a -treasure dearer, far dearer to my soul for all the dangers it has encountered. -I fell at Lady Martha’s feet in a transport of gratitude, and acknowledged -that she had anticipated what I was going to say, as I had been -determined to throw myself on her generosity from the time I was convinced -of your inflexible resolution, not to unite yourself to me without you -brought a fortune.</p> - -<p>It was now agreed we should keep Lord Cherbury a little longer ignorant -of our intentions. We proposed taking the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia -by surprise, and hoped, by so doing, to be able to remove from his -eyes the mist which partially had hitherto spread before them, to obscure -the defects of the above-mentioned ladies.</p> - -<p>He had hinted more than once his wishes for my paying my compliments -at the marquis’s villa. I now proposed going thither myself the ensuing -day. He looked equally surprised and pleased at this proposal: Lady -Martha agreed to accompany me, and his lordship, you may be sure, determined -to be one of the party, that he might supply the deficiencies of his -son, which he had heretofore found pretty manifest in such society.</p> - -<p>We had the happiness to find all the family at home when we reached -the villa. The ladies all expressed themselves delighted at my unexpected -appearance, and quite charmed by my recovered looks. The marquis, with -his usual sang froid, declared himself glad to see me. Ye smiling deceivers, -I cried to myself, as I surveyed the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, your -triumph over innocence and beauty will soon be over. After passing half -an hour in uninteresting chitchat, I took the opportunity of one of those -pauses in conversation, which so frequently happen, to commence my attack. -It would be as painful to you as to me to recapitulate all which ensued in -consequence of it. Rage, guilt, and confusion, were conspicuous in the -marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. The marquis and Lady Greystock -looked with astonishment, and my father seemed overwhelmed with surprise -and consternation.</p> - -<p>I said (addressing the marchioness), I now trusted the resentment her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> -ladyship had entertained against her unoffending niece was sufficiently appeased -by what she had made her suffer, and that she would rather rejoice -than regret the opportunity which presented itself of vindicating her fame. -I wished, I said, as much as possible, to spare her ladyship’s feelings, and -provided she would clear Miss Fitzalan from the obloquy which the transactions -in her house cast upon her, I was willing to conceal the share her -ladyship had in them.</p> - -<p>In a voice of smothered rage, and with a look into which she threw as -much contempt as possible, she replied, “She thanked me for the attention -I professed myself inclined to pay her feelings; but she fancied I had overlooked -all inclination of this kind when I undertook to bribe her servants -to asperse her character, that Miss Fitzalan’s might be cleared. She was -sorry,” she said, “to find I could be capable of such complicated baseness -and weakness. Miss Fitzalan, she perceived, had made me her dupe again; -but this was not surprising, as she was the professed pupil of art. Too late -I should behold her in her native colors, and find the disgrace, which, by -artifice, I now attempted to remove from her character, thrown back upon -her, perhaps, to overwhelm me also by its weight.”</p> - -<p>“She has infatuated him,” said Lord Cherbury; “she will be the -bane of his life, the destruction of my hopes.” “Not Miss Fitzalan,” cried -I, assuming as much coolness as possible, though, like the marchioness, I -found it a difficult task; “not Miss Fitzalan, but the enemies of Miss Fitzalan -deceived me. I own I was the dupe of the scheme contrived against -her. Anything so horrid, so monstrous, so execrable, I did not think could -have entered into the minds of those who were bound by the united ties of -kindred and hospitality to protect her, and I rather believed I owed my -misery to the frailty than to the turpitude of human nature.” “You see, -my lord,” exclaimed the marchioness, turning to Lord Cherbury, “Lord -Mortimer acknowledges his passion for this wretched girl.” “I do,” cried -I, “I glory in confessing it. In loving Miss Fitzalan, I love virtue itself. -In acknowledging a passion for her, I violate no faith, I break no engagement; -my heart ever resisted entering into any which it could not fulfil.” -“Unfortunate prepossession,” said Lord Cherbury, sternly. “But why, -why, when you believed her guilty, were you so infatuated as to follow her -to Ireland? Why not calmly resign her to the infamy she merited?” “I -followed her my lord,” I replied, “in hope to withdraw her from her -seducer’s arms, and place her in her father’s. I hoped, I trusted, I should -be able also to alleviate the bitter destiny of poor Fitzalan. Alas! not in -the arms of a gay, successful seducer, but apparently in the arms of death, -did I find Amanda. I saw her at the solemn hour which consigned her -parent to his grave, and to have doubted her protestations of innocence then -would have been almost impious. Gracious Heaven! how impossible to -disbelieve her truth at the very moment her gentle spirit seemed about to -take its flight to heaven! From that period she has stood acquitted in my -mind, and from that period I determined to develop, to the utmost of my -power, the machinations which had made me doubt her innocence. My -success in their development has been beyond my expectations; but Providence -is on the side of suffering virtue, and assists those who stand up in -its support.” Contrary to my first intention, my dear Amanda, I have -given you a sketch of part of our conversation. For the remainder, it shall -suffice to say, that the marchioness persevered in declaring I had bribed her -servants to blacken her character, in order to clear Miss Fitzalan’s, an attempt, -she repeatedly assured me, I would find unsuccessful.</p> - -<p>The marquis talked in high terms of the dignity of his house, and how -impossible it was the marchioness should ever have disgraced it by such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> -actions as I accused her of committing. I answered him in a manner -equally warm, that my accusations were too well grounded and supported to -dread refutation. That it was not only due to injured innocence, but essential -to my own honor, which would soon be materially concerned in whatever -related to Miss Fitzalan, to have those accusations made public, if her -ladyship refused to contradict the aspersions which might be thrown upon -Miss Fitzalan, in consequence of the scene which passed at his lordship’s -house.</p> - -<p>This the marchioness, with mingled rage and contempt, refused doing, -and Lady Euphrasia, after the hint I gave of soon being united to you, left -the room in convulsive agitation.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury, I perceived, suspected foul play, by some speeches which -dropped from him, such as, if there had been any misunderstanding between -her ladyship and Miss Fitzalan, it was better surely to have it done away, or -certainly, if any mistake was proved relative to the affair which happened -in her ladyship’s house, it was but justice to the young lady to have it -cleared up.</p> - -<p>Yet, notwithstanding the interest he felt in the cause of suffering innocence, -it was obvious to me that he dreaded a rupture with the marquis’s -family, and appeared shocked at the unequivocal declaration I had made of -never being allied to it.</p> - -<p>Lady Martha Dormer took up the cause. The testimony Lord Mortimer -had received, she said, of Miss Fitzalan’s innocence was incontrovertible, -and exempted him alike from being stigmatized either as the dupe of art -or love. Humanity, she was convinced, exclusive of every warmer feeling, -would have influenced him to have undertaken Miss Fitzalan’s cause; -it was the cause of innocence and virtue—a cause in which every detester -of scandal and treachery should join, since not only the defenceless orphan, -but the protected child of rank and prosperity, was vulnerable to their -shafts.</p> - -<p>I again repeated the evidence of her servants, and the refutation of -Mrs. Jennings to her former story. I produced, to strengthen it, the unopened -letters of Colonel Belgrave—thus continuing to put proof upon -proof of your innocence, as Sancho Panza says, upon the shoulders of -demonstration.</p> - -<p>The passions of the marchioness rose at last to frantic violence. She -persisted in alleging her integrity, and vilifying yours; but with a countenance -so legibly impressed with guilt and confusion, that a doubt of her falsehood -could not be entertained even by those who wished to doubt it.</p> - -<p>The scene of violence we now became witness to was painful to me, and -shocking to Lady Martha. I therefore ordered the horses immediately to -her ladyship’s chariot, in which, accompanied by me, she had preceded Lord -Cherbury’s coach, from the idea that our continuance at the villa might not -be quite so long as his lordship’s.</p> - -<p>As we expected, his lordship stayed behind, with the hope, I perceived, -of being able to calm the perturbations of the marchioness, and lessen the -breach between us. He returned the next day to town. I have so long -dwelt upon disagreeable scenes, that to go over any others would be dreadful; -nor should I hint to you that I had such scenes to encounter, was it -not to excuse and account to you for my absence from Castle Carberry. Our -difficulties (you see I already unite your interests with mine) began to -decrease, and are at last happily overcome. Lady Martha made me write -her intentions relative to you, and his lordship was quite satisfied with -them. He authorizes me to assure you he longs to receive you into his -family, at once a boast and acquisition to it, and he says, he shall consider<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> -himself under obligations to you, if you hasten, as much as possible, the -period of becoming one of its members, thus giving him an opportunity of -making early amends, by attention to the daughter, for the injustice he did -the father.</p> - -<p>Lady Martha Dormer’s intentions I have only hinted to you; in the letter, -which I have the pleasure of enclosing, she is more explicit concerning -them. I have given you this long narrative on paper, that when we meet -our conversation may be unembittered by any painful retrospect, and that -we may enjoy uninterrupted the bright prospect which now lies before us.</p> - -<p>But ere I close my letter, I must inform you that, knowing you could -never be selfishly wrapped up in your own enjoyments, I made every possible -inquiry relative to your brother, and was at length referred by the agent -of his late regiment to an officer in it; with some difficulty I found he had -quitted his quarters on leave of absence. I wrote immediately to his family -residence, and after waiting long and impatiently for an answer to my letter, -I dispatched a special messenger to learn whether he was there or not. The -courier returned with a polite note from the officer’s father, informing me -his son was gone on an excursion of pleasure with some friends, and that -if he knew where to find him, he would have transmitted my letter, which I -might depend on being answered the moment he returned. I have no doubt -but we shall receive intelligence from him concerning Mr. Fitzalan. It -shall then be our business, if his situation is not already pleasing, to change -it, or render it as much so as possible to him. Keep up your spirits, therefore, -about him, for by the time we arrive in England I expect a letter from -his friend, and let me not be any more pained by seeing your countenance -clouded with care or anxiety. As a reward for reining in my impatience to -see you this evening, be propitious to my request for early admission to-morrow. -If charitable, you will allow me to breakfast with you, for I shall -take none except with you; and without an express command to the contrary, -shall take it for granted I am expected. ’Tis said that contrast -heightens pleasure, and I believe the saying—I believe that, without having -felt pain in all its acuteness, as I have done, I never should have felt such -pleasure as I now enjoy. After so often giving you up, so often lamenting -you as lost forever, to think I shall soon call you mine, is a source of transport -which words cannot express. Mine, I may say, is the resurrection of -happiness, for has it not been revived from the very grave of despair? But -I forgot that you have Lady Martha Dormer’s letter still to peruse. I acknowledge -that, for old friendship’s sake, I supposed you would give mine -the preference; but in all reason it is time I should resign my place to her -ladyship. But ere I bid you adieu, I must tell you that Araminta is a sincere -participator in our happiness. She arrived from Wales but a few minutes -previous to my leaving London, and I would not allow her time, as she -wished, to write to you. I almost forgot to tell you that the marquis’s family, -amongst whom Lady Greystock is still numbered, instead of returning -to town, set out for Brighthelmstone. I have learned, contrary to my and -their expectations, that neither the housekeeper nor Mrs. Jane have been -dismissed, but both sent to a distant seat of the marquis’s. As we know -the marchioness’s revengeful disposition, it is plain she has some secret -motive for not gratifying it immediately by their dismission; but what it is -can be of little consequence for us to learn, since we are both too well -guarded to suffer from any future plot of hers. Like every other which was -formed against my dear Amanda, I trust they will ever prove abortive. I was -disturbed within a few miles of Castle Carberry by a gentleman passing on -horseback, who either strongly resembled, or was Colonel Belgrave. My -blood boiled in my veins at his sight. I left the carriage, mounted one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> -my servant’s horses, and endeavored to overtake him. He certainly avoided -me by taking some cross-road, as his speed could not have outstripped -mine. My efforts to discover his habitation were equally unsuccessful. As -to your personal security I had no apprehensions, having heard constantly -from my good friend the doctor about you; but I dreaded the wretch, if it -were really him, might disturb your tranquillity, either by forcing into your -presence, or writing. Thank Heaven, from all intrusions or dangers of this -kind my Amanda will now be guarded. But again am I trespassing on the -time you should devote to Lady Martha’s letter. Adieu, and do not disappoint -my hopes of being allowed to visit you early.</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Mortimer.</span></p></blockquote> - -<p>Amanda perused this letter with emotions which can be -better conceived than described. She could scarcely have -parted with it without a second reading, had not Lady Martha’s -demanded her attention. She snatched it hastily from the -ground where it hitherto lay neglected, and read to the following -purpose:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>That I warmly and sincerely congratulate my dear and amiable Miss -Fitzalan on the happy revolution in her affairs, she will readily believe, persuaded -as she must be of the deep interest I take in whatever concerns a -person on whom the happiness of him whom I have loved from childhood -so materially—so entirely, I may say—depends.</p> - -<p>Yet do not suppose me, my dear Miss Fitzalan, so selfish as not to be -able to rejoice at your happiness on your own account, exclusive of every -consideration relative to Lord Mortimer. Long since I was taught by description -to esteem and admire you, and even when the hope of being connected -with you became extinct, I could not so totally forego that admiration -as to feel uninterested about you. Oh I how truly do I rejoice at the revival -of the hope I have just mentioned, and at its revival with every prospect -of its being speedily realized! I shall consider Lord Mortimer as one -of the most fortunate of men in calling you his, and to think I have been -able to promote his happiness gives me a satisfaction which never was, nor -ever will be, equalled by any circumstance in my life.</p> - -<p>Though I cannot give my adopted daughter a fortune by any means -equal to that which Lady Euphrasia Sutherland will possess, Lord Cherbury -is fully sensible that her perfections will abundantly make up for any deficiency -in this respect. Ten thousand pounds, and one thousand a year, is -at present to be her portion, and the reversion of the remainder of my fortune -is to be secured to her and Lord Mortimer; the final adjustment of -all affairs is to take place at my house in the country, whither I propose -going immediately, accompanied by Lady Araminta, and where we shall -both most impatiently expect your arrival, which, we mutually entreat, may -be hastened as much as possible, consistent with your health and convenience. -Lord Cherbury has promised to follow us in a few days, so that I -suppose he will also be at Thornbury to receive you. Would to Heaven, -my dear Miss Fitzalan, injured virtue and innocence may always meet with -such champions to vindicate them as Lord Mortimer. Was that the case, -we should see many lovely victims of scorn and reproach raising their heads -with triumph and satisfaction. But pardon my involuntarily adverting to -past scenes, though, at the same time, I think you have reason to rejoice -at your trials, which served as so many tests and proofs of the estimable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> -qualities you possess. Farewell, my dear Miss Fitzalan. I have been brief -in my letter, because I know I should not be pardoned by a certain person, -if I engrossed too much of your time. I told him I would give you a hint -of the impetuosity of his disposition; but he told me, perhaps to prevent -this, that you were already acquainted with it. In one instance I shall -commend him for displaying it: that is, in hastening you to Thornbury, to -the arms of your sincere and affectionate friend,</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Martha Dormer</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Amanda’s happiness was now almost as great as it could -be in this world; almost I say, for it received alloy from the -melancholy consideration that her father, that faithful and affectionate -friend who had shared her troubles, could not be a -partaker of her joys; but the sigh of unavailing regret which -rose in her mind she checked, by reflecting, that happiness all -perfect was more than humanity could either support or expect, -and with pious gratitude she bent to the Power who had -changed the discolored prospect, by which she had been so -long surrounded, into one of cheerfulness and beauty.</p> - -<p>If her pride was wounded by the hint, though so delicately -conveyed, which Lord Mortimer had given of the difficulties he -encountered in gaining Lord Cherbury’s approbation, it was -instantly relieved by the flattering commendations of Lady -Martha Dormer, and to be connected with her and Lady Araminta, -she looked upon amongst the most valuable blessings -she could enjoy.</p> - -<p>To express what she felt for Lord Mortimer would be impossible—language -could not do justice to her feelings—she -felt love, gratitude, and admiration for him, all in the fullest -extent, and all united, and she wept in the fulness of her heart -over the joyful assurance of being his. With the two letters in -her hand, she repaired to the prioress’s apartment, whom she -found alone. The good old lady saw the traces of tears on -Amanda’s face, and exclaimed, in a voice which evinced her -sympathy in her concerns, “Oh! I fear, my child, something -has happened to disturb you!” Amanda presented her the -letters, and bid her judge from them whether she had not -reason to be agitated. As the prioress read, her sudden and -broken exclamations manifested her surprise and pleasure, and -frequently were her spectacles removed to wipe from off them -the tears of joy by which they were bedewed. When she finished -the welcome packet, she turned to Amanda, who had -been attentively watching the various turns in her countenance, -and gave her a congratulatory embrace. “Lord Mortimer is -worthy of you, my child,” said the prioress, “and that is the -highest eulogium I can pass on him.” After commenting upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> -different parts of the letter, she asked Amanda a little archly, -“whether she intended sending an express command to his -lordship against coming early in the morning?” Amanda -honestly confessed she had no such intention, and expressed -her wish to behold him. The prioress said she would have -breakfast prepared for them in the garden parlor, and that she -would take care they should not be interrupted. She also -promised to keep everything secret till matters were arranged -for Amanda’s removal from St. Catherine’s.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Thus let me hold thee to my heart,</span> -<span class="i0">And every care resign;</span> -<span class="i0">And shall we never—never part,</span> -<span class="i0">Oh! thou my all that’s mine.”—<span class="smcap">Goldsmith.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Joy is as great an enemy to repose as anxiety. Amanda -passed an almost sleepless night, but her thoughts were too -agreeably employed to allow her to suffer from want of rest; -early as she arose in the morning, she was but a short time in -the parlor before Lord Mortimer arrived. He appeared with -all the transports of his soul beaming from his eyes, and was -received by Amanda with tender and trembling emotion. He -caught her to his heart as a treasure restored to him by the -immediate hand of Heaven. He pressed her to it with silent -ecstasy. Both for a few moments were unable to speak; but -the tears which burst from Amanda, and those that stopped -on the glowing cheeks of Lord Mortimer, expressed their feelings -more forcibly than any language could have done.</p> - -<p>Amanda at length found utterance, and began to thank his -lordship for all the difficulties he had gone through in vindicating -her fame. He hastily stopped those effusions of gratitude, -by bidding her ask her heart whether he had not been serving -himself as well as her by what he had done.</p> - -<p>From the soft confusion into which his transports threw her, -Amanda endeavored to recover herself by repairing to the -breakfast table, on which the good sisters had spread all the -niceties (adapted for a morning repast) which the convent -could produce: but her hand was unsteady, she spilt the tea -in pouring it out, and committed twenty blunders in helping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> -Lord Mortimer. He laughed a little archly at her embarrassment, -and insisted on doing the honors of the table himself, to -which Amanda, with a deep blush, consented; but breakfast -was little attended to. Amanda’s hand was detained in Lord -Mortimer’s, while his eyes were continually turning towards -her, as if to assure his heart that, in the lovely evidence of his -happiness, there was no deception; and the tenderness Amanda -had no longer reason to restrain beamed from her looks, which -also evinced her perfect sensibility of her present felicity—a -felicity heightened by her approving conscience testifying she -had merited it. The pure, the delightful satisfaction resulting -from this reflection gave such radiance to her complexion, -that Lord Mortimer repeatedly declared her residence at St. -Catherine’s had made her more beautiful than ever. Twelve -o’clock struck, and found them still loitering over the breakfast -table. “The nuns will think we have made a tolerable feast,” -cried Lord Mortimer, smiling, while Amanda rose with precipitation. -“I need not,” continued he, following her, “like -Sterne, ask nature what has made the meal so delicious; I -need only ask my own heart, and it will inform me, love and -tenderness.” Amanda blushed, and they went together into the -garden. She would have walked before the windows of the -convent, but Lord Mortimer forced her gently into a dark, -sequestered alley. Here their conversation became more connected -than it had been hitherto. The generous intentions of -Lady Martha Dormer, and the arrangements she had made for -the reception and nuptials of Amanda, were talked over. The -marriage was to take place at Thornbury, Lady Martha’s seat; -they were to continue there for a month after its solemnization, -and from thence to go to an estate of Lord Cherbury’s for the -remainder of the summer; a house in one of the squares was -to be taken and prepared for their residence in winter, and -Lady Martha Dormer had promised, whenever she came to -town, which was but seldom, she would make their house her -home, provided they would promise to spend every Christmas, -and three months at least in summer, with her at Thornbury. -Lord Mortimer said he had his choice of any of the earl’s -seats, but chose none, from an idea of the Hall being more -agreeable to Amanda. She assured him it was, and he proceeded -to mention the presents which Lady Martha had prepared -for her, also the carriages and retinue he had provided, -and expected to find at Thornbury against she reached it, still -asking if the arrangements he had made met her approbation.</p> - -<p>Amanda was affected even to tears by the solicitude he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> -showed to please her; and he, perceiving her emotions, -changed the discourse to talk about her removal from St. -Catherine’s. He entreated her not to delay it longer than was -absolutely necessary to adjust matters for it. She promised -compliance to this entreaty, acknowledging that she but obeyed -her inclinations in doing so, as she longed to be presented to -her generous patroness, Lady Martha, and to her amiable and -beloved Lady Araminta. Lord Mortimer, delicately considerate -about all which concerned her, begged she would speak to the -prioress to procure a decent female, who should be a proper -attendant for her in her journey. They should travel together -in one chaise, and he would follow them in another. Amanda -promised she would lose no time in making this request, which, -she had no doubt, would be successful.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer presented her with a very beautiful embroidered -purse, containing notes to the amount of five hundred -pounds. Amanda blushed deeply, and felt her feelings a little -hurt at the idea of being obliged to Lord Mortimer for everything. -He pressed her hand, and in a voice of soothing tenderness, -told her he should be offended if she did not, from -this moment, consider her interest inseparable from his. The -notes, he said, of right belonged to her, as they amounted to -but the individual sum he had already devoted to her use. He -requested she would not curb in the least her generous spirit, -but fulfil, to the utmost extent, all the claims which gratitude -had upon her. The benevolent sisters of St. Catherine’s were -the foremost in the list of those who had conferred obligations -upon her, and he desired she would not only reward them -liberally at present, but promise them an annual stipend of -fifty pounds.</p> - -<p>Amanda was truly delighted at this. To be able to contribute -to the comfort of those who had so largely promoted -hers, was a source of exquisite felicity. Lord Mortimer presented -her with his picture, which he had drawn in London for -that purpose. It was a striking likeness, and most elegantly -set with brilliants, which formed, a cipher upon a plait of hair -at the back. This was indeed a precious present to Amanda, -and she acknowledged it was such. Lord Mortimer said, that -“in return for it he should expect hers at some future time;" -but added, smiling, “I shall not heed the shadow till I procure -the substance.” He also gave her a very beautiful ring, with -an emblematical device, and adorned in the same manner as -his picture, which Lady Martha had sent as a pledge of future -friendship; and he now informed her, “that her ladyship,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> -accompanied by Lady Araminta, intended meeting them at -Holyhead, that all due honor and attention might be paid to -her adopted daughter.”</p> - -<p>In the midst of their conversation the dinner-bell rang -from the convent. Amanda started, and declared she had not -supposed it half so late. The arch smile which this speech -occasioned in Lord Mortimer, instantly made her perceive it -had been a tacit confession of the pleasure she enjoyed in -their <i>tete-��-tete</i>.</p> - -<p>She blushed, and telling him she could not stay another -moment, was hurrying away. He hastily caught her, and holding -both her hands, declared she should not depart, neither -would he to his solitary dinner, till she promised he might -return to her early in the evening. To this she consented, -provided he allowed her to have the prioress and Sister Mary -at least at tea. This was a condition Lord Mortimer by no -means liked to agree to, and he endeavored to prevail on her -to drop it; but finding her inflexible, he said she was a provoking -girl, and asked her if she was not afraid that, when he -had the power, he would retaliate upon her for all the trials -she put his patience to. But since she would have it so, why, -it must be so to be sure, he said; but he hoped the good ladies -would have too much conscience to sit out the whole evening -with them. That was all chance, Amanda said. The bell -again rang, and he was forced to depart.</p> - -<p>She took the opportunity of being alone with the prioress -for a few minutes, to speak to her about procuring a female to -attend her in her journey. The prioress said she doubted not -but she could procure her an eligible person from the neighboring -town, and promised to write there that very evening, to -a family who would be able to assist her inquiries.</p> - -<p>Both she and Sister Mary were much pleased by being invited -to drink tea with Lord Mortimer. He came even earlier -than was expected. Poor Amanda was terrified, lest her companions -should overhear him repeatedly asking her, whether -they would not retire immediately after tea. Though not overheard, -the prioress had too much sagacity not to know her -departure was desired; she, therefore, under pretence of business, -retired and took Mary along with her.</p> - -<p>Amanda and Lord Mortimer went into the garden. He -thanked her for not losing time in speaking to the prioress -about her servant, and said that he hoped, at the end of the -week at farthest, she would be ready to begin her journey. -Amanda readily promised to use all possible dispatch. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> -passed some delightful hours in rambling about the garden, -and talking over their felicity.</p> - -<p>The prioress’s expectation was answered relative to a servant. -In the course of two days she produced one in every -respect agreeable to Amanda, and things were now in such -forwardness for her departure, that she expected it would take -place as soon as Lord Mortimer had mentioned. His time -was passed almost continually at St. Catherine’s, never leaving -it except at dinner-time, when he went to Castle Carberry. -His residence there was soon known, and visitors and invitations -without number came to the castle, but he found means -of avoiding them.</p> - -<p>Amanda, laughing, would often tell him he retarded the -preparations for her journey by being always with her; this, -he said, was only a pretext to drive him away, for that he rather -forwarded them by letting her lose no time.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer, on coming to Amanda one evening as usual, -appeared uncommonly discomposed, his face was flushed, and -his whole manner betrayed agitation. He scarcely noticed -Amanda; but seating himself, placed his arm upon a table, -and leaned his head dejectedly upon it. Amanda was inexpressibly -shocked—her heart panted with apprehension of ill; -but she felt too timid to make any inquiry. He suddenly knit -his brows, and muttered between his teeth, “Curse on the -wretch!”</p> - -<p>Amanda could no longer keep silence. “What wretch,” she -exclaimed, “or what is the meaning of this disorder?” “First -tell me, Amanda,” said he, looking very steadfastly at her, -“have you seen any stranger here lately?” “Good Heaven!” -replied she, “what can you mean by such a question? But I -solemnly assure you I have not.” “Enough,” said he, “such -an assurance restores me to quiet; but, my dear Amanda,” -coming over to her, and taking her hands in his, “since you -have perceived my agitation, I must account to you for it. I -have just seen Belgrave; he was but a few yards from me on -the Common when I saw him; but the mean despicable wretch, -loaded as he is with conscious guilt, durst not face me. He -got out of my way by leaping over the hedge which divides the -Common from a lane with many intricate windings. I endeavored, -but without success, to discover the one he had retreated -through.” “I see,” said Amanda, pale and trembling, “he is -destined to make me wretched. I had hoped indeed that Lord -Mortimer would no more have suffered his quiet to be interrupted -by him; it implies such a doubt,” said she, weeping,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> -“as shocks my soul! If suspicion is thus continually to be revived, -we had better separate at once, for misery must be the -consequence of a union without mutual confidence.” “Gracious -Heaven!” said Lord Mortimer, “how unfortunate I am to give -you pain. You mistake entirely, indeed, my dearest Amanda, -the cause of my uneasiness. I swear by all that is sacred, no -doubt, no suspicion of your worth, has arisen in my mind. No -man can think more highly of a woman than I do of you; but -I was disturbed lest the wretch should have forced himself into -your presence, and lest you, through apprehension for me, concealed -it from me.”</p> - -<p>This explanation calmed the perturbation of Amanda. As -an atonement for the uneasiness he had given her, she wanted -Lord Mortimer to promise he would not endeavor to discover -Belgrave. This promise he avoided giving, and Amanda was -afraid of pressing it, lest the spark of jealousy, which she was -convinced existed in the disposition of Lord Mortimer, should -be blown into a flame. That Belgrave would studiously avoid -him she trusted, and she resolved that if the things that she -had deemed it necessary to order from the neighboring town -were not finished, to wait no longer for them, as she longed -now more than ever to quit a place she thought dangerous to -Lord Mortimer. The ensuing morning, instead of seeing his -lordship at breakfast, a note was brought to her couched in -these words:</p> - -<p class="center">TO MISS FITZALAN.</p> - -<blockquote><p>I am unavoidably prevented from waiting on my dear Amanda this morning, -but in the course of the day she may depend on either seeing or hearing -from me again. She can have no excuse now on my account about not -hastening the preparations for her journey, and when we meet, if I find that -her time has not been employed for this purpose, she may expect a severe -chiding from her faithful</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Mortimer</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>This note filled Amanda with the most alarming disquiet. -It was evident to her that he was gone in pursuit of Belgrave. -She ran into the hall to inquire of the messenger -about his master, but he was gone. She then hastened to -the prioress and communicated her apprehensions to her.</p> - -<p>The prioress endeavored to calm them, by assuring her -she might be convinced that Belgrave had taken too many -precautions to be discovered.</p> - -<p>Amanda’s breakfast, however, remained untouched, and -her things unpacked, and she continued the whole morning -the picture of anxiety, impatiently expecting the promised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> -visit or letter. Neither came, and she resolved to send, after -dinner, the old gardener to Castle Carberry to inquire about -Lord Mortimer. While she was speaking to him for that -purpose, the maid followed her into the garden, and told -her there was a messenger in the parlor from Lord Mortimer. -She flew thither, but what words can express her surprise -when the supposed messenger, raising a large hat, which -shadowed his face, and removing a handkerchief, which he -had hitherto held up to it, discovered to her view the features -of Lord Cherbury? She could only exclaim, “Gracious Heaven! -has anything happened to Lord Mortimer?” ere she sunk into -a chair in breathless agitation.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i8">“My heavy heart</span> -<span class="i0">The prophetess of woe, foretells some ill</span> -<span class="i0">At hand.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Lord Cherbury hastened to support and calm her agitation, -by assuring her Lord Mortimer was in perfect safety. Recovering -a little by this assertion, she asked him “how he was -assured of this?” He answered, “because he had seen him, -though without being perceived by him, about an hour ago.” -Amanda, restored to her faculties by being assured he was uninjured, -began to reflect on the suddenness of Lord Cherbury’s -visit. She would have flattered herself he came to introduce -her to his family himself, had not his looks almost forbid such -an idea. They were gloomy and disordered; his eyes were -fastened on her, yet he appeared unwilling to speak.</p> - -<p>Amanda felt herself in too awkward and embarrassing a -situation to break the unpleasant silence. At last Lord Cherbury -suddenly exclaimed, “Lord Mortimer does not, nor must -not, know of my being here.” “Must not!” repeated Amanda, -in inconceivable astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Gracious Heaven!” said Lord Cherbury, starting from -the chair on which he had thrown himself opposite her, “how -shall I begin, how shall I tell her! Oh! Miss Fitzalan,” he -continued, approaching her, “I have much to say, and you have -much to hear which will shock you. I believed I could better -in an interview have informed you of particulars, but I find I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> -was mistaken. I will write to you.” “My lord,” cried Amanda, -rising, all pale and trembling, “tell me now; to leave me -in suspense, after receiving such dreadful hints, would be -cruelty. Oh! surely, if Lord Mortimer be safe—if Lady Martha -Dormer—if Lady Araminta is well—I can have nothing so very -shocking to hear.” “Alas!” replied he, mournfully shaking -his head, “you are mistaken. Be satisfied, however, that the -friends you have mentioned are all well. I have said I would -write to you. Can you meet me this evening amongst the -ruins?” Amanda gave an assenting bow. “I shall then,” -pursued he, “have a letter ready to deliver you. In the mean -time, I must inform you no person in the world knows of my -visit here but yourself, and of all beings Lord Mortimer is the -last I should wish to know it. Remember, then, Miss Fitzalan,” -taking her hand, which he grasped with violence, as if to impress -his words upon her heart, “remember that upon your -secrecy everything most estimable in life, even life itself, perhaps, -depends.”</p> - -<p>With these dreadful and mysterious words he departed, -leaving Amanda a picture of horror and surprise. It was -many minutes ere she moved from the attitude in which he left -her, and when she did, it was only to walk in a disordered manner -about the room, repeating his dreadful words. He was -come, perhaps, to part her and Lord Mortimer, and yet, after -consenting to their union, surely Lord Cherbury could not be -guilty of such treachery and deceit. Yet, if this was not the -case, why conceal his coming to Ireland from Lord Mortimer? -Why let it be known only to her? And what could be the -secrets of dreadful import he had to communicate?</p> - -<p>From these self-interrogations, in which her reason was -almost bewildered, the entrance of the prioress drew her.</p> - -<p>She started at seeing the pale and distracted looks of -Amanda, and asked, “if she had heard any bad tidings of -Lord Mortimer?”</p> - -<p>Amanda sighed heavily at this question, and said, “No.” -The secrecy she had been enjoined to she durst not violate, -by mentioning the mysterious visit to her friend. Unable, however, -to converse on any other subject, she resolved to retire to -her chamber. She placed her illness and agitation to the account -of Lord Mortimer, and said a little rest was absolutely -necessary for her, and begged, if his lordship came in the -course of the evening, he might be told she was too ill to see -him.</p> - -<p>The prioress pressed her to stay for tea. She refused, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> -as she retired from the room, desired nothing might be said of -the person who had just seen her to Lord Mortimer, saying, -with a faint smile, “she would not make him vain by letting -him know of her anxiety about him.” She retired to her chamber, -and endeavored to control her perturbations, that she might -be the better enabled to support what she had so much reason -to apprehend. Neither the prioress nor the nuns, in obedience -to her injunctions, intruded upon her, and at the appointed -hour she softly opened the chamber door, and, every place being -clear, stole softly from the convent.</p> - -<p>She found Lord Cherbury waiting for her amidst the solitary -ruins. He had a letter in his hand, which he presented to her -the moment she appeared.</p> - -<p>“In this letter, Miss Fitzalan,” said he, “I have opened -to you my whole heart. I have disburdened it of secrets which -have long oppressed it. I have intrusted my honor to your care. -From what I have said, that its contents are of a sacred nature, -you may believe, should they be considered in any other light -by you, the consequence may, nay, must be fatal.” He said -this with a sternness that made Amanda shrink. “Meditate -well on the contents of that letter, Miss Fitzalan,” continued -he, with a voice of deep solemnity, “for it is a letter which will -fix your destiny and mine. Even should the request contained -in it be refused, let me be the first acquainted with the refusal. -Then indeed I shall urge you no more to secrecy, for what will -follow, in consequence of such a refusal, must divulge all.” -“Oh! tell me, tell me,” said Amanda, catching hold of his arm, -“tell me what is the request or what it is I am to fear. Oh! -tell me all at once, and rid me of the torturing suspense I endure.” -“I cannot,” he cried, “indeed, I cannot. To-morrow -night I shall expect your answer here at the same hour.”</p> - -<p>At this moment Lord Mortimer’s voice calling upon Amanda -was heard. Lord Cherbury dropped her hand, which he had -taken, and instantly retired amongst the windings of the pile, -from whence Lord Mortimer soon appeared, giving Amanda -only time to hide the fatal letter.</p> - -<p>“Good Heavens!” exclaimed he, “what could have brought -you hither, and who was the person who just departed from -you?” It was well for Amanda that the twilight gave but -an imperfect view of her face. She felt her color come and -go; a cold dew overspread her forehead; she leaned against a -rude fragment of the building, and faintly exclaimed, “the person——" -“Yes,” said Lord Mortimer, “I am sure I heard -retreating footsteps.” “You are mistaken,” repeated Amanda,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> -in the same faint accent. “Well,” said he, “though you may -dispute the evidence of my ears, you cannot the evidence of my -eyes. I see you here, and I am astonished at it.” “I came -here for air,” said Amanda. “For air!” repeated Lord Mortimer; -“I own I should have thought the garden better adapted -for such a purpose; but why come hither in a clandestine -manner? Why, if you have the fears you would persuade me -you have, expose yourself to danger from the wretch who -haunts the place, by coming here alone. When I went to the -convent I was told you were indisposed, and could not be disturbed. -I could not depart, however, without making an effort -to see you; but you can easier imagine than I describe the -consternation I felt when you could not be found. It was -wrong, indeed, Amanda, it was wrong to come here alone, and -affect concealment.” “Gracious Heaven!” said Amanda, raising -her hands and eyes, and bursting into tears, “how wretched -am I!”</p> - -<p>She was indeed at this moment superlatively wretched. -Her heart was oppressed by the dread of evil, and she perceived -suspicions in Lord Mortimer which she could not attempt to -remove, lest an intimation of the secret she was so awfully -enjoined to keep should escape.</p> - -<p>“Ah! Amanda,” said Lord Mortimer, losing in a moment -the asperity with which he had addressed her at first, “ah! Amanda, -like the rest of your sex, you know too well the power of -your tears not to use them. Forget, or at least forgive, all I -have said. I was disappointed in not seeing you the moment I -expected, and that put me out of temper. I know I am too -impetuous, but you will in time subdue every unruly passion. -I put myself into your hands, and you shall make me what you -please.”</p> - -<p>He now pressed her to his bosom, and finding her tremble -universally, again implored her forgiveness, as he imputed the -agitation she betrayed entirely to the uneasiness he had given -her. She assured him, with a faltering voice, he had not -offended her. Her spirits were affected, she said, by all she -had suffered during the day. Lord Mortimer placing, as she -wished, those sufferings to his own account, declared her anxiety -at once pained and pleased him; adding, he would truly confess -what detained him from her during the day as soon as they -returned to the convent.</p> - -<p>Their return to it relieved the sisterhood, who had also -been seeking Amanda, from many apprehensions. The prioress -and Sister Mary followed them into the parlor, where Lord<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> -Mortimer begged “they would have compassion on him, and -give him something for his supper, as he had scarcely eaten -anything the whole day.” Sister Mary instantly replied, “he -should be gratified, as Amanda was in the same predicament, -and she hoped he would be now able to prevail on her to eat.” -The cloth was accordingly laid, and a few trifles placed upon -it. Sister Mary would gladly have stayed, but the prioress -had understanding enough to think the supper would be more -palatable if they were absent, and accordingly retired.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer now, with the most soothing tenderness, tried -to cheer his fair companion, and make her take some refreshment; -but his efforts for either of those purposes were unsuccessful, -and she besought him not to think her obstinate, if she -could not in a moment recover her spirits. To divert his attention -a little from himself, she asked him to perform his promise, -by relating what had kept him the whole day from St. Catherine’s.</p> - -<p>He now acknowledged “he had been in search of Belgrave; -but the precautions he had taken to conceal himself baffled all -inquiries, which convinces me,” continued Lord Mortimer, “if -I wanted conviction about such a matter, that he has not yet -dropped his villanous designs upon you; but the wretch cannot -always escape the vengeance he merits.” “May he never,” -cried Amanda, fervently yet involuntarily, “meet it from your -hands.” “We will drop that part of the subject,” said Lord -Mortimer, “if you please. You must know,” continued he, -“after scouring the whole neighborhood, I fell in, about four -miles hence, with a gentleman who had visited at the Marquis -of Roslin’s last summer. He immediately asked me to accompany -him home to dinner. From his residence in the country -I thought it probable he might be able to give some account of -Belgrave, and therefore accepted the invitation; but my inquiries -were as fruitless here as elsewhere. When I found it so, I -was on thorns to depart, particularly as all the gentlemen were -set in for drinking, and feared I might be thrown into an improper -situation to visit my Amanda. I was on the watch, -however, and, to use their sporting term, literally stole away.” -“Thank Heaven!” said Amanda, “your inquiries proved fruitless. -Oh! never, never repeat them. Think no more about a -wretch so despicable.” “Well,” cried Lord Mortimer, “why -don’t you hurry me from the neighborhood? Fix the day, the -moment for our departure. I have been here already five days. -Lady Martha’s patience is, I dare say, quite exhausted by this -time, and should we delay much longer, I suppose, she will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> -think we have both become converts to the holy rites of this -convent, and that I, instead of taking the vows which should -make me a joyful bridegroom, am about taking those which -shall doom me to celibacy. Seriously, what but want of inclination -can longer detain you?” “Ah!” said Amanda, “you -know too well that my departure cannot be retarded by want of -inclination.” “Then why not decide immediately upon the -day?” Amanda was silent; her situation was agonizing; how -could she fix upon a day, uncertain whether she did not possess -a letter which would prevent her ever taking the projected -journey!</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Lord Mortimer, after allowing her some time -to speak, “I see I must fix the day myself; this is Tuesday—let -it be Thursday.” “Let us drop the subject this night, -my lord,” said Amanda; “I am really ill, and only wait for -your departure to retire to rest.” Lord Mortimer obeyed -her, but with reluctance, and soon after retired.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“As one condemned to leap a precipice,</span> -<span class="i0">Who sees before his eyes the depths below,</span> -<span class="i0">Stops short, and looks about for some kind shrub</span> -<span class="i0">To break his dreadful fall.”—<span class="smcap">Dryden</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Amanda went to her chamber the moment Lord Mortimer -departed: the nuns were already retired to rest, so that the -stillness which reigned through the house added to the awfulness -of her feelings, as she sat down to peruse a letter which -she had been previously informed would fix her fate.</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS FITZALAN.</p> - -<p>To destroy a prospect of felicity, at the very moment its enveloping -glooms are dispersed, is indeed the source of pangs most dreadful; yet -such are the horrors of my destiny, that nothing but intervening between -you, Mortimer and happiness, can save me from perdition. Appalled at -this dreadful assertion, the letter drops from your trembling hands; but -oh! dear Miss Fitzalan, cast it not utterly aside till you peruse the rest of -the contents, and fix the destiny of the most wretched of mankind, wretched -in thinking he shall interrupt not only your peace, but the peace of a -son so noble, so gracious, so idolized as Mortimer is by him; but I will -not longer torture your feelings by keeping you in suspense; the preface I -have already given is sufficient, and I will be explicit: gambling, that bane<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> -of fame and fortune, has been my ruin; but whilst I indulged, so well did -I conceal my propensity for it, that even those I called my friends were -ignorant of it. With shame I confess I was ever foremost to rail against -this vice, which was continually drawing sums in secret from me, that would -have given comfort and affluence to many a child in want. For some time -my good and bad fortune were so equal, that my income suffered no considerable -diminution. About five years ago a Mr. Freelove, a particular friend -of mine, died, and left to my care his only son, whom, I dare say, you may -recollect having seen at my house last winter. This young man’s property -was consigned to my care, to manage as much for his advantage as I could; -it consisted of a large estate and fifty thousand pounds. At the period Freelove -became my ward, I had had a constant run of ill-luck for many months. -The ardor of gaming (unlike every other passion) is rather increased than -diminished by disappointment. Without being warned, therefore, by ill-success, -I still went on, till all I could touch of my own property was gone. -Did I then retire, ashamed of my folly? No. I could not bear to do so, -without another effort to recover my losses, and in that effort risked something -more precious than I had ever yet done—namely, my honor, by using -the money which lay in my hands belonging to Freelove; the long period -which was to elapse ere he came of age, emboldened me to this. Ere that -period I trusted I should have retrieved my losses, and be enabled not only -to discharge the principal, but whatever interest it would have brought, if -applied to another purpose. I followed the bent of my evil genius, sum after -sum taken up, and all alike buried in the accursed vortex which had already -swallowed so much from me! But when I found all was gone, oh, Miss -Fitzalan! I still tremble at the distraction of that moment.</p> - -<p>All, as I have said before, that I could touch of my property was gone; -the remainder was so settled I had no power over it, except joined by my -son. Great as was the injury that he would sustain by mortgaging it, I was -confident he never would hesitate doing so if acquainted with my distress; but -to let him know it was worse than a death of torture could be to me; his -early excellence, the nobleness of his principles, mingled in the love I felt -for him a degree of awe; to confess myself a villain to such a character, to -acknowledge my life had been a scene of deceit; to be abashed, confounded -in the presence of my son—to meet his piercing eye—to see the blush of -shame mantle his cheeks for his father’s crimes—Oh, horrible!—most horrible! -I raved at the idea, and resolved, if driven by necessity to tell him -of my baseness, not to survive the confession. At this critical juncture the -Marquis of Roslin came from Scotland to reside in London. An intimacy -which had been dormant for years between our families was then revived, -and I soon found that an alliance between them would be pleasing. The -prospect of it raised me from the very depth of despair. But my transports -were of short continuance, for Mortimer not only showed but expressed the -strongest repugnance to such a connection. Time and daily experience, I -trusted, would so forcibly convince him of the advantages of it, as at last to -conquer this repugnance. Nor did the hope of an alliance taking place -entirely forsake my heart, till informed that his was already bestowed upon -another object. My feelings at this information I shall not attempt to -describe. All hope of saving myself from dishonor was now cut off; for -though dutiful and attentive to me in the highest degree, I could not flatter -myself that Mortimer would blindly sacrifice his reason and inclination to -my will. The most fatal intentions again took possession of my mind; but -the uncertainties he suffered on your account kept me in horrible suspense -as to their execution. After some months of torture, I began again to -revive, by learning that you and Mortimer were inevitably separated. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> -such is the selfish nature of vice; so abandoned is it to all feelings of -humanity, that I rather rejoiced at, than lamented the supposed disgrace of -the daughter of my friend. But the persevering constancy of Mortimer—rather -let me say the immediate interposition of Providence—soon gave her -reason to triumph over the arts of her enemies, and I was again reduced to -despair. Mortimer, I dare say, from motives of delicacy, has concealed -from you the opposition I gave to his wishes after your innocence was -cleared, and the intentions of Lady Martha Dormer relative to you were made -known. At last I found I must either seem to acquiesce in these wishes and -intentions, or divulge my real motive for opposing them; or else quarrel with -my son and sister, and appear in their eyes the most selfish of human beings. -I, therefore, to appearance acquiesced, but resolved in reality to throw myself -upon your mercy, believing that a character so tender, so perfect, so -heroic-like as yours has been, through every scene of distress, would have -compassion on a fallen fellow-creature. Was my situation otherwise than -it now is—were you even portionless—I should rejoice at having you united -to my family, from your own intrinsic merit. Situated as I now am, the -fortune Lady Martha Dormer proposes giving you can be of no consequence -to me. The projected match between you and Mortimer is yet a secret from -the public—of course it has not lessened his interest with the Roslin family. -I have already been so fortunate as to adjust the unlucky difference which -took place between them, and remove any resentment they entertained -against him; and I am confident the first overture he should make for a -union with Lady Euphrasia would be successful. The fortune which would -immediately be received with her is sixty thousand pounds, and five thousand -a-year. The first would be given up to me in place of the settlement -I should make on Lord Mortimer; so that you see, my dear Miss Fitzalan, -his marriage with Lady Euphrasia would at once extricate me from all my -difficulties. Freelove in a few months will be of age, and the smallest delay -in settling with him, after he attains that period, must brand me with dishonor. -I stand upon the verge of a dreadful abyss, and it is in your power -only to preserve me from plunging into it—you who, like an angel of mercy, -may bid me live, and save me from destruction. Yet think not in resigning -Lord Mortimer, if, indeed, such a resignation should take place, you sacrifice -your own interest. No; it shall be my grateful care to secure to you independence; -and I am confident, among the many men you must meet, sensible -of your worth, and enraptured with your charms, you may yet select one as -calculated to render you happy as Mortimer; while he, disappointed of the -object of his affections, will, I have no doubt, without longer hesitation, -accept the one I shall again propose to him. But should you determine on -giving him up, you ask how, and by what means, you can break with him -after what has passed, without revealing your real motive for doing so to -him. That is indeed a difficulty; but after going so far, I must not hesitate -in telling you how it can be removed. You must retire secretly from his -knowledge, and leave no clue behind by which you can be traced. If you -comply with the first of my requests, but stop short here, you will defeat all -that your mercy, your pity, your compassion, would do to save me, since -the consequence of any hesitation must be a full explanation, and I have -already said it, and now repeat it in the most solemn manner, that I will -not survive the divulgement of my secret—for never, no, never will I live -humbled in the eyes of my son. If, then, you comply, comply not in part. -Pardon me, dear Miss Fitzalan, if you think there is anything arbitrary in -my style. I would have softened, if I could, all I had to say, but the time, -the danger, the necessity, urged me to be explicit. I have now to you, as -to a superior Being, opened my whole heart. It rests with you whether I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> -shall live to atone for my follies, or by one desperate action terminate them. -Should you show me mercy, unworthy as I am of it—should you in compassion -to poor Mortimer, comply with a request which can only save him -from the pangs he would feel at a father’s quitting life unbidden, my gratitude, -my admiration, my protection whilst I live, will be yours, and the first -act of my restored life will be to secure you a competence. I shall wait -with trembling anxiety for your appearance tomorrow night. Till then, -believe me</p> - -<p class="quotsig">Your sincere, though most unhappy friend,<br /> -<span class="smcap">Cherbury</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The fatal letter fell from Amanda. A mist overspread her -eyes, and she sunk senseless on her chair; but the privation of -her misery was of short duration, and she recovered as if from -a dreadful dream. She felt cold, trembling, and terrified. She -looked round the room with an eye of apprehension and dismay, -bewildered as to the cause of her wretchedness and terror, -till the letter at her feet again struck her sight.</p> - -<p>“Was there no way,” she asked herself, as she again examined -the contents, “was there no way by which the dreadful -sacrifice it doomed her to could be avoided?” Lady Martha -and Lord Mortimer would unite their efforts to save the honor -of their wretched relative; they would soothe his feelings; they -would compassionate his failings; they would——; but she -started in the midst of these ideas—started as from ideas -fraught with guilt and horror, as those fatal words rushed upon -her mind—"I will not survive the divulgement of my secret;" -and she found that to save the father she must resign the son. -How unworthy of such a sacrifice! engaged as she was to Lord -Mortimer, she began to doubt whether she had a right to make -it. What a doubt! She shuddered for having conceived it, -and reproached herself for yielding a moment to the suggestions -of tenderness which had given rise to it. She resolved without -a farther struggle to submit to reason and to virtue, convinced -that, if accessory to Lord Cherbury’s death, nothing could assuage -her wretchedness, and that the unhappiness Lord Mortimer -would suffer at losing her would be trifling compared to -that he would feel if he lost his father by an act of suicide.</p> - -<p>“In my fate,” exclaimed she, in the low and broken accent -of despair, “there is no alternative. I submit to it without a -farther struggle; I dare not call upon one being to advise me. -I resign him, therefore,” she continued, as if Lord Cherbury -was really present to hear her resignation; “I resign Lord -Mortimer, but, oh, my God!” raising her hands with agony to -heaven, “give me fortitude to bear the horrors of my situation! -Oh, Mortimer! dear, invaluable Mortimer! the hand of fate is -against our union, and we must part, never, never more to meet!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> -From the imputation of ingratitude and guilt I shall not be -allowed to vindicate myself. No, I am completely the victim -of Lord Cherbury—the cruel, perfidious Cherbury, whose -treachery, whose seeming acquiescence in the wishes of his -son, has given me joy but to render my misery more acute!”</p> - -<p>That Lord Mortimer would impute withdrawing herself from -him to an attachment for Belgrave she was convinced, and that -her fame as well as peace should be sacrificed to Lord Cherbury, -caused such a whirl of contending passions in her mind, -that reason and reflection for a few minutes yielded to their -violence, and she resolved to vindicate herself to Lord Mortimer. -This resolution, however, was of short continuance. As -her subsiding passions again gave her power to reflect, she was -convinced that by trying to clear herself of an imaginary crime, -she should commit a real one—since to save her own character -Lord Cherbury’s must be stigmatized; and the consequence -of such an act he had already declared—so that not only by -the world, but by her own conscience, she should forever be -accused of accelerating his death.</p> - -<p>“It must, it must be made!” she wildly cried; “the sacrifice -must be made, and Mortimer is lost to me forever.” She -flung herself on the bed, and passed the hours till morning in -agonies too great for description. From a kind of stupefaction -rather than sleep, into which she had gradually sunk towards -morning, she was roused by a gentle tap at her chamber door, -and the voice of Sister Mary informing her that Lord Mortimer -was below, and impatient for his breakfast.</p> - -<p>Amanda started from the bed, and bid her tell his lordship -she would attend him immediately. She then adjusted her -dress, tried to calm her spirits, and, with uplifted hands and -eyes, besought Heaven to support her through the trials of -the day.</p> - -<p>Weak and trembling she descended to the parlor. The -moment she entered it, Lord Mortimer, shocked and surprised -by her altered looks, exclaimed, “Gracious Heaven! what is -the matter?” Then feeling the feverish heat of her hands, -continued, “Why, why, Amanda, had you the cruelty to conceal -your illness? Proper assistance might have prevented its increasing -to such a degree.” With unutterable tenderness he -folded his arms about her, and, while her drooping head sunk -on his bosom, declared he would immediately send for the physician -who had before attended her.</p> - -<p>“Do not,” said Amanda, while tears trickled down her -cheeks, “do not,” continued she, in a broken voice, “for he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> -could do me no good.” “No good!” repeated Lord Mortimer, -in a terrified accent. “I mean,” cried she, “he would find it -unnecessary to prescribe anything for me, as my illness only -proceeds from the agitation I suffered yesterday. It made me -pass an indifferent night, but quietness to-day will recover me.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was with difficulty persuaded to give up his -intention; nor would he relinquish it till she had promised, if -not better before the evening, to inform him, and let the physician -be sent for.</p> - -<p>They now sat down to breakfast, at which Amanda was unable -either to preside or eat. When over, she told Lord Mortimer -she must retire to her chamber, as rest was essential for her; -but between nine and ten in the evening she would be happy to -see him. He tried to persuade her that she might rest as well -upon the sofa in the parlor as in her chamber, and that he -might then be allowed to sit with her; but she could not be -persuaded to this, she said, and begged he would excuse seeing -her till the time she had already mentioned.</p> - -<p>He at last retired with great reluctance, but not till she had -several times desired him to do so.</p> - -<p>Amanda now repaired to her chamber, but not to indulge -in the supineness of grief, though her heart felt bursting, but to -settle upon some plan for her future conduct. In the first -place, she immediately meant to write to Lord Cherbury, as -the best method she could take of acquainting him with her -compliance, and preventing any conversation between them, -which would now have been insupportable to her.</p> - -<p>In the next place, she designed acquainting the prioress -with the sudden alteration in her affairs, only concealing the -occasion of that alteration, and, as but one day intervened between -the present and the one fixed for her journey, meant to -beseech her to think of some place to which she might retire -from Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<p>Yet such was the opinion she knew the prioress entertained -of Lord Mortimer, that she almost dreaded she would impute -her resignation of him to some criminal motive, and abandon -her entirely. If this should be the case (and scarcely could -she be surprised if it was), she resolved without delay to go -privately to the neighboring town, and from thence proceed -immediately to Dublin. How she should act there, or what -would become of her, never entered her thoughts; they were -wholly engrossed about the manner in which she should leave -St. Catherine’s.</p> - -<p>But she hoped, much as appearances were against her, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> -should not be deserted by the prioress. Providence, she -trusted, would be so compassionate to her misery, as to preserve -her this one friend, who could not only assist but advise her.</p> - -<p>As soon as she had settled the line of conduct she should -pursue, she sat down to pen her renunciation of Lord Mortimer, -which she did in the following words:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO THE EARL OF CHERBURY.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Lord</span>,—To your wishes I resign my happiness; my happiness, I repeat, -for it is due to Lord Mortimer to declare that a union with such a -character as his must have produced the highest felicity. It is also due to -my own to declare, that it was neither his rank nor his fortune, but his virtues, -which influenced my inclination in his favor.</p> - -<p>Happy had it been for us all, my lord, but particularly for me, had you -continued steady in opposing the wishes of your son. My reverence for -paternal authority is too great ever to have allowed me to act in opposition -to it. I should not then, by your seeming acquiescence to them, have been -tempted to think my trials all over.</p> - -<p>But I will not do away any little merit your lordship may perhaps ascribe -to my immediate compliance with your request, by dwelling upon the sufferings -it entails on me. May the renunciation of my hopes be the means of -realizing your lordship’s, and may superior fortune bring superior happiness -to Lord Mortimer!</p> - -<p>I thank your lordship for your intentions relative to me; but whilst I do -so, must assure you, both now and forever, I shall decline having them executed -for me.</p> - -<p>I shall not disguise the truth. It would not be in your lordship’s power -to recompense the sacrifice I have made you; and, besides, pecuniary obligations -can never sit easy upon a feeling mind, except they are conferred -by those we know value us, and whom we value ourselves. I have the -honor to be, your lordship’s obedient servant,</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Amanda Fitzalan.</span></p></blockquote> - -<p>The tears she had with difficulty restrained while writing, -now burst forth. She rose and walked to the window, to try if -the air would remove the faintness which oppressed her. From -it she perceived Lord Mortimer and the prioress in deep conversation, -at a little distance from the convent. She conjectured -she was their subject; for, as Lord Mortimer retired, the -prioress, whom she had not seen that day before, came into -her chamber. After the usual salutations—“Lord Mortimer -has been telling me you were ill,” said she. “I trusted a -lover’s fears had magnified the danger; but truly, my dear -child, I am sorry to say that this is not the case. Tell me, my -dear, what is the matter? Surely now, more than ever, you -should be careful of your health.” “Oh, no!” said Amanda, -with a convulsive sob. “Oh, no" wringing her hands, “you -are sadly mistaken.” The prioress grew alarmed, her limbs -began to tremble, she was unable to stand, and, dropping on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> -the nearest chair, besought Amanda, in a voice expressive of -her feelings, “to explain the reason of her distress.”</p> - -<p>Amanda knelt before her, she took her hands, she pressed -them to her burning forehead and lips, and bedewed them with -her tears, while she exclaimed, “she was wretched.” -“Wretched!” repeated the prioress. “For Heaven’s sake be -explicit—keep me no longer in suspense—you sicken my very -heart by your agitation—it foretells something dreadful!”</p> - -<p>“It does indeed,” said Amanda. “It foretells that Lord -Mortimer and I shall never be united!”</p> - -<p>The prioress started, and surveyed Amanda with A look -which seemed to say, “she believed she had lost her senses;” -then, with assumed composure, begged “she would defer any -farther explanation of her distress till her spirits were in a -calmer state.” “I will not rise,” cried Amanda, taking the -prioress’s hand, which, in her surprise, she had involuntarily -withdrawn. “I will not rise till you say that, notwithstanding -the mysterious situation in which I am involved, you will continue -to be my friend. Oh! such an assurance would assuage -the sorrows of my heart.”</p> - -<p>The prioress now perceived that it was grief alone which -disordered Amanda; but how she had met with any cause for -grief, or what could occasion it, were matters of astonishment -to her. “Surely my dear child,” cried she, “should know me -too well to desire such an assurance; but, however mysterious -her situation may appear to others, she will not, I trust and believe, -let it appear so to me. I wait with impatience for an explanation.” -“It is one of my greatest sorrows,” exclaimed -Amanda, “that I cannot give such an explanation. No, no,” -she continued in an agony, “a death-bed confession would not -authorize my telling you the occasion of Lord Mortimer’s -separation and mine.” The prioress now insisted on her taking -a chair, and then begged, as far as she could, without farther -delay, she would let her into her situation.</p> - -<p>Amanda immediately complied. “An unexpected obstacle -to her union with Lord Mortimer,” she said, “had arisen, an -obstacle which, while compelled to submit to it, she was bound -most solemnly to conceal.” It was expedient, therefore, she should -retire from Lord Mortimer, without giving him the smallest intimation -of such an intention, lest, if he suspected it, he should inquire -too minutely, and by so doing, plunge not only her but himself -into irremediable distress. To avoid this, it was necessary -all but the prioress should be ignorant of her scheme: and by -her means she hoped she should be put in away of finding such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> -a place of secrecy and security as she should require. She -besought the prioress, with streaming eyes, not to impute her -resignation of Lord Mortimer to any unworthy motive; to that -Heaven, which could alone console her for his loss, she appealed -for her innocence. She besought her to believe her sincere; -to pity, but not condemn her; to continue her friend now, when -her friendship was most needful in this her deep distress, and -she assured her, if it was withdrawn, she believed she could no -longer struggle with her sorrows.</p> - -<p>The prioress remained silent for a few minutes, and then -addressed her in a solemn voice. “I own, Miss Fitzalan, your -conduct appears so inexplicable, so astonishing, that nothing -but the opinion I have formed of your character, from seeing -the manner in which you have acted since left to yourself, could -prevent my esteem from being diminished; but I am persuaded -you cannot act from a bad motive, therefore, till that persuasion -ceases, my esteem can know no diminution. From this -declaration you maybe convinced that, to the utmost of my -power, I will serve you; yet, ere you finally determine and require -such service, weigh well what you are about; consider -in the eyes of the world you are about acting a dishonorable -part, in breaking your engagement with Lord Mortimer without -assigning some reason for doing so. Nothing short of a point -of conscience should influence you to this.” “Nothing short -of it has,” replied Amanda; “therefore pity, and do not aggravate -my feelings, by pointing out the consequences which will -attend the sacrifice I am compelled to make; only promise -(taking the prioress’s hand),—only promise, in this great and -sad emergency, to be my friend.”</p> - -<p>Her looks, her words, her agonies, stopped short all the -prioress was going to say. She thought it would be barbarity any -longer to dwell upon the ill consequences of an action, which she -was now convinced some fatal necessity compelled her to; she -therefore gave her all the consolation now in her power, by -assuring her she would immediately think about some place for -her to retire to, and would keep all that had passed between -them a profound secret. She then insisted on Amanda’s lying -down, and trying to compose herself; she brought her drops to -take, and drawing the curtains about her, retired from the room. -In two hours she returned. Though she entered the chamber -softly, Amanda immediately drew back the curtain, and appeared -much more composed than when the prioress had left her. The -good woman would not let her rise, but sat down on the bed to -tell her what she had contrived for her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> -“She had a relation in Scotland,” she said, “who, from reduced -circumstances, had kept a school for many years. But -as the infirmities of age came on, she was not able to pay so -much attention to her pupils as their friends thought requisite, -and she had only been able to retain them by promising to get -a person to assist her. As she thought her cousin (the prioress) -more in the way of procuring such a one than herself, she had -written to her for that purpose. A clever, well-behaved young -woman, who would be satisfied with a small salary, was what -she wanted. I should not mention such a place to you,” said the -prioress, “but that the necessity there is for your immediately -retiring from Lord Mortimer leaves me no time to look out for -another. But do not imagine I wish you to continue there. No, -indeed; I should think it a pity such talents as you possess -should be buried in such obscurity. What I think is, that you -can stay there till you grow more composed, and can look out -for a better establishment.” “Do not mention my talents,” -said Amanda; “my mind is so enervated by grief, that it will -be long before I can make any great exertion, and the place you -have mentioned is, from its obscurity, just such a one as I desire -to go to.” “There is, besides, another inducement,” said -the prioress, “namely, its being but a few miles from Port-Patrick, -to which place a fair wind will bring you in a few hours -from this. I know the master of a little wherry, which is perpetually -going backwards and forwards. He lives in this neighborhood, -and both he and his wife consider themselves under -obligations to me, and will rejoice, I am sure, at an opportunity -of obliging me. I shall therefore send for him this evening, informing -him of the time you wish to go, and desire his care till -he leaves you himself at Mrs. Macpherson’s.”</p> - -<p>Amanda thanked the prioress, who proceeded to say, “that -on the presumption of her going to her cousin’s, she had already -written a letter for her to take; but wished to know whether -she would be mentioned by her own or a fictitious name.”</p> - -<p>Amanda replied, “By a fictitious one,” and, after a little -consideration, fixed on that of Frances Donald, which the -prioress accordingly inserted, and then read the letter:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MRS. MACPHERSON.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cousin</span>,—The bearer of this letter, Frances Donald, is the young -person I have procured you for an assistant in your school. I have known -her some time, and can vouch for her cleverness and discretion. She is -well born, and well educated, and has seen better days: but the wheel of -fortune is continually turning, and she bears her misfortunes with a patience -that to me is the best proof she could give of a real good disposition. I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> -told her you give but ten pounds a-year. Her going proves she is not dissatisfied -with the salary. I am sorry to hear you are troubled with rheumatic -pains, and hope, when you have more time to take care of yourself, you -will grow better. And all the sisters join me in thanking you for your kind -inquiries after them. We do tolerably well in the little school we keep, and -trust our gratitude to Heaven for its present goodness will obtain a continuance -of it. I beg to hear from you soon; and am, my dear cousin, your -sincere friend and affectionate kinswoman,</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Dermot.</span></p> - -<p>St. Catherine’s.</p></blockquote> - -<p>“I have not said as much as you deserve,” said the prioress; -“but if the letter does not meet your approbation, I will make -any alteration you please in it.” Amanda assured her it did, -and the prioress then said, “that Lord Mortimer had been -again at the convent to inquire after her, and was told she was -better.” Amanda said, “she would not see him till the hour -she had appointed for his coming to supper.” The prioress -agreed, that as things were changed, she was right in being in -his company as little as possible, and, to prevent her being -in his way, she should have her dinner and tea in her own -room. The cloth was accordingly laid in it, nor would the good-natured -prioress depart till she saw Amanda eat something. -Sister Mary, she said, was quite anxious to come in, and perform -the part of an attendant, but was prevented by her.</p> - -<p>The distraction of Amanda’s thoughts was now abated, from -having everything adjusted relative to her future conduct, and -the company of the prioress, who returned to her as soon as she -had dined, prevented her losing the little composure she had -with such difficulty acquired.</p> - -<p>She besought the prioress not to delay writing after her departure, -and to relate faithfully everything which happened in -consequence of her flight. She entreated her not to let a mistaken compassion -for her feelings influence her to conceal anything, -as anything like the appearance of concealment in her -letter would only torture her with anxiety and suspense.</p> - -<p>The prioress solemnly promised she would obey her request, -and Amanda, with tears, regretted that she was now unable to -recompense the kindness of the prioress and the sisterhood, as -she had lately intended doing by Lord Mortimer’s desire, as -well as her own inclination. The prioress begged her not to -indulge any regret on that account, as they considered themselves -already liberally recompensed, and had, besides, quite -sufficient to satisfy their humble desires.</p> - -<p>Amanda said she meant to leave a letter on the dressing-table -for Lord Mortimer, with the notes which he had given her -enclosed in it. “The pictures and the ring,” said she, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> -falling tear, “I cannot part with;" for the things which she -had ordered from the neighboring town, she told the prioress -she would leave money in her hands, also a present for the -woman, who had been engaged to attend her to England, as -some small recompense for her disappointment. She meant -only to take some linen and her mourning to Scotland; the -rest of her things, including her music and books, at some future -and better period might be sent after her.</p> - -<p>Amanda was in debt to the sisterhood for three months’ -board and lodging, which was ten guineas. Of the two hundred -pounds which Lord Mortimer had given her on leaving -Castle Carberry, one hundred and twenty pounds remained, so -that though unable to answer the claims of gratitude, she thanked -Heaven she was able to fulfil those of justice. This she told -the prioress, who instantly declared, “that, in the name of the -whole sisterhood, she would take upon her to refuse anything -from her.” Amanda did not contest the point, being secretly determined -how to act. The prioress drank tea with her. When -over, Amanda said she would lie down, in order to try and be -composed against Lord Mortimer come. The prioress accordingly -withdrew, saying, “she should not be disturbed till then.”</p> - -<p>By this means Amanda was enabled to be in readiness for -delivering her letter to Lord Cherbury at the proper hour. -Her heart beat with apprehension as it approached. She -dreaded Lord Mortimer again surprising her amongst the ruins, -or some of the nuns following her to them. At last the clock -gave the signal for keeping her appointment. She arose, trembling, -from the bed, and opened the door. She listened, and no -noise announced any one’s being near. The moments were -precious. She glided through the gallery, and had the good -fortune to find the hall-door open. She hastened to the ruins, -and found Lord Cherbury already waiting there. She presented -him the letter in silence. He received it in the same manner; -but when he saw her turning away to depart, he snatched her -hand, and, in a voice that denoted the most violent agitation, -exclaimed: “Tell me, tell me, Miss Fitzalan, is this letter propitious?” -“It is,” replied she, in a faltering voice. “Then -may Heaven eternally bless you,” cried he, falling at her feet, -and wrapping his arms about her. His posture shocked Amanda, -and his detention terrified her.</p> - -<p>“Let me go, my lord,” said she. “In pity to me, in mercy -to yourself, let me go; for one moment longer and we may be -discovered.”</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury started up—"From whom,” cried he, “can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> -I hear about you?” “From the prioress of St. Catherine’s,” -replied Amanda, in a trembling voice; “she only will know -the secret of my retreat.”</p> - -<p>He again snatched her hand and kissed it with vehemence. -“Farewell, thou angel of a woman!” he exclaimed, and disappeared -amongst the ruins. Amanda hurried back, dreading -every moment to meet Lord Mortimer; but she neither met him -nor any other person. She had scarcely gained her chamber -ere the prioress came to inform her his lordship was in the parlor. -She instantly repaired to it. The air had a little changed -the deadly hue of her complexion, so that from her looks he -supposed her better, and her words strengthened the supposition. -She talked with him, forced herself to eat some supper, and -checked the tears from falling, which sprang to her eyes, whenever -he mentioned the happiness they must experience when -united, the pleasure they should enjoy at Thornbury, and the -delight Lady Martha and Lady Araminta would experience -whenever they met.</p> - -<p>Amanda desired him not to come to breakfast the next -morning, nor to the convent till after dinner, as she should be -so busy preparing for her journey she would have no time to -devote to him. He wanted to convince her he should not retard -her preparations by coming, but she would not allow this.</p> - -<p>Amanda passed another wretched night. She breakfasted -in the morning with the nuns, who expressed their regret at -losing her—a regret, however, mitigated by the hope of shortly -seeing her again, as Lord Mortimer had promised to bring her -to Castle Carberry as soon as she had visited his friends in -England. This was a trying moment for Amanda. She could -scarcely conceal her emotions, or keep herself from weeping -aloud, at the mention of a promise never to be fulfilled. She -swallowed her breakfast in haste, and withdrew to her chamber -on pretence of settling her things. Here she was immediately -followed by the nuns, entreating they might severally be employed -in assisting her. She thanked them with her usual sweetness, -but assured them no assistance was necessary, as she had -but few things to pack, never having unlocked the chests which -had come from Castle Carberry. They retired on receiving this -assurance, and Amanda, fearful of another interruption, instantly -sat down to write her farewell letter to Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO LORD MORTIMER.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Lord</span>,—A destiny, which neither of us can control, forbids our -union. In vain were obstacles encountered and apparently overcome; one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> -has arisen to oppose it which we never could have thought of, and, yielding -to it, as I am compelled by dire necessity to do, I find myself separated -from you, without the remotest hope of our ever meeting again—without -being allowed to justify my conduct, or offer one excuse which might, in -some degree, palliate the abominable ingratitude and deceit I may appear -guilty of; appear, I say, for in reality my heart is a stranger to either, and -is now agonized at the sacrifice it is compelled to make; but I will not -hurt your lordship’s feelings by dwelling on my own sufferings. Already -have I caused you too much pain, but never again shall I cross your path -to disturb your peace, and shade your prospect of felicity; no, my lord, -removed to a tedious distance, the name I love no more will sink upon my -ear, the delusive form of happiness no more will mock me.</p> - -<p>Had everything turned out according to my wishes, perhaps happiness, -so great, so unexpected, might have produced a dangerous revolution in my -sentiments, and withdrawn my thoughts too much from heaven to earth: if so, -oh! blessed be the power that snatched from my lips the cup of joy, though -at the very moment I was tasting the delightful beverage.</p> - -<p>I cannot bid you pity me, though I know myself deserving of compassion; -I cannot bid you forbear condemning me, though I know myself undeserving -of censure. In this letter I enclose the notes I received from -your lordship; the picture and the ring I have retained; they will soon be -my only vestiges of former happiness. Farewell, Lord Mortimer, dear and -invaluable friend, farewell forever. May that peace, that happiness you so -truly deserve to possess, be yours, and may they never again meet with such -interruptions as they have received from the unfortunate</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Amanda M. Fitzalan.</span></p></blockquote> - -<p>This letter was blistered with her tears; she laid it in a -drawer till evening, and then proceeded to pack whatever she -meant to take with her in a little trunk. In the midst of this -business the prioress came in to inform her she had seen the -master of the wherry, and settled everything with him. He -not only promised to be secret, but to sail the following morning -at four o’clock, and conduct her himself to Mrs. Macpherson’s. -About three he was to come to the convent for her; -he had also promised to provide everything necessary on board -for her.</p> - -<p>Matters being thus arranged, Amanda told the prioress, to -avoid suspicion, she would leave the money she intended for -the woman who had been engaged to accompany her to England -on her dressing-table, with a few lines purporting who it -was for. The prioress approved of her doing so, as it would -prevent any one from suspecting she was privy to her departure. -She was obliged to leave her directly, and Amanda took the -opportunity of putting up fifteen guineas in a paper—five for -the woman, and ten for the nuns. She wished to do more for -them, but feared to obey the dictates of generosity, while her -own prospect of provision was so uncertain. She wrote as -follows to the prioress:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span>—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MRS. DERMOT.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,—Was my situation otherwise than it now is, be assured -I never should have offered the trifle you will find in this paper as any way -adequate to the discharge of my debt; to you and your amiable companions, -I regret my inability (more than I express) of proving my gratitude -to you and them for all your kindness—never will they be obliterated from -my remembrance; and He who has promised to regard those that befriend -the orphan, will reward you for them. I have also left five guineas for the -woman you were so good as to engage to attend me to England. I trust she -will think them a sufficient recompense for any trouble or disappointment -I may have occasioned her.</p> - -<p>Farewell, dear Mrs. Dermot, dear and amiable inhabitants of St. Catherine’s -farewell. As Amanda will never forget you in hers, so let her never -be forgotten in your orisons, and never cease to believe her.</p> - -<p class="quotsig">Grateful, sincere, and affectionate,<br /> -<span class="smcap">A. M. Fitzalan.</span></p></blockquote> - -<p>By this time she was summoned to dinner. Her spirits were -sunk in the lowest dejection at the idea of leaving the amiable -women who had been so kind to her, and above all at the idea -of the last sad evening she was to pass with Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<p>His lordship came early to the convent. The dejected -looks of Amanda immediately struck him, and renewed all his -apprehensions about her health. She answered his tender -inquiries by saying she was fatigued.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” said he, “you would like to rest one day, and -not commence your journey to-morrow!”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” cried Amanda, “it shall not be deferred. To-morrow,” -continued she, with a smile of anguish, “I will commence -it.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer thanked her for a resolution, he imagined, -dictated by an ardent desire to please him; but at the same -time again expressed his fears that she was ill.</p> - -<p>Amanda perceived that if she did not exert herself her dejection -would lead him to inquiries she would find it difficult to -evade; but as to exert herself was impossible, in order to withdraw -his attention in some degree from herself, she proposed -that, as this was the last evening they would be at the convent, -they should invite the nuns to drink tea with them. Lord -Mortimer immediately acquiesced in the proposal, and the invitation -being sent was accepted.</p> - -<p>But the conversation of the whole party was of a melancholy -kind. Amanda was so much beloved among them, that the -prospect of losing her filled them with a regret which even the -idea of seeing her soon again could not banish. About nine, -which was their hour for prayers, they rose to retire, and would -have taken leave of Lord Mortimer, had he not informed them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> -that on Miss Fitzalan’s account, he would not commence the -journey next day till ten o’clock, at which time he would again -have the pleasure of seeing them.</p> - -<p>When they withdrew he endeavored to cheer Amanda, and -besought her to exert her spirits. Of his own accord, he said, -he would leave her early, that she might get as much rest as -possible against the ensuing day. He accordingly rose to depart. -What an agonizing moment for Amanda; to hear, to -behold the man, so tenderly beloved, for the last time; to think -that ere that hour the next night she should be far, far away -from him, considered as a treacherous and ungrateful creature, -despised, perhaps execrated, as a source of perpetual disquiet -and sorrow to him! Her heart swelled at those ideas with feelings -she thought would burst it: and when he folded her to his -bosom, and bid her be cheerful against the next morning, she -involuntarily returned the pressure, by straining him to her -heart in convulsive agitation, whilst a shower of tears burst -from her. Lord Mortimer, shocked and surprised at these -tears and emotions, reseated her, for her agitation was contagious, -and he trembled so much he could not support her; then -throwing himself at her feet, “My Amanda! my beloved girl!” -cried he, “what is the matter? Is any wish of your heart yet -unfulfilled? If so, let no mistaken notion of delicacy influence -you to conceal it—on your happiness you know mine depends; -tell me, therefore, I entreat, I conjure you, tell me, is there anything -I can do to restore you to cheerfulness?” “Oh, no!” -said Amanda, “all that a mortal could do to serve me you have -already done, and my gratitude, the fervent sense I have of the -obligations I lie under to you, I cannot fully express. May -Heaven,” raising her streaming eyes,—"may Heaven recompense -your goodness by bestowing the choicest of its blessings -on you!” “That,” said Lord Mortimer, half smiling, “it has -already done in giving you to me, for you are the choicest blessing -it could bestow; but tell me, what has dejected you in this -manner! something more than fatigue, I am sure.”</p> - -<p>Amanda assured him “he was mistaken;" and, fearful of -his further inquiries, told him, “she only waited for his departure -to retire to rest, which she was convinced would do her -good.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer instantly rose from his kneeling posture: -“Farewell, then, my dear Amanda,” cried he, “farewell, and be -well and cheerful against the morning.”</p> - -<p>She pressed his hand between hers, and laying her cold wet -cheek upon it: “Farewell,” said she; “when we next meet I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> -shall, I trust, be well and cheerful; for in heaven alone (thought -she at that moment) we shall ever meet again.”</p> - -<p>On the spot in which he left her Amanda stood motionless, -till she heard the hall-door close after him; all composure then -forsook her, and, in an agony of tears and sobs, she threw herself -on the seat he had occupied. The good prioress, guessing -what her feelings at this moment must be, was at hand, and -came in with drops and water, which she forced her to take, and -mingled the tears of sympathy with hers.</p> - -<p>Her soothing attentions in a little time had the effect she -desired. They revived in some degree her unhappy young -friend, who exclaimed, “that the severest trial she could ever -possibly experience was now over.” “And will, I trust and -believe,” replied the prioress, “even in this life be yet rewarded.”</p> - -<p>It was agreed that Amanda should put on her habit, and be -prepared against the man came for her. The prioress promised, -as soon as the house was at rest, to follow her to her chamber. -Amanda accordingly went to her apartment and put on her -travelling dress. She was soon followed by the prioress, who -brought in bread, wine, and cold chicken; but the full heart of -Amanda would not allow her to partake of them, and her tears, -in spite of her efforts to restrain them, again burst forth. “She -was sure,” she said, “the prioress would immediately let her -know if any intelligence arrived of her brother, and she again -besought her to write as soon as possible after her departure, -and to be minute.”</p> - -<p>She left the letters—one for Lord Mortimer and the other -for the prioress—on the table, and then with a kind of melancholy -impatience waited for the man, who was punctual to the -appointed hour of three, and announced his arrival by a tap at -the window. She instantly rose and embraced the prioress in -silence, who, almost as much affected as herself, had only power -to say, “God bless you, my dear child, and make you as happy -as you deserve to be.”</p> - -<p>Amanda shook her head mournfully, as if to say she expected -no happiness, and then, softly stepping along the gallery, opened -the hall-door, where she found the man waiting. Her little -trunk was already lying in the hall. She pointed it out to him, -and as soon as he had taken it they departed.</p> - -<p>Never did any being feel more forlorn than Amanda now did. -What she suffered when quitting the marchioness’s was comparatively -happiness to what she now endured. She then looked -forward to the protection, comfort, and support of a tender<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> -parent; now she had nothing in view which could in the least -cheer or alleviate her feelings. She cast her mournful eyes -around, and the objects she beheld heightened, if possible, her -anguish. She beheld the old trees which shaded the grave of -her father waving in the morning breeze, and oh! how fervently -at that moment did she wish that by his side she was laid beneath -their shelter!</p> - -<p>She turned from them with a heart-rending sigh, which -reached the ear of the man who trudged before her. He instantly -turned, and seeing her pale and trembling, told her he -had an arm at her service, which she gladly accepted, being -scarcely able to support herself. A small boat was waiting for -them about half a mile above Castle Carberry. It conveyed -them in a few moments to the vessel, which the master previously -told her would be under weigh directly. She was -pleased to find his wife on board, who conducted Amanda to -the cabin, where she found breakfast laid out with neatness for -her. She took some tea and a little bread, being almost -exhausted with fatigue. Her companion, imputing her dejection -to fears of crossing the sea, assured her the passage would -be very short, and bid her observe how plainly they could see -the Scottish hills, now partially gilded by the beams of the -rising sun; but, beautiful as they appeared, Amanda’s eyes -were turned from them to a more interesting object,—Castle -Carberry. She asked the woman if she thought the castle -could be seen from the opposite coast? and she replied in the -negative.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry for it,” said Amanda, mournfully. She continued -at the window for the melancholy pleasure of contemplating -it, till compelled by sickness to lie down on the bed. -The woman attended her with the most assiduous care, and -about four o’clock in the afternoon informed her they had -reached Port-Patrick. Amanda arose, and sending for the -master, told him, as she did not wish to go to an inn, she -would thank him to hire a chaise to carry her directly to Mrs. -Macpherson’s. He said she should be obeyed; and Amanda -having settled with him for her passage, he went on shore for -that purpose, and soon returned to inform her a carriage was -ready. Amanda, having thanked his wife for her kind attention, -stepped into the boat, and entered the chaise the moment -she landed. Her companion told her he was well acquainted -with Mrs. Macpherson, having frequently carried packets from -Mrs. Dermot to her. She lived about five miles from Port-Patrick, -he said, and near the sea-coast. They accordingly soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> -reached her habitation. It was a small, low house, of a grayish -color, situated in a field almost covered with thistles, and -divided from the road by a rugged-looking wall. The sea lay -at a little distance from it. The coast hereabouts was extremely -rocky, and the prospect on every side wild and dreary in the -extreme.</p> - -<p>Amanda’s companion, by her desire, went first into the -house to prepare Mrs. Macpherson for her reception. He returned -in a few minutes, and telling her she was happy at her -arrival, conducted her into the house. From a narrow passage, -they turned into a small, gloomy-looking parlor, with a clay -floor. Mrs. Macpherson was sitting in an old-fashioned arm-chair—her -face was sharp and meagre—her stature low, and, -like Otway’s ancient Beldame, doubled with age; her gown -was gray stuff, and, though she was so low, it was not long -enough to reach her ankle; her black-silk apron was curtailed -in the same manner, and over a little mob-cap she wore a handkerchief -tied under the chin. She just nodded to Amanda on -her entrance, and, putting on a pair of large spectacles, surveyed -her without speaking. Amanda presented Mrs. Dermot’s -introductory letter, and then, though unbidden, seated -herself on the window-seat till she had perused it. Her trunk, -in the mean time, was brought in, and she paid for the carriage, -requesting at the same time the master of the vessel to wait -till she had heard what Mrs. Macpherson would say. At length -the old lady broke silence, and her voice was quite as sharp as -her face.</p> - -<p>“So, child,” said she, again surveying Amanda, and then -elevating her spectacles to have a better opportunity of speaking, -“why, to be sure I did desire my cousin to get me a young -person, but not one so young, so very young, as you appear to -be.” “Lord bless you!” said the man, “if that is a fault, -why, it is one will mend every day.” “Ay, ay,” cried the old -dame, “but it will mend a little too slow for me. However, -child, as you are so well recommended, I will try you. My -cousin says something of your being well born, and having seen -better days. However, child, I tell you beforehand, I shall not -consider what you have been, but what you are now. I shall -therefore expect you to be mild, regular, and attentive—no -flaunting, no gadding, no chattering, but staid, sober, and -modest.” “Bless your heart,” said the man, “if you look in -her face you will see she’ll be all you desire.” “Ay, ay, so you -may say; but I should be very sorry to depend upon the -promise of a face—like the heart, it is often treacherous and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> -deceitful; so pray, young woman, tell me, and remember I expect -a conscientious answer, whether you think you will be able -to do as I wish?” “Yes, madam,” replied Amanda, in a -voice almost choked by the variety of painful emotions she -experienced.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, we are agreed, as you know the salary I give.” -The master of the vessel now took his leave, never having been -asked by Mrs. Macpherson to take any refreshment.</p> - -<p>The heart of Amanda sunk within her from the moment she -entered Mrs. Macpherson’s door. She shuddered at being left -with so unsocial a being in a place so wild and dreary. A -hovel near St. Catherine’s she would have thought a palace in -point of real comfort to her present habitation, as she then -could have enjoyed the soothing society of the tender and -amiable nuns. The presence of the master of the vessel, from -the pity and concern he manifested for her, had something consolatory -in it, and when he left the room she burst into tears, as -if then, and not till then, she had been utterly abandoned. -She hastily followed him out. “Give my love, my best love,” -said she, sobbing violently, and laying her trembling hand on -his, “to Mrs. Dermot, and tell her, oh! tell her to write directly, -and give me some comfort.”</p> - -<p>“You may depend on my doing so,” replied he, “but cheer -up, my dear young lady; what though the old dame in the -parlor is a little cranky, she will mend, no doubt; so Heaven -bless you, and make you as happy as you deserve to be.”</p> - -<p>Sad and silent, Amanda returned to the parlor, and seating -herself in the window, strained her eyes after the carriage which -had brought her to this dismal spot.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Of joys departed, never to return,</span> -<span class="i0">How bitter the remembrance!”—<span class="smcap">Blair</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>“Well, child,” said Mrs. Macpherson, “do you choose to -take anything?” “I thank you, madam,” replied Amanda, -“I should like a little tea.” “Oh! as to tea, I have just taken -my own, and the things are all washed and put by; but, if you -like a glass of spirits and water, and a crust of bread, you may -have it.” Amanda said she did not. “Oh! very well,” cried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> -Mrs. Macpherson, “I shall not press you, for supper will soon -be ready.” She then desired Amanda to draw a chair near -hers, and began torturing her with a variety of minute and -trifling questions relative to herself, the nuns, and the neighborhood -of St. Catherine’s.</p> - -<p>Amanda briefly said, “her father had been in the army, that -many disappointments and losses had prevented his making -any provision for her, and that on his death, which happened -in the neighborhood of the convent, the nuns had taken her -out of compassion, till she procured an establishment for herself.” -“Ay, and a comfortable one you have procured yourself, -I promise you,” said Mrs. Macpherson, “if it is not your -own fault.” She then told Amanda, “she would amuse her by -showing her her house and other concerns.” This indeed was -easily done, as it consisted but of the parlor, two closets adjoining -it, and the kitchen, on the opposite side of the entry; the -other concerns were a small garden, planted with kail, and the -field covered with thistles. “A good, comfortable tenement -this,” cried Mrs. Macpherson, shaking her head with much -satisfaction, as she leaned upon her ebony-headed cane, and -cast her eyes around. She bid Amanda admire the fine prospect -before the door, and, calling to a red-haired and bare-legged -girl, desired her to cut some thistles to put into the fire, -and hasten the boiling of the kail. On returning to the parlor -she unlocked a press, and took out a pair of coarse, brown -sheets to air for Amanda. She herself slept in one closet, and -in the other was a bed for Amanda, laid on a half-decayed bedstead, -without curtains, and covered with a blue-stuff quilt. -The closet was lighted by one small window, which looked into -the garden, and its furniture consisted of a broken chair, and a -piece of looking-glass stuck to the wall.</p> - -<p>The promised supper was at length served. It consisted -of a few heads of kail, some oaten bread, a jug of water, and a -small phial half full of spirits, which Amanda would not taste, -and the old lady herself took but sparingly. They were lighted -by a small candle, which, on retiring to their closets, Mrs. Macpherson -cut between them.</p> - -<p>Amanda felt relieved by being alone. She could now without -restraint indulge her tears and her reflections; that she -could never enjoy any satisfaction with a being so ungracious -in her manners and so contracted in her notions, she foresaw; -but, disagreeable as her situation must be, she felt inclined to -continue in it, from the idea of its giving her more opportunities -of hearing from Mrs. Dermot than she could have in almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> -any other place, and by these opportunities alone could she expect -to hear of Lord Mortimer; and to hear of him, even the -most trifling circumstance, though divided, forever divided -from him, would be a source of exquisite though melancholy -pleasure.</p> - -<p>To think she should hear of him, at once soothed and fed -her melancholy. It lessened the violence of sorrow, yet without -abating its intenseness; it gave a delicious sadness to her -soul she thought would be ill exchanged for any feelings short -of those she must have experienced, if her wishes had been -accomplished. She enjoyed the pensive luxury of virtuous -grief, which mitigates the sharp</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i2">“With gracious drops</span> -<span class="i0">Of cordial pleasure,”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>and which Akenside so beautifully describes; nor can I forbear -quoting the lines he has written to illustrate the truth—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i7">“Ask the faithful youth</span> -<span class="i0">Why the cold urn of her, whom long he loved</span> -<span class="i0">So often fills his arms, so often draws</span> -<span class="i0">His lonely footsteps at the silent hour,</span> -<span class="i0">To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?</span> -<span class="i0">O, he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds</span> -<span class="i0">Should ne’er seduce his bosom to forego</span> -<span class="i0">That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise</span> -<span class="i0">Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes</span> -<span class="i0">With virtue’s kindest looks his aching heart,</span> -<span class="i0">And turns his tears to rapture.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Fatigued by the contending emotions she experienced, as -well as the sickness she went through at sea, Amanda soon -retired to her flock bed, and fell into a profound slumber, in -which she continued till roused in the morning by the shrill -voice of Mrs. Macpherson, exclaiming, as she rapped at the -door, “Come, come, Frances, it is time to rise.”</p> - -<p>Amanda started from her sleep, forgetting both the name -she had adopted and the place where she was; but Mrs. Macpherson -again calling her to rise, restored her to her recollection. -She replied she would attend her directly, and, hurrying -on her clothes, was with her in a few minutes. She found the -old lady seated at the breakfast-table, who, instead of returning -her salutation, said, “that on account of her fatigue she -excused her lying so long in bed this morning, for it was now -eight o’clock; but in future she would expect her to rise before -six in summer, and seven in winter, adding, as there was -no clock, she would rap at her door for that purpose every -morning.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span>Amanda assured her “she was fond of rising early, and -always accustomed to it.” The tea was now poured out; it -was of the worst kind, and sweetened with coarse brown sugar; -the bread was oaten, and there was no butter. Amanda, unused -to such unpalatable fare, swallowed a little of it with difficulty, -and then, with some hesitation, said “she would prefer -milk to tea.” Mrs. Macpherson frowned exceedingly at this, -and, after continuing silent a few minutes, said, “she had really -made tea for two people, and she could not think of having it -wasted; besides, she added, the economy of her house was so -settled she could not infringe it for any one.” She kept no cow -herself, and only took in as much milk as served her tea and -an old tabby-cat.</p> - -<p>Amanda replied, “it was of no consequence,” and Mrs. -Macpherson said, indeed she supposed so, and muttered something -of people giving themselves airs they had no pretensions -to. The tea-table was removed before nine, when the school -began; it consisted of about thirty girls, most of them daughters -of farmers in the neighborhood. Amanda and they being introduced -to each other (and she being previously informed what -they were taught), was desired to commence the task of instructing -them entirely herself that day, as Mrs. Macpherson -wanted to observe her manner—a most unpleasant task indeed -for poor Amanda, whose mind and body were both harassed by -anxiety and fatigue. As she had undertaken it, however, she -resolved to go through it with as much cheerfulness and alacrity -as possible. She accordingly acquitted herself to the -satisfaction of Mrs. Macpherson, who only found fault with her -too great gentleness, saying, the children would never fear her. -At two the school broke up, and Amanda, almost as delighted -as the children to be at liberty, was running into the garden to -try if the air would be of use to a very violent headache; when -she was called back to put the forms and other things in order. -She colored, and stood motionless, till recollecting that if she -refused to obey Mrs. Macpherson a quarrel would probably -ensue, which, circumstanced as she was, without knowing -where to go to, would be dreadful, she silently performed what -she had been desired to do. Dinner was then brought in; it -was as simple and as sparing as a Braman could desire it to be. -When over, Mrs. Macpherson composed herself to take a nap -in the large chair, without making any kind of apology to -Amanda.</p> - -<p>Left at liberty, Amanda would now have walked out; but -it had just begun to rain, and everything looked dreary and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> -desolate. From the window in which she pensively sat she had -a view of the sea; it looked black and tempestuous, and she -could distinguish its awful and melancholy roaring as it dashed -against the rocks. The little servant-girl, as she cleaned the -kitchen, sung a dismal Scotch ditty, so that all conspired to -oppress the spirits of Amanda with a dejection greater than -she had before ever experienced; all hope was now extinct, -the social ties of life seemed broken, never more to be reunited. -She had now no father, no friend, no lover, as heretofore, to -soothe her feelings, or alleviate her sorrows. Like the poor -Belvidera she might have said,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i11">“There was a time</span> -<span class="i11">Her cries and sorrows</span> -<span class="i0">Were not despised, when, if she chanced to sigh,</span> -<span class="i0">Or but look sad, a friend or parent</span> -<span class="i0">Would have taken her in their arms,</span> -<span class="i0">Eased her declining head upon their breasts,</span> -<span class="i0">And never left her till they found the cause;</span> -<span class="i0">But now let her weep seas,</span> -<span class="i0">Cry till she rend the earth, sigh till she burst</span> -<span class="i0">Her heart asunder, she is disregarded.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Like a tender sapling, transplanted from its native soil, she -seemed to stand alone, exposed to every adverse blast. Her -tears gushed forth, and fell in showers down her pale cheeks. -She sighed forth the name of her father: “Oh! dear and most -benignant of men,” she exclaimed, “my father and my friend; -were you living, I should not be so wretched; pity and consolation -would then be mine. Oh! my father, one of the dreariest -caverns in yonder rocks would be an asylum of comfort -were you with me; but I am selfish in these regrets, certain as -I am that you exchanged this life of wretchedness for one of -eternal peace, for one where you were again united to your -Malvina.”</p> - -<p>Her thoughts adverted to what Lord Mortimer, in all probability, -now thought of her; but this was too dreadful to dwell -upon, convinced as she was, that, from appearances, he must -think most unfavorably of her. His picture was hung in her -bosom, she drew it out. She gazed with agonizing tenderness -upon it. She pressed it to her lips, and prayed for its original. -From this indulgence of sorrow she was disturbed by the waking -of Mrs. Macpherson. She hastily wiped away her tears, -and hid the beloved picture. The evening passed most disagreeably. -Mrs. Macpherson was tedious and inquisitive in her -discourse, and it was almost as painful to listen as to answer -her. Amanda was happy when the hour for retiring to bed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> -arrived, and relieved her from what might be called a kind of -mental bondage.</p> - -<p>Such was the first day Amanda passed in her new habitation, -and a week elapsed in the same manner without any variation, -except that on Sunday she had a cessation from her -labors, and went to the kirk with Mrs. Macpherson. At the -end of the week she found herself so extremely ill from the -fatigue and confinement she endured, as Mrs. Macpherson -would not let her walk out, saying, “gadders were good for -nothing"—that she told her, except allowed to go out every -evening, she must leave her, as she could not bear so sedentary -a life. Mrs. Macpherson looked disconcerted, and grumbled -a good deal; but as Amanda spoke in a resolute manner, she -was frightened lest she should put her threats into execution, -she was so extremely useful in the school; and at last told her -she might take as much exercise as she pleased every day after -dinner.</p> - -<p>Amanda gladly availed herself of this permission. She explored -all the romantic paths about the house; but the one she -chiefly delighted to take was that which led to the sea. She -loved to ramble about the beach; when fatigued to sit down -upon the fragment of a rock and look towards the opposite -shore. Vainly then would she try to discover some of the objects -she knew so well. Castle Carberry was utterly undistinguishable, -but she knew the spot on which it stood, and derived -a melancholy pleasure from looking that way. In these -retired rambles she would freely indulge her tears, and gaze -upon the picture of Lord Mortimer. She feared no observation; -the rocks formed a kind of recess about her, and in -going to them she seldom met a creature.</p> - -<p>A fortnight passed in this way, and she began to feel surprise -and uneasiness at not hearing from Mrs. Dermot. If -much longer silent, she resolved on writing, feeling it impossible -to endure much longer the agony her ignorance of Lord -Mortimer’s proceedings gave her. The very morning previous -to the one she had fixed for writing she saw a sailor coming to -the house, and believing he was the bearer of a letter to her, -she forgot everything but her feelings at the moment, and -starting from her seat ran from the room. She met him a few -yards from the house, and then perceived he was one of the -sailors of the vessel she had come over in. “You have a -letter for me, I hope?” said Amanda. The man nodded, and -fumbling in his bosom for a moment, pulled out a large packet, -which Amanda snatched with eager transport from him; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> -knowing she could not attempt to bring him into the house for -refreshment, gave him a crown to procure it elsewhere, which he -received with thankfulness, and departed. She then returned -to the parlor, and was hastening to her closet to read the letter, -when Mrs. Macpherson stopped her. “Hey-day,” cried she, -“what is the matter?—what is all this fuss about? Why, one -would think that was a love letter, you are so very eager to -read it.” “It is not, then, I can assure you" said Amanda. -“Well, well; and who is it from?” Amanda reflected that if -she said from Mrs. Dermot a number of impertinent questions -would be asked her. She therefore replied: “From a very -particular friend.” “From a very particular friend! Well, I -suppose there is nothing about life or death in it, so you may -wait till after dinner to read it; and pray sit down now, and -hear the children their spelling lessons.” This was a tantalizing -moment to Amanda. She stood hesitating whether she -should obey, till reflecting that if she went now to read the -packet, she should most probably be interrupted ere she had got -through half the contents, she resolved on putting it up till after -dinner. The moment at last came for Mrs. Macpherson’s usual -nap, and Amanda instantly hastened to a recess amongst the -rocks, where seating herself, she broke the seal. The envelope -contained two letters. The first she cast her eyes upon was -directed in Lord Cherbury’s hand. She trembled, tore it open, -and read as follows:—</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS FITZALAN.</p> - -<p>In vain, my dear madam, do you say you never will receive pecuniary -favors from me. It is not you, but I, should lie under obligations from their -acceptance. I should deem myself the most ungrateful of mankind if I did -not insist on carrying this point. I am but just returned to London, and -shall immediately order my lawyer to draw up a deed entitling you to three -hundred pounds a year, which, when completed, I shall transmit to the -prioress (as I have this letter) to send to you. I am sensible, indeed, that -I never can recompense the sacrifice you have made me. The feelings it -has excited I shall not attempt to express, because language could never do -them justice; but you may conceive what I must feel for the being who has -preserved me from dishonor and destruction. I am informed Lord Mortimer -has left Ireland, and therefore daily expect him in town. I have -now not only every hope, but every prospect, of his complying with my -wishes. This, I imagine, will be rather pleasing to you to hear, that you -may know the sacrifice you have made is not made in vain, but will be -attended with all the good consequences I expected to derive from it. I -should again enjoy a tolerable degree of peace, were I assured you were -happy; but this is an assurance I will hope soon to receive; for if you are -not happy, who has a right to expect being so?—you whose virtue is so pure, -whose generosity is so noble, so heroic, so far superior to any I have ever -met with!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> -That in this world, as well as the next, you may be rewarded for it, is, -dear madam, the sincere wish of him who has the honor to subscribe himself -your most grateful, most obliged, and most obedient, humble servant,</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Cherbury</span>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>“Unfeeling man!” exclaimed Amanda, “how little is your -heart interested in what you write, and how slight do you make -of the sacrifice I have made you; how cruelly mention your -hopes, which are derived from the destruction of mine! No, -sooner would I wander from door to door for charity, than be -indebted to your ostentatious gratitude for support—you, whose -treachery and vile deceit have ruined my happiness.” She -closed the letter, and committing it to her pocket, took up the -other, which she saw by the direction was from her dear Mrs. -Dermot.</p> - -<blockquote><p class="center">TO MISS DONALD.</p> - -<p>Ah! my dear child, why extort a promise from me of being minute in -relating everything which happened in consequence of your departure—a -promise so solemnly given that I dare not recede from it; yet most unwillingly -do I keep it, sensible as I am that the intelligence I have to communicate -will but aggravate your sorrows. Methinks I hear you exclaim at -this: “Surely, my dear Mrs. Dermot, you who know my disposition and -temper so well, might suppose I would receive such intelligence with a fortitude -and patience that would prevent its materially injuring me.” Well, -my dear, hoping this will be the case, I begin, without further delay, to communicate -particulars. You left me, you may remember, about three o’clock. -I then went to bed, but so fatigued and oppressed I could scarcely sleep, -and was quite unrefreshed by what I did get. After prayers I repaired to -the parlor, where the assiduous care of Sister Mary had already prepared -everything for your breakfast and Lord Mortimer’s. I told the sisters not -to appear till they were sent for. I had not been long alone when Lord -Mortimer came in—cheerful, blooming, animated. Never did I see happiness -so strongly impressed in any countenance as in his. He looked, indeed, -the lover about receiving the precious reward of constancy. He asked me -had I seen you? I answered, No. He soon grew impatient, said you were -a lazy girl, and feared you would make a bad traveller. He then rang the -bell, and desired the maid to go and call you. Oh! my dear girl, my heart -almost died within me at this moment. I averted my head, and pretended -to be looking at the garden to conceal my confusion. The maid returned -in a few minutes, and said you were not above. “Well,” said Lord Mortimer, -“she is in some other apartment; pray search, and hasten her -hither.” In a few minutes after she departed, Sister Mary, all pale and -breathless, rushed into the room. “Oh, heavens!” cried she, “Miss Fitzalan -cannot be found; but here are two letters I found on her dressing-table—one -for you, madam, and one for Lord Mortimer.” I know not how he -looked at this instant, for a guilty consciousness came over my mind, which -prevented my raising my eyes to his. I took the letter in silence, opened, -but had no power to read it. Sister Mary stood by me, wringing her hands -and weeping, as she exclaimed, “What—what does she say to you?” I -could neither answer her nor move, till a deep sigh, or rather groan, from -Lord Mortimer roused me. I started from my seat, and perceive him pale<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> -and motionless, the letter open in his hand, upon which his eyes were -riveted. I threw open the garden door to give him air. This a little -revived him. “Be comforted, my lord,” said I. He shook his head -mournfully, and waving his hand for me neither to speak nor follow him, -passed into the garden. “Blessed Heaven!” said Sister Mary again, -“what does she say to you!” I gave her your letter, and desired her to -read it aloud, for the tears which flowed at the affecting situation of Lord -Mortimer quite obscured my sight. And here, my dear child, I must declare -that you have been too generous, and also, that the sum you betrayed us -into taking is but considered as a loan by us. But, to return to my first -subject. The alarm concerning you now became general, and the nuns -crowded into the room—grief and consternation in every countenance. In -about half an hour I saw Lord Mortimer returning to the parlor, and I then -dismissed them. He had been endeavoring to compose himself, but his -efforts for doing so were ineffectual. He trembled, was pale as death, and -spoke with a faltering voice. He gave me your letter to read, and I put -mine into his hand. “Well, my lord,” said I, on perusing it, “we must -rather pity than condemn her.” “From my soul,” cried he, “I pity her—I -pity such a being as Amanda Fitzalan, for being the slave, the prey of -vice. But she has been cruel to me; she has deceived, inhumanly deceived -me, and blasted my peace for ever!” “Ah, my lord!” I replied, “though -appearances are against her, I can never believe her guilty. She, who performed -all the duties of a child, as Amanda Fitzalan did, and who, to my -certain knowledge, was preparing herself for a life of poverty, can never be -a victim to vice.” “Mention her no more,” cried he; “her name is like a -dagger to my heart. The suspicions which, but a few nights ago, I could -have killed myself for entertaining, are now confirmed. They intruded on -my mind from seeing Belgrave haunting this place, and from finding her -secreted amidst the ruins at a late hour. Ah, heavens! when I noticed her -confusion, how easily did she exculpate herself to a heart prepossessed like -mine in her favor! Unhappy, unfortunate girl! sad and pitiable is thy fate! -but may an early repentance snatch thee from the villain who now triumphs -in thy ruin; and may we, since thus separated, never meet again. So well,” -continued he, “am I convinced of the cause of her flight, that I shall not -make one inquiry after her.” I again attempted to speak in your justification, -but he silenced me. I begged he would allow me to get him breakfast. -He could touch nothing, and said he must return directly to Castle Carberry, -but promised, in the course of the day, to see me again. I followed -him into the hall. At the sight of your corded boxes, he started, and shrunk -back, with that kind of melancholy horror which we involuntarily feel when -viewing anything that belonged to a dear, lost friend. I saw his emotions -were agonizing. He hid his face with his handkerchief, and, with a hasty -step, ascended to his carriage, which, with a travelling chaise, was waiting -at the door.</p> - -<p>I own I was often tempted, in the course of conversation, to tell him all -I knew about you; but the promise I had given you still rose to my view, -and I felt, without your permission, I could not break it; yet, my dear, it is -shocking to me to have such imputations cast on you. We cannot blame -Lord Mortimer for them. Situated as you were with him, your conduct has -naturally excited the most injurious suspicions. Surely, my child, though -not allowed to solve the mystery which has separated you from him, you -may be allowed to vindicate your conduct. The sacrifice of fame and happiness -is too much. Consider and weigh well what I say, and, if possible, -authorize me to inform Lord Mortimer that I know of your retreat, and that -you have retired neither to a lover nor a friend; but to indigence and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> -obscurity, led thither by a fatal necessity which you are bound to conceal, -and feel more severely from that circumstance. He would, I am confident, -credit my words; and then, instead of condemning, would join me in pitying -you. The more I reflect on your unaccountable separation, the more am -I bewildered in conjectures relative to it, and convinced more strongly than -ever of the frailty of human joy, which, like a summer cloud, is bright, but -transitory in its splendor. Lord Mortimer had left the convent about two -hours, when his man arrived to dismiss the travelling chaise and attendants. -I went out and inquired after his lord. “He is very bad, madam,” said he, -“and this has been a sad morning for us all.” Never, my dear Miss Fitzalan, -did I, or the sisterhood, pass so melancholy a day. About five in the -afternoon, I received another visit from Lord Mortimer. I was alone in the -parlor, which he entered with an appearance of the deepest melancholy; -one of his arms was in a sling. I was terrified, lest he and Belgrave had -met. He conjectured, I fancy, the occasion of the terror my countenance -expressed, for he immediately said he had been ill on returning to Castle -Carberry, and was bled. He was setting off directly for Dublin, he said, -from whence he intended to embark for England. “But I could not depart, -my dear, good friend,” continued he, “without bidding you farewell; besides, -I wanted to assure you, that any promise which the unfortunate girl made -you in my name I shall hold sacred.” I knew he alluded to the fifty pounds -which he had desired you to tell me should be annually remitted to our -house. I instantly, therefore, replied, that we had already been rewarded -beyond our expectation or desires for any little attention we showed -Miss Fitzalan; but his generous resolution was not to be shaken. He -looked weak and exhausted. I begged permission to make tea for him -ere he commenced his journey. He consented. I went out of the room to -order in the things. When I returned, he was standing at the window -which looked into the garden, so absorbed in meditation that he did not -hear me. I heard him say, “Cruel Amanda! is it thus you have rewarded -my sufferings?” I retreated, lest he should be confused by supposing himself -overheard, and did not return till the maid brought in the tea things.</p> - -<p>When he arose to depart, he looked wavering and agitated, as if there was -something on his mind he wanted courage to say. At last, in a faltering -voice, while the deadly paleness of his complexion gave way to a deep crimson, -he said, “I left Miss Fitzalan’s letter with you.” Ah, my dear! -never did man love woman better than he did, than he now loves you. I -took the letter from my pocket, and presented it to him. He put it in his -bosom, with an emotion that shook his whole frame. I hailed this as a -favorable opportunity for again speaking in your favor. I bid him retrospect -your past actions, and judge from them whether you could be guilty -of a crime——. He stopped me short. He begged me to drop a subject -he was unable to bear. Had he been less credulous, he said, he should now -have been much happier; then wringing my hand, he bid me farewell, in a -voice, and with a look, that drew tears from me. “Ah, my dear madam!” -cried he, “when this day commenced, how differently did I think it would -have terminated!”</p> - -<p>I attended him to his carriage. He was obliged to lean upon his man -as he ascended to it, and his looks and agitation proclaimed the deepest -distress. I have sent repeatedly to Castle Carberry since his departure to -inquire about him, and have been informed, that they expect to hear nothing -of him till Lord Cherbury’s agent comes into the country, which will -not be these three months.</p> - -<p>I have heard much of the good he did in the neighborhood. He has a -bounteous and benevolent spirit indeed. To our community he has been a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> -liberal benefactor, and our prayers are daily offered up for his restoration -to health and tranquillity. Amongst his other actions, when in Dublin, -about three months ago, he ordered a monument to the memory of Captain -Fitzalan, which has been brought down since your departure, and put up in -the parish church, where he is interred. I sent Sister Mary and another of -the nuns the other evening to see it, and they brought me a description of -it. It is a white marble urn, ornamented with a foliage of laurel, and standing -upon a pedestal of gray, on which the name of the deceased, and words -to the following effect, are inscribed, namely: “That he whose memory it -perpetuates, performed the duties of a Christian and a soldier, with a fidelity -and zeal that now warrants his enjoying a blessed recompense for both.”</p> - -<p>I know this proof of respect to your father will deeply affect you; but I -would not omit telling it, because, though it will affect, I am confident it -will also please you. The late events have cast a gloom over all our spirits. -Sister Mary now prays more than ever; and you know I have often told -her she was only fit for a religious vocation. It is a bad world, she says, -we live in, and she is glad she has so little to say to it.</p> - -<p>I am longing to hear from you. Pray tell me how you like Mrs. Macpherson. -I have not seen her since her youth, and years often produce as -great a change in the temper as the face. At any rate, your present situation -is too obscure for you to continue in, and, as soon as your thoughts are -collected and composed, you must look out for another. I hope you will be -constant in writing; but I tell you beforehand, you must not expect me to -be punctual in my answers—I have been so long disused to writing, and my -eyes are grown so weak. This letter has been the work of many days; besides, -I have really nothing interesting to communicate: whenever I have, -you may be assured I shall not lose a moment in informing you.</p> - -<p>The woman was extremely thankful for the five guineas you left her. -Lord Mortimer sent her five more by his man; so that she thinks herself -well rewarded for any trouble or disappointment she experienced. If you -wish to have any of your things sent to you, acquaint me; you know I shall -never want an opportunity by the master of the vessel. He speaks largely -of your generosity to him, and expresses much pity at seeing so young a -person in such melancholy. May Heaven, if it does not remove the source, -at least lessen this melancholy.</p> - -<p>If possible, allow me to write to Lord Mortimer, and vindicate you from -the unworthy suspicions he entertains of you. I know he would believe me, -and I should do it without discovering your retreat. Farewell, my dear -girl. I recommend you constantly to the care of Heaven, and beg you to -believe you will ever be dear and interesting to the heart of</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Dermot</span>.</p> - -<p>St. Catherine’s.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Poor Amanda wept over this letter. “I have ruined the -health, the peace of Lord Mortimer,” she exclaimed, “and he -now execrates me as the source of his unhappiness. Oh! -Lord Cherbury, how severely do I suffer for your crime!” -She began to think her virtue had been too heroic in the -sacrifice she had made. But this was a transient idea, for -when she reflected on the disposition of Lord Cherbury, she -was convinced the divulgement of his secret would have been -followed by his death; and, great as was her present wretchedness, -she felt it light compared to the horrors she knew she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> -would experience could she accuse herself of being accessory to -such an event. She now drank deeply of the cup of misery, -but conscious rectitude, in some degree, lessened its noxious -bitterness. She resolved to caution Mrs. Dermot against mentioning -her in any manner to Lord Mortimer. She was well -convinced he would believe no asseveration of her innocence. -And even if he did, what end could it answer? Their union -was opposed by an obstacle not to be surmounted, and if he -sought and discovered her retreat, it would only lead to new -sorrows, perhaps occasion some dreadful catastrophe. “We -are separated,” cried she, folding her hands together, “forever -separated in this world, but in Heaven we shall again be -reunited.”</p> - -<p>Absorbed in the reflections and sorrow this letter gave rise -to, she remained in her seat till Mrs. Macpherson’s little girl -suddenly appeared before her, and said her mistress had made -tea, and was wondering what kept her out so long.</p> - -<p>Amanda instantly arose, and carefully putting up the letter, -returned to the house, where she found Mrs. Macpherson in a -very bad humor. She grumbled exceedingly at Amanda’s -staying out so long, and taking notice of her eyes being red -and swelled, said, “indeed, she believed she was right in supposing -she had got a love-letter.” Amanda made no reply, -and the evening passed away in peevishness on one side and -silence on the other.</p> - -<p>The charm which had hitherto rendered Amanda’s situation -tolerable was now dissolved, as Mrs. Dermot had said she -could write but seldom, and scarcely expected to have anything -interesting to relate. She would gladly, therefore, have left -Mrs. Macpherson immediately, but she knew not where to go. -She resolved, however, ere winter had entirely set in, to request -Mrs. Dermot to look out for some other place for her: as she -had connections in Scotland, she thought she might recommend -her to them as a governess, or a fit person to do fine works for -a lady. She rose long before her usual hour the next morning, -and wrote a letter expressive of her wishes and intentions to -Mrs. Dermot, which she sent by a poor man, who lived near -the house, to the post-town, rewarding him liberally for his -trouble.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i2">“Who knows the joys of friendship,</span> -<span class="i0">The trust, security and mutual tenderness,</span> -<span class="i0">The double joys, where each is glad for both;</span> -<span class="i0">Friendship, our only wealth, our last retreat and strength,</span> -<span class="i0">Secure against ill-fortune and the world?”—<span class="smcap">Rowe.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Among Mrs. Macpherson’s pupils were two little girls, who -pleased and interested Amanda greatly. Their father, for -whom they were in mourning, had perished in a violent storm, -and their mother had pined in health and spirits ever since -the fatal accident. The kindness with which Amanda treated -them, they repaid with gratitude and attention. It had a -double effect upon their little hearts, from being contrasted -with the sour austerity of Mrs. Macpherson. They told -Amanda, in a whisper, one morning, that their mamma was -coming to see their dear, good Frances Donald.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, in the course of the day, Mrs. Duncan came. -She was young and pleasing in her appearance; her weeds and -deep dejection rendered her a most interesting object. She -sat by Amanda, and took an opportunity, while Mrs. Macpherson -was engaged with some of the children, to tell her, in a low -voice, “she was truly obliged to her for the great attention and -kindness she showed her little girls, so unlike their former -treatment at the school.” “The task of instructing them was -hers,” she said, “till her declining health and spirits rendered -her no longer able to bear it.” Amanda assured her, “it was -a pleasure to instruct minds so docile and sweet tempered as -theirs.” Mrs. Duncan, as she rose to depart, asked her and -Mrs. Macpherson to tea that evening, which invitation was -instantly accepted by Mrs. Macpherson, who was extremely -fond of being sociable everywhere but in her own house. Mrs. -Duncan lived at but a little distance, and everything in and -about her house was neat and comfortable. She had an old -neighbor in the parlor, who kept Mrs. Macpherson in chat, and -gave her an opportunity of conversing freely with Amanda. -She remarked the delicacy of her looks, and said “She believed -she was ill-qualified to endure so fatiguing a life as her -present one.” She mentioned her own lonely and melancholy -life, and the happiness she would derive from having such a -companion, and expressed her hopes of often enjoying her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> -society. Amanda said this would be impossible without disobliging -Mrs. Macpherson; and Mrs. Duncan, on reflection, -allowed it would be so. She then inquired if she ever walked? -Amanda replied she did; and was asked where she generally -rambled? By the sea-side, she answered. Mrs. Duncan sighed -deeply, and her eyes filled with tears. “It is there I generally -ramble too,” said she. This led to the mention of her late -loss. “Mr. Duncan had been the kindest, best of husbands,” -she said; “the first years of their marriage were attended -with difficulties, which were just removed, when he was lost on -a party of pleasure, with several others. It was some consolation, -however,” continued Mrs. Duncan, “that the body was -cast upon the shore, and I had the power of paying the last -rites of decency and respect to him.” In short, between her -and Amanda there appeared a mutual sympathy, which rendered -them truly interesting to each other. From this period -they generally met every evening, and passed many hours on -the “sea-beat shore,” talking, and often weeping, over joys -departed, never to return! Mrs. Duncan was too delicate to -inquire into Amanda’s former situation; but was well convinced -it had been very different from her present one. Amanda, -however, of her own accord, told her what she had told Mrs. -Macpherson respecting herself. Mrs. Duncan lamented her -misfortunes; but since she had met them, blessed the happy -chance which conducted her near her habitation.</p> - -<p>A month passed in this manner, when one evening, at the -usual place of meeting, Mrs. Duncan told her, “that she believed -she should soon be quitting that part of the country.” Amanda -started, and turned pale at this disagreeable intelligence. She -had received no answer to her letter from Mrs. Dermot, consequently -dreaded that necessity would compel her to remain in -her present situation, and on Mrs. Duncan’s society she had -depended for rendering it bearable to her.</p> - -<p>“I have been invited, my dear girl,” said Mrs. Duncan, -leaning on her arm as they walked up and down the beach, -“to reside with an aunt, who has always been kind, and particularly -so to me in my distress. She lives about ten miles from -this, at an old place called Dunreath Abbey, of which she is -housekeeper. Have you ever heard of it?” Amanda’s agitation -at hearing her mother’s native habitation mentioned, is not -to be described. Her heart palpitated; she felt her color -change, and said Yes and No to Mrs. Duncan, without knowing -what she answered. Then recollecting herself, she replied, -“she had heard of it.” “Well, then, my dear,” continued Mrs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> -Duncan, “my aunt, as I have already told you, is housekeeper -there. She lives in great grandeur, for it is a magnificent old -seat, and has the absolute command of everything, as none of -the family have resided at it since the Earl of Dunreath’s decease. -My aunt is lately grown weary of the profound solitude -in which she lives, and has asked me, in a letter which I received -this morning, to go immediately and take up my residence with -her, promising, if I do, she will leave everything she is worth to -me and my children; and as her salary is very good, I know she -must have saved a good deal. This is a very tempting offer, -and I am only withheld from accepting it directly by the fear -of depriving my children of the advantages of education.” -“Why,” said Amanda, “what they learn at Mrs. Macpherson’s -they could easily learn anywhere else.” “But I intended, when -they were a little older,” replied Mrs. Duncan, “to go to some -one of the neighboring towns with them. If I once go to my -aunt, I must entirely relinquish such an idea, and to a boarding-school -I could not send them, for I have not fortitude to -bear a separation from them. What I wish, therefore, is to -procure a person who would be at once a pleasing companion -for me, and an eligible governess for them. With such a person, -the solitude of Dunreath Abbey would be rather agreeable than -irksome to me.”</p> - -<p>She looked earnestly at Amanda as she spoke, and Amanda’s -heart began to throb with hope and agitation. “In short, -my dear girl,” continued she, “you of all others, to be explicit, -are the person I would choose to bring along with me. Your -sweet society would alleviate my sorrows, and your elegant accomplishments -give to my children all the advantages I desire -them to possess.” “I am not only flattered, but happy by your -prepossession in my favor,” replied Amanda.</p> - -<p>“I am pleased we agree in point of inclination,” said Mrs. -Duncan; “but I must now inform you that my aunt has always -been averse to admit any strangers to the Abbey. Why, I know -not, except it is by the commands of the family; and she tells -me in her letter, that if I accept her invitation, I must not on -any account let it be known where I am removing to. I dare -not, therefore, bring you with me without her permission; but -I shall write immediately and request it. In the course of a -day or two I may expect an answer. In the mean time, give -Mrs. Macpherson no intimation of our present intentions, lest -they should be defeated.” Amanda promised she would not, -and they separated.</p> - -<p>She was now in a state of the greatest agitation, at the prob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span>ability -there was that she might visit the seat of her ancestors. -She dreaded a disappointment, and felt that, if she went there -as the companion of Mrs. Duncan, she should be better situated -than a few hours before she had ever expected to be again. -Two evenings after her conversation with Mrs. Duncan, on going -to the beach to meet her, she saw her approaching with an -open letter in her hand, and a smile on her face, which informed -her its contents were pleasing. They were so indeed, as they -gave permission to have Amanda brought to the Abbey, provided -she promised inviolable secrecy as to where she was going. -This Amanda cheerfully did, and Mrs. Duncan said she had -some affairs to settle, which would prevent their departure for -a few days. At whatever time she appointed, her aunt was to -send a carriage for then, and it was now agreed that Mrs. -Macpherson should be informed Mrs. Duncan was leaving that -part of the country, and had engaged Amanda as a governess to -her children.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Duncan then mentioned her own terms. Amanda assured -her an idea of them had never entered her thoughts. Mrs. -Duncan said she was sure of that, but at the same time thought -between the most intimate friends exactness should be preserved. -Everything being settled to their mutual satisfaction, they separated, -and the following day, after school broke up, Amanda -informed Mrs. Macpherson of her intended departure. The -old dame was thunderstruck, and for some time unable to speak; -but when she recovered the use of her tongue, she expressed -the utmost rage and indignation against Amanda, Mrs. Duncan, -and the prioress. Against the first for thinking of leaving her, -the second for inveigling her away, and the third for recommending -a person who could serve her in such a manner. When she -stopped, exhausted by her violence, Amanda took the opportunity -of assuring her that she had no reason to condemn any of -them; as for her part, previous to Mrs. Duncan’s offer, she intended -to leave her, being unable to bear a life of such fatigue; -that as her removal would not be immediate, Mrs. Macpherson -could suffer no inconvenience by it, there being time enough to -look out for another person ere it took place. But the truth -now broke from Mrs. Macpherson; angry as she was with -Amanda, she could not help confessing, that she never again expected -to meet with a person so well qualified to please her, -and a torrent of bitter reproaches again burst forth for her -quitting her.</p> - -<p>Amanda resented them not, but did all in her power to mollify -her; as the most effectual method of doing so, she declared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> -she meant to take no recompense for the time she had been -with her, and added, if she had her permission, she would write -that evening to Mrs. Dermot about a woman she had seen at -the convent, whom she thought well qualified to be an assistant -in her school. This was the woman who had been engaged to -attend her to England. Mrs. Macpherson at last consented -she should write for her, as her wrath had gradually subsided -from the moment Amanda declared she would take no payment. -Amanda accordingly wrote to Mrs. Dermot, and informed her -of the agreeable change there was about taking place in her -situation; also of Mrs. Macpherson’s displeasure, and her own -wish that a person might immediately be procured to fill the -place she was resigning. She mentioned the woman already -spoken of as a proper person, but requested, if she consented -to come, she might not be allowed to do so till she had left Mrs. -Macpherson’s, else who she really was would be betrayed. She -now thought little of the tedious and disagreeable days she -spent, as the eagerness with which she saw Mrs. Duncan preparing -for their departure promised so speedily to change them. -She received an answer from Ireland even sooner than she expected. -Mrs. Dermot congratulated her on having met with so -amiable a friend as Mrs. Duncan, said the woman accepted the -offer made in Mrs. Macpherson’s name, but should not depart -till she had written for that purpose, and concluded her letter -by saying, there was no intelligence yet of Lord Mortimer. -Mrs. Macpherson was pleased to find she should not be long -without a companion, and two days after the receipt of the -letter Mrs. Duncan told Amanda their journey was fixed for the -ensuing day, and begged Amanda to sleep at her house that -night, to which she gladly consented; accordingly, after dinner -she took leave of Mrs. Macpherson, who grumbled out a farewell, -and a hope that she might not have reason to repent quitting -her, for the old lady was so incensed to have the place Mrs. -Duncan was going to concealed from her that all her ill-humor -had returned. Amanda with a pleasure she could -scarcely conceal, quitted her inhospitable mansion, and, attended -by a man who carried her trunk, soon found herself -at Mrs. Duncan’s, where she was received with every -demonstration of joy. The evening passed sociably away; -they rose early in the morning, and had just breakfasted when -the expected carriage from Dunreath Abbey arrived. It was a -heavy, old-fashioned chaise, on whose faded panels the arms -of the Dunreath family were still visible. Mrs. Duncan’s luggage -had been sent off the preceding day, so that there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> -nothing now to delay them. Mrs. Duncan made Amanda and -the children go into the chaise before her, but, detained by an -emotion of the most painful nature, she lingered sometime after -them upon the threshold. She could not indeed depart from -the habitation where she had experienced so many happy days -with the man of her tenderest affections without a flood of tears, -which spoke the bitterness of her feelings. Amanda knew too -well the nature of those feelings to attempt restraining them; -but the little children, impatient to begin their journey, called -out to their mamma to come into the carriage. She started -when they spoke, but instantly complied with their desire: and -when they expressed their grief at seeing her cheeks wet with -tears, kissed them both, and said she would soon recover her -spirits. She accordingly exerted herself for that purpose, and -was soon in a condition to converse with Amanda. The day -was fine and serene; they travelled leisurely, for the horses had -long outlived their mettlesome days, and gave them an opportunity -of attentively viewing the prospects on each side, which -were various, romantic, and beautiful; the novelty of the -scenes, the disagreeable place she had left, and the idea of the -one she was going to, helped a little to enliven the pensive soul -of Amanda, and she enjoyed a greater degree of tranquillity -than she had before experienced since her separation from -Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i5">“My listening powers</span> -<span class="i0">Were awed, and every thought in silence hung</span> -<span class="i0">And wondering expectation.”—<span class="smcap">Akenside.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>“My dear Fanny,” said Mrs. Duncan, addressing our -heroine by her borrowed name, “if at all inclined to superstition, -you are now going to a place which will call it forth. -Dunreath Abbey is gothic and gloomy in the extreme, and recalls -to one’s mind all the stories they ever heard of haunted -houses and apparitions. The desertion of the native inhabitants -has hastened the depredations of time, whose ravages are unrepaired, -except in the part immediately occupied by the -domestics. Yet what is the change in the building compared -to the revolution which took place in the fortunes of her who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> -once beheld a prospect of being its mistress. The earl of -Dunreath’s eldest daughter, as I have often heard from many, -was a celebrated beauty, and as good as she was handsome, -but a malignant step-mother thwarted her happiness, and forced -her to take shelter in the arms of a man who had everything -but fortune to recommend him—but, in wanting that, he wanted -everything to please her family. After some years of distress, -she found means to soften the heart of her father; but here -the invidious step-mother again interfered, and prevented her -experiencing any good effects from his returning tenderness, -and, it was rumored, by a deep and iniquitous scheme, deprived -her of her birthright. Like other rumors, however, it -gradually died away; perhaps from Lady Malvina and her husband -never hearing of it, and none but them had a right to inquire -into its truth. But if such a scheme was really contrived, -woe be to its fabricator; the pride and pomp of wealth can -neither alleviate nor recompense the stings of conscience. Much -rather,” continued Mrs. Duncan, laying her hands upon her -children’s heads as they sat at her feet,—"much rather would -I have my babes wander from door to door, to beg the dole of -charity, than live upon the birthright of the orphan. If Lady -Dunreath, in reality, committed the crime she was accused of, -she met, in some degree, a punishment for it. Soon after the -Earl’s death she betrayed a partiality for a man every way inferior -to her, which partiality, people have not scrupled to say, -commenced and was indulged to a criminal degree during the -lifetime of her husband. She would have married him, had not -her daughter the Marchioness of Roslin, interfered. Proud -and ambitious, her rage at the prospect of such an alliance, -knew no bounds, and, seconded by the marquis, whose disposition -was congenial to her own, they got the unfortunate mother -into their power, and hurried her off to a convent in France. I -know not whether she is yet living; indeed, I believe there are -few either know or care, she was so much disliked for her -haughty disposition. I have sometimes asked my aunt about -her, but she would never gratify my curiosity. She has been -brought up in the family, and no doubt thinks herself bound to -conceal whatever they choose. She lives in ease and plenty, -and is absolute mistress of the few domestics that reside at the -Abbey. But of those domestics I caution you in time, or they -will be apt to fill your head with frightful stories of the Abbey, -which sometimes, if one’s spirits are weak, in spite of reason, will -make an impression on the mind. They pretend that the Earl -of Dunreath’s first wife haunts the Abbey, venting the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> -piteous moans, which they ascribe to grief for the unfortunate -fate of her daughter, and that daughter’s children being deprived -of their rightful patrimony. I honestly confess, when at -the Abbey a few years ago, during some distresses of my husband, -I heard strange noises one evening at twilight as I walked -in a gallery. I told my aunt of them, and she was quite angry -at the involuntary terror I expressed, and said it was nothing -but the wind whistling through some adjoining galleries which -I heard. But this, my dear Fanny,” said Mrs. Duncan, who -on account of her children had continued the latter part of her -discourse in a low voice, “is all between ourselves; for my -aunt declared she would never pardon my mentioning my ridiculous -fears, or the yet more ridiculous fears of the servants, to -any human being.”</p> - -<p>Amanda listened in silence to Mrs. Duncan’s discourse, -fearful that if she spoke she should betray the emotions it -excited.</p> - -<p>They at last entered between the mountains that enclosed -the valley on which the Abbey stood. The scene was solemn -and solitary. Every prospect, except one of the sea, seen -through an aperture in one of the mountains, was excluded. -Some of these mountains were bare, craggy, and projecting. -Others were skirted with trees, robed with vivid green, and -crowned with white and yellow furze. Some were all a wood -of intermingled shades, and others covered with long and purple -heath. Various streams flowed from them into the valley. -Some stole gently down their sides in silver rills, giving beauty -and vigor wherever they meandered. Others tumbled from -fragment to fragment, with a noise not undelightful to the ear, -and formed for themselves a deep bed in the valley, over which -trees, that appeared coeval with the building, bent their old -and leafy heads.</p> - -<p>At the foot of what to the rest was called a gently swelling -hill lay the remains of the extensive gardens which had once -given the luxuries of the vegetable world to the banquets of the -Abbey; but the buildings which had nursed those luxuries -were all gone to decay, and the gay plantations were overrun -with the progeny of neglect and sloth.</p> - -<p>The Abbey was one of the most venerable looking buildings -Amanda had ever beheld; but it was in melancholy grandeur -she now saw it—in the wane of its days, when its glory was -passed away, and the whole pile proclaimed desertion and decay. -She saw it when, to use the beautiful language of Hutchinson, -its pride was brought low, when its magnificence was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> -sinking in the dust, when tribulation had taken the seat of -hospitality, and solitude reigned, where once the jocund guest -had laughed over the sparkling bowl, whilst the owls sang -nightly their strains of melancholy to the moonshine that slept -upon its mouldering battlements.</p> - -<p>The heart of Amanda was full of the fond idea of her parents, -and the sigh of tender remembrance stole from it. “How -little room,” thought she, “should there be in the human heart -for the worldly pride which so often dilates it, liable as all things -are to change! the distress in which the descendants of noble -families are so often seen, the decline of such families themselves, -should check the arrogant presumption with which so -many look forward to having their greatness and prosperity -perpetuated through every branch of their posterity.</p> - -<p>“The proud possessors of this Abbey, surrounded with affluence, -and living in its full enjoyment, never perhaps admitted -the idea as at all probable, that one of their descendants should -ever approach the seat of her ancestors without that pomp and -elegance which heretofore distinguished its daughters. Alas! -one now approaches it neither to display nor contemplate the -pageantry of wealth, but meek and lowly; not to receive the -smile of love, or the embrace of relatives, but afflicted and -unknown, glad to find a shelter, and procure the bread of -dependence, beneath its decaying roof.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Duncan happily marked not Amanda’s emotion as she -gazed upon the Abbey. She was busily employed in answering -her children’s questions, who wanted to know whether she -thought they would be able to climb up the great big hills they -saw.</p> - -<p>The carriage at last stopped before the Abbey. Mrs. Bruce -was already at the door to receive them. She was a little, -smart old woman, and welcomed her niece and the children -with an appearance of the greatest pleasure. On Amanda’s -being presented to her, she gazed steadfastly in her face a few -minutes, and then exclaimed, “Well, this is very strange; -though I know I could never have seen this young lady before, -her face is quite familiar to me.”</p> - -<p>The hall into which they entered was large and gloomy, -paved with black marble, and supported by pillars, through which -the arched doors that led to various apartments were seen. -Rude implements, such as the Caledonians had formerly used -in war and hunting, were ranged along the walls. Mrs. Bruce -conducted them into a spacious parlor, terminated by an elegant -saloon. This, she told them, had once been the banqueting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span>room. -The furniture, though faded, was still magnificent, and -the windows, though still in the gothic style, from being enlarged -considerably beyond their original dimensions, afforded a most -delightful view of the domain.</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” said Mrs. Duncan, “this apartment, though -one of the pleasantest in the Abbey in point of situation, always -makes me melancholy. The moment I enter it I think of -the entertainments once given in it, and then its present vacancy -and stillness almost instantly reminds me that those who -partook of these entertainments are now almost all humbled -with the dust!” Her aunt laughed, and said, “she was very -romantic.”</p> - -<p>The solemnity of the Abbey was well calculated to heighten -the awe which stole upon the spirit of Amanda from her first -view of it. No noise was heard throughout it, except the hoarse -creaking of the massy doors, as the servants passed from one -room to another, adjusting Mrs. Duncan’s things, and preparing -for dinner. Mrs. Duncan was drawn into a corner of the room -by her aunt, to converse, in a low voice, about family affairs, -and the children were rambling about the hall, wondering and -inquiring about everything they saw.</p> - -<p>Thus left to herself, a soft languor gradually stole over the -mind of Amanda, which was almost exhausted from the emotions -it had experienced. The murmuring sound of waterfalls, -and the buzzing of the flies that basked in the sunny rays -which darted through the casements, lulled her into a kind of -pensive tranquillity.</p> - -<p>“Am I really,” she asked herself, “in the seat of my ancestors? -Am I really in the habitation where my mother was born—where -her irrevocable vows were plighted to my father? I -am; and oh! within it may I at last find an asylum from the -vices and dangers of the world; within it may my sorrowing -spirit lose its agitation, and subdue, if not its affections, at least -its murmurs, at the disappointment of those affections.”</p> - -<p>The appearance of dinner interrupted her. She made exertions -to overcome any appearance of dejection, and the conversation, -if not lively, was at least cheerful. After dinner -Mrs. Duncan, who had been informed by Amanda of her predilection -for old buildings, asked her aunt’s permission to show -her the Abbey. Mrs. Bruce immediately arose, and said she -would have that pleasure herself. She accordingly led the -way. Many of the apartments yet displayed the sumptuous -taste of those who had furnished them. “It is astonishing to -me,” said Mrs. Duncan, “that so magnificent a pile as this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> -should be abandoned, as I may say, by its possessors.” “The -Marquis of Roslin’s castle is a more modern structure than this,” -said Mrs. Bruce, “and preferred by them on that account.” -“So, like the family monument,” rejoined Mrs. Duncan, “they -are merely satisfied with permitting this to stand, as it may -help to transmit the marchioness’s name to posterity.” “How -far does the marquis live from this?” asked Amanda. “About -twelve miles,” replied Mrs. Bruce, who did not appear pleased -with her niece’s conversation, and led the way to a long gallery -ornamented with portraits of the family. This gallery -Amanda knew well by description. This was the gallery in -which her father had stopped to contemplate the picture of her -mother, and her heart throbbed with impatience and anxiety to -see that picture.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bruce, as she went before her, told her the names of the -different portraits. She suddenly stopped before one. “That,” -cried she, “is the Marchioness of Roslin’s, drawn for her when -Lady Augusta Dunreath.” Amanda cast her eyes upon it, and -perceived in the countenance the same haughtiness as still distinguished -the marchioness. She looked at the next panel, -and found it empty.</p> - -<p>“The picture of Lady Malvina Dunreath hung there,” said -Mrs. Bruce; “but after her unfortunate marriage it was taken -down.” “And destroyed,” exclaimed Amanda mournfully. -“No; but it was thrown into the old chapel, where, with the -rest of the lumber (the soul of Amanda was struck at these -words), it has been locked up for years.” “And is it impossible -to see it?” asked Amanda. “Impossible, indeed,” replied -Mrs. Bruce. “The chapel, and the whole eastern part of the -Abbey, have long been in a ruinous situation, on which account -it has been locked up.” “This is the gallery,” whispered Mrs. -Duncan, “in which I heard the strange noises; but not a word -of them to my aunt.” Amanda could scarcely conceal the disappointment -she felt at finding she could not see her mother’s -picture. She would have entreated the chapel might be opened -for that purpose, had she not feared exciting suspicions by -doing so.</p> - -<p>They returned from the gallery to the parlor; and in the -course of conversation Amanda heard many interesting anecdotes -of her ancestors from Mrs. Bruce. Her mother was also -mentioned, and Mrs. Bruce, by dwelling on her worth, made -amends, in some degree, to Amanda for having called her picture -lumber. She retired to her chamber with her mind at once -softened and elevated by hearing of her mother’s virtues. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span> -called upon her father’s spirit, upon them whose kindred souls -were reunited in heaven, to bless their child, to strengthen, -to support her in the thorny path marked out for her to take; -nor to cease their tutelary care till she was joined to them by -Providence.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Such on the ground the fading rose we see,</span> -<span class="i0">By some rude blast torn from the parent tree!</span> -<span class="i0">The daffodil so leans his languid head,</span> -<span class="i0">Newly mown down upon his grassy bed!”—<span class="smcap">Lee.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Experience convinced Amanda that the change in her situation -was, if possible, more pleasing than she expected it -would be. Mrs. Duncan was the kindest and most attentive of -friends. Mrs. Bruce was civil and obliging, and her little -pupils were docile and affectionate. Could she have avoided -retrospection, she would have been happy; but the remembrance -of past events was too deeply impressed upon her mind -to be erased; it mingled in the visions of the night, in the avocations -of the day, and in the meditations of her lonely hours, -forcing from her heart the sighs of regret and tenderness. Her -mornings were devoted to her pupils, and in the evenings she -sometimes walked with Mrs. Duncan, sometimes read aloud -whilst she and her aunt were working; but whenever they were -engaged in chatting about family affairs, or at a game of piquet -(which was often the case), as Mrs. Bruce neither loved walking -nor working, she always took that opportunity of retiring -from the room, and either rambled through the dark and intricate -windings of the Abbey, or about the grounds contiguous -to it. She sighed whenever she passed the chapel which contained -the picture of her mother; it was in a ruinous condition, -but a thick foliage of ivy partly hid while it proclaimed -its decay; the windows were broken in many places, but all too -high to admit the possibility of her gaining admittance through -them, and the door was strongly secured by massy bars of iron, -as was every door which had a communication with the eastern -part of the Abbey. A fortnight passed away at the Abbey without -anything happening to disturb the tranquillity which reigned in -it. No one approached it, except a few of the wandering chil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span>dren -of poverty, and its inhabitants seemed perfectly content -with their seclusion from the world. Amanda, by Mrs. Duncan’s -desire, had told Mrs. Dermot to direct her letters to a -town about five miles from the Abbey; thither a man went -every day, but constantly returned without one for her.</p> - -<p>“Why,” she asked herself, “this anxiety for a letter, this -disappointment at not receiving one, when I neither expect to -hear anything interesting or agreeable? Mrs. Dermot has -already said she had no means of hearing about Lord Mortimer; -and, even if she had, why should I desire such intelligence, -torn as I am from him forever?”</p> - -<p>At the expiration of another week an incident happened, -which again destroyed the composure of our heroine. Mrs. -Bruce one morning hastily entered the room, where she and Mrs. -Duncan were sitting with the little girls, and begged they would -not stir from it till she had told them to do so, as the Marquis -of Roslin’s steward was below stairs, and if he knew of their -residence at the Abbey, she was confident he would reveal it to -his lord, which she had no doubt would occasion her own dismission -from it. The ladies assured her they would not leave -the apartment, and she retired, leaving them astonished at the -agitation she betrayed.</p> - -<p>In about two hours she returned, and said she came to release -them from confinement, as the steward had departed. -“He has brought unexpected intelligence,” said she; “the -marquis and his family are coming down to the castle. The -season is so far advanced, I did not suppose they would visit it -till next summer; I must, therefore,” continued she, addressing -her niece, “send to the neighboring town to procure lodgings -for you till the family leave the country, as no doubt some of -them will come to the Abbey, and to find you in it would, I can -assure you, be attended with unpleasant consequences to me.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Duncan begged she would not suffer the least uneasiness -on her account, and proposed that very day leaving the -Abbey. “No,” Mrs. Bruce replied, “there is no necessity for -quitting it for a few days longer; the family,” continued she, -“are coming down upon a joyful occasion, to celebrate the -nuptials of the marquis’s daughter, Lady Euphrasia Sutherland.” -“Lady Euphrasia’s nuptials!” exclaimed Amanda, in an agitated -voice, and forgetting her own situation. “To whom is -she going to be married?” “To Lord Mortimer,” Mrs. Bruce -replied, “the Earl of Cherbury’s only son; a very fine young -man. I am told the affair has been long talked of; but——" -Here she was interrupted by a deep sigh, or rather groan,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> -from the unfortunate Amanda, who at the same moment fell -back in her chair, pale and without motion. Mrs. Duncan -screamed, and flew to her assistance. Mrs. Bruce, equally -frightened, though less affected, ran for restoratives, and the -children clasped her knees and wept. From her pensive -look and manner, Mrs. Duncan suspected, from their first acquaintance, -that her heart had experienced a disappointment of -the tenderest nature. Her little girls, too, had told her that -they had seen Miss Donald crying over a picture. Her suspicions -concerning such a disappointment were now confirmed by -the sudden emotion and illness of Amanda. But she had all -the delicacy which belongs to true sensibility, and determined -never to let Amanda know she conjectured the source of her -sorrows, certain as she was that they had never originated from -any misconduct.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bruce’s drops restored Amanda’s senses; but she felt -weak and trembling, and begged she might be supported to her -room, to lie down on the bed. Mrs. Bruce and Mrs. Duncan -accordingly led her to it. The former almost immediately retired, -and the tears of Amanda now burst forth. She wept a -long time without intermission; and as soon as her sobs would -permit her to speak, begged Mrs. Duncan to leave her to herself. -Mrs. Duncan knew too well the luxury of secret grief to -deny her the enjoyment of so melancholy a feast, and directly -withdrew.</p> - -<p>The wretched Amanda then asked herself, “if she had not -known before that the sacrifice she made Lord Cherbury would -lead to the event she now regretted?” It was true she did -know it. But whenever an idea of its taking place occurred, -she had so sedulously driven it from her mind, that she at last -almost ceased to think about it. Were he to be united to any -other woman than Lady Euphrasia, she thought she would not -be so wretched. “Oh, Mortimer! beloved of my soul!” she -cried, “were you going to be united to a woman sensible of -your worth, and worthy of your noble heart, in the knowledge -of your happiness my misery would be lessened. But what a -union of misery must minds so uncongenial as yours and Lady -Euphrasia’s form! Alas! am I not wretched enough in contemplating -my own prospect of unhappiness, but that yours, -also, must be obtruded upon me? Yet perhaps,” she continued, -“the evils that I dread on Lord Mortimer’s account may be -averted. Oh, that they may!” said she, with fervor, and raising -her hands and eyes. “Soften, gracious Heaven! soften the -flinty nature of Lady Euphrasia. Oh, render her sensible of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span> -the blessing you bestow in giving her Lord Mortimer! and render -her not only capable of inspiring, but of feeling tenderness. -May she prove to him the tender friend, the faithful, the affectionate -companion the unfortunate Amanda would have been! -Oh, may she build her happiness on his! and may his be -great as his virtues—extensive as his charities! and may the -knowledge of it soothe my afflicted heart!”</p> - -<p>Her spirits were a little elevated by the fervency of her language. -But it was a transient elevation. The flush it spread -over her cheeks soon died away, and her tears again began to -flow. “Alas!” she cried, “in a few days it will be criminal to -think of Lord Mortimer as I have hitherto done; and I shall -blush,” continued she, gazing at his picture, “to contemplate -this dear shadow, when I reflect its original is the husband of -Lady Euphrasia.”</p> - -<p>The dinner-bell now sounded through the Abbey, and almost -at the same minute she heard a tap at her door. She started, -and reflected for the first time that her deep dejection would -naturally excite suspicions as to its source, if longer indulged. -Shocked at the idea of incurring them, she hastily wiped away -her tears, and opening the door, found her friend Mrs. Duncan -at it, who begged she would come down to dinner. Amanda -did not refuse, but was obliged to use the supporting arm of her -friend to reach the parlor. She could not eat. With difficulty -could she restrain her tears, or answer the inquiries Mrs. Bruce -made, after what she supposed a mere bodily indisposition. -She forced herself, however, to continue in the parlor till after -tea, when cards being produced, she had an opportunity of -going out, and indulging her anguish without fear of interruption. -Unable, however, to walk far, she repaired to the old -chapel, and sitting down by it, leaned her head against its decayed -and ivy-covered walls. She had scarcely sat in this manner -a minute, when the stones gave way, with a noise which -terrified her, and she would have fallen backwards had she not -caught at some projecting wood. She hastily rose, and found -that the ivy entirely concealed the breach. She examined it, -however, and perceived it large enough to admit her into the -chapel. A sudden pleasure pervaded her heart at the idea of -being able to enter it, and examine the picture she had so long -wished to behold. There was nothing to oppose her entrance -but the ivy. This she parted with difficulty, but so as not to -strip it from the wall, and after stepping over the fallen rubbish, -she found herself in the body of the chapel. The silent hour -of twilight was now advanced, but the moonbeams that darted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> -through the broken roof prevented the chapel from being involved -in utter darkness. Already had the owls begun their -strains of melancholy on its mouldering pillars, while the ravens -croaked amongst the luxuriant trees that rustled round it. -Dusty and moth-eaten banners were suspended from the walls, -and rusty casques, shields, and spears were promiscuously -heaped together, the useless armor of those over whose remains -Amanda now trod with a light and trembling foot. She looked -for the picture, and perceived one reclined against the wall -near the altar. She wiped away the dust, and perceived this -was indeed the one she sought, the one her father had so often -described to her. The light was too imperfect for her to distinguish -the features, and she resolved, if possible, to come at -an earlier hour the ensuing evening. She felt impressed with -reverential awe as she stood before it. She recollected the -pathetic manner in which her father had mentioned his emotions -as he gazed upon it, and her tears began to flow for the -disastrous fate of her parents and her own. She sunk in an -agony of grief, which mournful remembrances and present -calamities excited, upon the steps of that altar, where Fitzalan -and Malvina had plighted their irrevocable vows. She -leaned her arm on the rails, but her face was turned to the picture, -as if it could see and would pity her distress. She remained -in this situation till the striking of the Abbey clock -warned her to depart. In going towards the entrance she perceived -a small arched door at the opposite side. As the apartments -Lady Malvina had occupied were in this part of the -building, she resolved on visiting them before she left the -Abbey, lest the breach in the wall should be discovered ere she -returned to it. She returned to the parlor ere the ladies had -finished their game of piquet, and the next evening, immediately -after tea, repaired to the chapel, leaving them engaged -as usual at cards. She stood a few minutes before it, to see -if any one was near; but perceiving no object she again -entered it. She had now sufficient light to examine the picture; -though faded by the damp, it yet retained that loveliness for -which its original was so admired, and which Amanda had so -often heard eloquently described by her father. She contemplated -it with awe and pity. Her heart swelled with the -emotions it excited, and gave way to its feelings in tears. To -weep before the shade of her mother, seemed to assuage the -bitterness of those feelings. She pronounced the name of her -parents, she called herself their wretched orphan, a stranger, -and a dependant in the mansion of her ancestors. She pro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span>nounced -the name of Lord Mortimer in the impassioned accents -of tenderness and distress. As she thus indulged the sorrows -of her soul in tears and lamentations, she suddenly heard a -faint noise, like an advancing footstep near her. She started -up, for she had been kneeling before her mother’s picture, -terrified lest her visit to the chapel had been discovered, which -she knew, if the case, would mortally disoblige Mrs. Bruce, -though why she should be so averse to any one’s visiting it she -could not conceive. She listened in trembling anxiety a few -minutes. All again was still, and she returned to the parlor, -where she found the ladies as she had left them, determined, -notwithstanding her late fright, to return the next evening -to the chapel, and visit the apartments that were her mother’s.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI" id="CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade,</span> -<span class="i0">Invites my steps?”—<span class="smcap">Pope.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The next evening Amanda’s patience was put to the test; -for after tea Mrs. Duncan proposed a walk, which seemed to -cut off her hopes of visiting the chapel that evening; but after -strolling some time about the valley, complaisance for her aunt -made Mrs. Duncan return to the parlor, where she was expected -to take her usual hand at piquet. The hour was late, and the -sky so gloomy, that the moon, though at its full, could scarcely -penetrate the darkness; notwithstanding all this, Amanda -resolved on going to the chapel, considering this, in all probability, -the only opportunity she would have of visiting the -apartments her mother had occupied (which she had an irrepressible -desire to enter), as in two days she was to accompany Mrs. -Duncan to lodgings in the neighboring town; she accordingly -said she had a mind to walk a little longer. Mrs. Bruce bade -her beware of catching cold, and Mrs. Duncan said she was too -fond of solitary rambles; but no opposition being made to her -intention, she hurried to the chapel, and, entering the little -arched door, found herself in a lofty hall, in the centre of which -was a grand staircase, the whole enlightened by a large gothic -window at the head of the stairs. She ascended them with -trepidation, for her footsteps produced a hollow echo, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> -added something awful to the gloom that enveloped her. On -gaining the top of the stairs she saw two large folding doors on -either side, both closed. She knew the direction to take, and, -by a small exertion of strength, pulled the one on the left side -open, and perceived a long gallery, which she knew was terminated -by the apartments she wanted to visit. Its almost -total darkness, however, nearly conquered her wish, and shook -her resolution of proceeding; but ashamed, even to herself, to -give way to superstitious fears, or turn back without gratifying -her inclination after going so far, she advanced into the gallery, -though with a trembling step, and as she let the door out of -her hand, it shut to with a violence that shook the whole building. -The gallery on one side had a row of arched doors, and on the -other an equal number of windows; but so small, and placed -so high, as scarcely to admit a ray of light. Amanda’s heart -began to beat with unusual quickness, and she thought she -should never reach the end of the gallery. She at last came to -a door, it was closed, not fastened; she pushed it gently open, -and could just discern a spacious room. This, she supposed, -had been her mother’s dressing-room. The moonbeams, as if -to aid her wish of examining it, suddenly darted through the -casements. Cheered by the unexpected light, she advanced -into the room: at the upper end of it something in white -attracted her notice. She concluded it to be the portrait of -Lady Malvina’s mother, which she had been informed hung in -this room. She went up to examine it; but her horror may be -better conceived than described, when she found herself not by -a picture, but by the real form of a woman, with a death-like -countenance! She screamed wildly at the terrifying spectre, -for such she believed it to be, and quick as lightning flew from -the room. Again was the moon obscured by a cloud, and she -involved in utter darkness. She ran with such violence, that, -as she reached the door at the end of the gallery, she fell -against it. Extremely hurt, she had not power to move for a -few minutes; but while she involuntarily paused, she heard -approaching footsteps. Wild with terror, she instantly recovered -her faculties, and attempted opening it; but it resisted all her -efforts. “Protect me, Heaven!” she exclaimed, and at the -moment felt an icy hand upon hers! Her senses instantly -receded, and she sunk to the floor. When she recovered from -her insensibility she perceived a glimmering light around her. -She opened her eyes with fearfulness, but no object appeared, -and to her great joy she saw the door standing open, and found -that the light proceeded from the large window. She instantly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> -rose, and descended the staircase with as much haste as her -trembling limbs could make; but again, what was her horror -when, on entering the chapel, the first object she beheld was -the same that had already alarmed her so much! She made a -spring to escape through the entrance, but the apparition, with -a rapidity equal to her own, glided before her, and with a hollow -voice, as she waved an emaciated hand, exclaimed, “Forbear -to go.”</p> - -<p>A deadly faintness again came over Amanda; she sunk -upon a broken seat, and put her hand over her eyes to shut out -the frightful vision.</p> - -<p>“Lose,” continued the figure, in a hollow voice, “lose your -superstitious fears, and in me behold not an airy inhabitant of -the other world, but a sinful, sorrowing, and repentant woman.”</p> - -<p>The terrors of Amanda gave way to this unexpected address; -but her surprise was equal to what these terrors had been; -she withdrew her hand, and gazed attentively on the form before -her.</p> - -<p>“If my eye, if my ear deceives me not,” it continued, “you -are a descendant of the Dunreath family. I heard you last -night, when you imagined no being near, call yourself the unfortunate -orphan of Lady Malvina Fitzalan.” “I am indeed -her child,” replied Amanda. “Tell me, then, by what means -you have been brought hither. You called yourself a stranger, -and a dependant in the house of your ancestors.” “I am both,” -said Amanda; “my real name is concealed, from circumstances -peculiarly distressing, and I have been brought to the Abbey -as an instructress to two children related to the person who -takes care of it.” “My prayers at length,” exclaimed the -ghastly figure, raising her hollow eyes and emaciated hands,—"my -prayers have reached the Throne of Mercy, and, as a proof -that my repentance is accepted, power is given me to make -reparation for the injuries I have committed. Oh! thou,” she -cried, turning to Amanda, “whose form revives in my remembrance -the youth and beauty blasted by my means, if thy mind -as well as face, resembles Lady Malvina’s, thou wilt, in pity to -my sufferings, forbear to reproach my crimes. In me,” she -continued, “you behold the guilty but contrite widow of the -Earl of Dunreath.”</p> - -<p>Amanda started. “Oh, gracious Heaven!” she exclaimed, -“can this be possible?” “Have you not been taught to execrate -my name?” asked the unhappy woman. “Oh! no,” -replied Amanda. “No,” replied Lady Dunreath, “because your -mother was an angel. But did she not leave a son?” “Yes,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> -said Amanda. “And does he live?” “Alas! I do not know,” -replied Amanda, melting into tears; “distress separated us, -and he is not more ignorant of my destiny than I am of his.” -“It is I,” exclaimed Lady Dunreath, “have been the cause of -this distress. It is I, sweet and sainted Malvina, have been -the cause of calamity to your children; but, blessed be the -wonder-working hand of Providence,” she continued, “which -has given me an opportunity of making some amends for my -cruelty and injustice. But,” she proceeded, “as I know the -chance which led you to the chapel, I dread to detain you longer, -lest it should lead to a discovery. Was it known that you saw -me, all my intentions would be defeated. Be secret, then, I -conjure you, more on your account than my own, and let not -Mrs. Bruce have the smallest intimation of what has passed; -but return to-morrow night, and you shall receive from me -a sacred deposit, which will, if affluence can do it, render you -completely happy. In the mean time, do you throw upon -paper a brief account of your life, that I may know the -incidents which so providentially brought you to the -Abbey.” Amanda promised to obey her in every respect, and -the unfortunate woman, unable longer to speak, kissed her -hand, and retired through the little arched door. Amanda -left the chapel, and, full of wonder, pity, and expectation, -moved mechanically to the parlor. Mrs. Bruce and Mrs. -Duncan had just risen from cards, and both were instantly -struck with her pallid and disordered looks. They inquired if -she was ill. Their inquiries roused her from a deep reverie. -She recollected the danger of exciting suspicions, and replied, -“she was only fatigued with walking, and begged leave to -retire to her chamber.” Mrs. Duncan attended her to it, and -would have sat with her till she saw her in bed, had Amanda -allowed; but it was not her intention, indeed, to go to bed for -some time. When left to herself, the surprising and interesting -discovery she had made had so agitated her that she could -scarcely compose herself enough to take up a pen to narrate -the particulars of her life, as Lady Dunreath had requested. -She sketched them in a brief yet hasty manner, sufficiently -strong, however, to interest the feelings of a sympathetic heart; -the tender and peculiar sorrows of her own she omitted; her -life was represented sufficiently calamitous, without mentioning -the incurable sorrow which disappointed love had entailed -upon it. She was glad she had executed her task with haste, -as Mrs. Duncan called upon her in the course of the next day -to assist in packing for their removal to the neighboring town.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> -The evening was far advanced ere she had an opportunity of -repairing to the chapel, where she found the unfortunate Lady -Dunreath resting in an attitude of deep despondence, against -the rails of the altar.</p> - -<p>Her pale and woe-worn countenance—her emaciated form—her -solitary situation—all inspired Amanda with the tenderest -compassion, and she dropped a tear upon the cold and withered -hand which was extended to hers, as she approached. “I -merit not the tear of pity,” said the unhappy woman, “yet it -casts a gleam of comfort on my heart to meet with a being who -feels for its sorrows. But the moments are precious.” She -then led Amanda to the altar, and, stooping down, desired her -assistance in removing a small marble flag beneath it. This -being effected, with difficulty, Amanda perceived an iron box, -which she also assisted in raising. Lady Dunreath then took -a key from her bosom, with which she opened it, and took -from thence a sealed paper. “Receive,” said she, presenting -it to Amanda, “receive the will of your grandfather, a sacred -deposit, intrusted to your care for your brother, the rightful -heir of the Earl of Dunreath. Oh! may its restoration, and -my sincere repentance, atone for its long detention and concealment. -Oh! may the fortune it will bestow upon you, as -well as your brother, be productive to both of the purest happiness.” -Trembling with joyful surprise, Amanda received the -paper. “Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed she, “is it possible? -Do I really hold the will of my grandfather—a will which will -entitle my brother to affluence? Oh! Providence, how mysterious -are thy ways! Oh! Oscar, beloved of my heart,” she -continued, forgetting at that moment every consideration of -self, “could thy sister have possibly foreseen her sorrows would -have led to such a discovery, half their bitterness would have -been allayed. Yes, my father, one of thy children may at -least be happy, and in witnessing that happiness the other will -find a mitigation of misery.” Tears burst from her as she -spoke, and relieved the strong emotions that swelled her heart, -almost to bursting.</p> - -<p>“Oh! talk not of your misery,” said Lady Dunreath, with -a convulsive sigh, “lest you drive me to despair. Forever -must I accuse myself of being the real source of calamity -to Lady Malvina and her children.” “Excuse me,” cried -Amanda, wiping her eyes, “I should be ungrateful to Heaven -and to you if I dwelt upon my sorrows; but let me not neglect -this opportunity,” she continued, “of inquiring if there is any -way in which I can possibly serve you. Is there no friend to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> -whom I could apply in your name, to have you released from -this cruel and unjustifiable confinement?” “No,” said Lady -Dunreath, “no such friend exists. When I had the power to -do so, I never conciliated friendship; and if I am still remembered -in the world, it is only with contempt and abhorrence. -The laws of my country would certainly liberate me at once; -but if things turn out as I expect, there will be no occasion for -an application to them, and any step of that kind at present -might be attended with the most unpleasant consequences. -Your future prosperity, my present safety, all depend on -secrecy for a short period. In this paper (drawing one from -her pocket and presenting it to Amanda) I have explained my -reason for desiring such secrecy.” Amanda put it with the -will into her bosom, and gave in return the little narrative she -had sketched. They both assisted in replacing the box and -flag, and then seated themselves on the steps of the altar. -Amanda informed Lady Dunreath of her intended departure -the next day from the Abbey, and the occasion of it. Lady -Dunreath expressed the utmost impatience to have everything -put in a proper train for the avowal of the will, declaring that -the sight of the rightful heir in possession of the Abbey would -calm the agitations of a spirit which, she believed, would soon -forsake its earthly habitation. Tears of compassion fell from -Amanda at these words, and she shuddered to think that the -unfortunate woman might die abandoned, and bereft of comfort. -Again she urged her to think of some expedient for procuring -immediate liberty, and again Lady Dunreath assured -her it was impossible. Absorbed in a kind of sympathetic -melancholy, they forgot the danger of delay till the Abbey -clock chimed half an hour past ten—which was later than Mrs. -Bruce’s usual hour of supper—startled and alarmed them both. -"Go! go!” cried Lady Dunreath, with a wild expression of -fear; “go! or we are undone!” Amanda pressed her hand -in silence, and, trembling, departed from the chapel. She -stopped at the outside to listen; for by her ear alone could -she now receive any intimation of danger, as the night was too -dark to permit any object to be discerned; but the breeze -sighing amongst the trees of the valley, and the melancholy -murmur of waterfalls, were the only sounds she heard. She -groped along the walls of the chapel to keep in the path, which -wound from it to the entrance of the Abbey, and in doing so -passed her hand over the cold face of a human being. Terrified, -an involuntary scream burst from her, and she faintly -articulated: “Defend me, Heaven!” In the next moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> -she was seized round the waist, and her senses were receding, -when Mrs. Duncan’s voice recalled them. She apologized to -Amanda for giving her such a fright; but said, “that her uneasiness -was so great at her long absence that, attended by a -servant, she had come in quest of her.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Duncan’s voice relieved Amanda from the horror of -thinking she had met with a person who would insult her; but -it had given rise to a new alarm. She feared she had been -traced to the chapel, that her discourse with Lady Dunreath -had been overheard, and of course the secret of the will discovered, -and that Mrs. Duncan, amiable as she was, might -sacrifice friendship to interest and consanguinity. This idea -overwhelmed her with anguish; her deep and heavy sighs, her -violent trembling, alarmed Mrs. Duncan, who hastily called the -servant to assist her in supporting Amanda home; drops were -then administered, but they would have wanted their usual -efficacy with the poor night wanderer had she not soon been -convinced by Mrs. Duncan’s manner she had not made the -dreaded discovery.</p> - -<p>Amanda would have retired to her chamber before supper, -but that she feared distressing Mrs. Duncan by doing so, who -would have imputed her indisposition to her fright. She accordingly -remained in the parlor, but with a mind so occupied -by the interesting events of the evening, that she soon forgot -the purpose for which she sat down to table, and neither heeded -what was doing or saying. From this reverie she was suddenly -roused by the sound of a name forever dear and precious, -which in a moment had power to recall her wandering ideas. -She raised her eyes, and with a sad intenseness fixed them on -Mrs. Bruce, who continued to talk of the approaching nuptials -of Lord Mortimer. Tears now fell from Amanda in spite of -her efforts to restrain them, and while drooping her head to -wipe them away, she caught the eyes of Mrs. Duncan fastened -on her with an expression of mingled pity and curiosity. A -deep crimson suffused the face of Amanda, at the consciousness -of having betrayed the secret of her heart; but her confusion -was inferior to her grief, and the rich suffusion of the -one soon gave place to the deadly hue of the other. “Ah!” -thought she, “what is now the acquisition of wealth, when -happiness is beyond my reach!” Yet scarcely had she conceived -the thought ere she wished it buried in oblivion. “Is -the comfort of independence, the power of dispensing happiness -to others, nothing?” she asked herself. “Do they not -merit gratitude of the most pure thankfulness, of the most fer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span>vent -nature to Providence? They do,” she cried, and paid -them at the moment in the silence of her heart. It was late -ere the ladies separated for the night, and as soon as Amanda -had secured the door of her chamber, she drew from her bosom -the papers so carefully deposited there, and sat down to peruse -the narrative of Lady Dunreath.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII" id="CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“For true repentance never comes too late;</span> -<span class="i0">As soon as born she makes herself a shroud,</span> -<span class="i0">The weeping mantle of a fleecy cloud,</span> -<span class="i0">And swift as thought her airy journey takes,</span> -<span class="i0">Her hand Heaven’s azure gate with trembling strikes.</span> -<span class="i0">The stars do with amazement on her look:</span> -<span class="i0">She tells her story in so sad a tone,</span> -<span class="i0">That angels start from bliss, and give a groan.”—<span class="smcap">Lee.</span></span> -</div></div> - - -<h3><span class="smcap">Narrative of Lady Dunreath.</span></h3> - -<p>Adoring the Power who has given me means of making -restitution for my injustice, I take up my pen to disclose to -your view, oh! lovely orphan of the injured Malvina, the frailties -of a heart which has long been tortured with the retrospect -of past and the pressure of present evil. Convinced, as I have -already said, that if your mind, as well as form, resembles your -mother’s, you will, while you condemn the sinner, commiserate -the penitent, and, touched by that penitence, offer up a prayer -to Heaven (and the prayers of innocence are ever availing) -for its forgiveness unto me. Many years are now elapsed -since the commencement of my confinement, years which -diminished my hope of being able to make reparation for the -injustice and cruelty I had done Lady Malvina Fitzalan, but -left unabated my desire of doing so.</p> - -<p>Ah! sweet Malvina! from thy soft voice I was doomed -never to hear my pardon pronounced; but from thy child I -may, perhaps, have it accorded; if so, from that blissful abode -where thou now enjoyest felicity, if the departed souls of the -happy are allowed to view the transactions of this world, thine, -I am convinced, will behold, with benignancy and compassion, -the wretch who covers herself with shame to atone for her injuries -to thee. But I must restrain these effusions of my heart,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> -lest I encroach too much upon the limited time allotted to -make what I may call my confession, and inform you of particulars -necessary to be known.</p> - -<p>My cruelty and insolence to Lady Malvina you no doubt -already know. In my conduct to her I forgot the obligations -her mother had conferred upon me, whose patronage and kind -protection laid the foundation of my prosperity. I rejoiced at -her marriage with Captain Fitzalan, as a step that would deprive -her of her father’s favor, and place her in that state of -poverty which would conceal charms I detested for being superior -to my daughter’s. The earl’s resentment was violent at -first; but with equal surprise and concern I soon perceived it -gradually subsiding. The irrevocableness of the deed, the -knowledge that he wanted no acquisition of fortune, above all, -Fitzalan’s noble descent, and the graces and virtues he possessed, -worthy of the highest station, dwelt upon the earl’s -imagination, and pleaded strongly in extenuation of his daughter. -Alarmed lest my schemes against her should be rendered -abortive, like an evil spirit, I contrived to rekindle, by means -of my agents, the earl’s resentment. They represented the -flagrant, the daring contempt Lady Malvina had shown to -paternal authority, and that too easy a forgiveness of it might -influence her sister to similar conduct with a person perhaps -less worthy, and more needy, if possible, than Fitzalan. This -last suggestion had the desired effect, and Lady Malvina he -declared in future should be considered as an alien to his -family.</p> - -<p>I now hoped my ambitious views, relative to my daughter, -would be accomplished. I had long wished her united to the -Marquis of Roslin; but he had for years been Lady Malvina’s -admirer, and was so much attached to her, that on her marriage -he went abroad. My arts were then tried to prevail on the -earl to make a will in Lady Augusta’s favor; but this was a -point I could not accomplish, and I lived in continual apprehension -lest his dying intestate should give Lady Malvina the -fortune I wanted to deprive her of. Anxious, however, to procure -a splendid establishment for my daughter, I everywhere -said there was no doubt but she would be sole heiress to the -earl. At the expiration of three years the marquis returned -to his native country. His unfortunate passion was subdued; -he heard and believed the reports I circulated, and stimulated -by avarice, his leading propensity, offered his hand to my -daughter and was accepted. The earl gave her a large portion -in ready money; but notwithstanding all my endeavors,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> -would not make a settlement of any of his estates upon her. -I, however, still hoped, and the marquis, from what I said, -believed that she would possess all his fortune. My daughter’s -nuptials added to my natural haughtiness. They also increased -my love of pleasure, by affording me more amply the -means of gratifying it at the sumptuous entertainments at the -marquis’s castle. Engaged continually in them, the earl, -whose infirmities confined him to the Abbey, was left to solitude -and the care of his domestics. My neglect, you will say, -was impolitic whilst I had any point to carry with him; but -Providence has so wisely ordained it that vice should still defeat -itself. Had I always acted in uniformity with the tenderness -I once showed the earl, I have little doubt but what at -last I should have prevailed on him to act as I pleased; but, -infatuated by pleasure, my prudence, no—it deserves not -such an appellation—forsook me. Though the earl’s body -was a prey to the infirmities of age, his mind knew none -of its imbecilities, and he sensibly felt and secretly resented -my neglect. The more he reflected on it, the more he contrasted -it with the attention he was accustomed to receive -from his banished Malvina, and the resentment I had hitherto -kept alive in his mind against her gradually subsided, so that -he was well prepared to give a favorable reception to the little -innocent advocate she sent to plead her cause. My terror, my -dismay, when I surprised the little Oscar at the knee of his -grandfather, are not to be described. The tears which the -agitated parent shed upon the infant’s lovely cheek seemed to -express affection for its mother, and regret for his rigor to her. -Yet amidst those tears I thought I perceived an exulting joy -as he gazed upon the child, which seemed to say, “Thou wilt -yet be the pride, the prop, the ornament, of my ancient house.” -After circumstances proved I was right in my interpretation of -his looks. I drove the little Oscar from the room with frantic -rage. The earl was extremely affected. He knew the violence -of my temper, and felt too weak to enter into any altercation -with me. He therefore reserved his little remaining -strength and spirits to arrange his affairs, and by passiveness -seemed yielding to my sway; but I soon found, though silent, -he was resolute.</p> - -<p>My preventing your brother from again gaining access to -his grandfather, and my repulsing your mother when she requested -an interview with the earl, I suppose you already -know. Gracious Heaven! my heart sickens, even at this remote -period, when I reflect on the night I turned her from her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> -paternal home—from that mansion under whose roof her benevolent -mother had sheltered my tender years from the rude -storms of adverse life. Oh, black and base ingratitude! dire -return for the benefits I had received; yet, almost at the very -instant I committed so cruel an action she was avenged. -No language can describe my horrors, as conscience represented -to me the barbarity of my conduct. I trembled with -involuntary fears. Sounds had power to terrify. Every blast -which shook the Abbey (and dreadful was the tempest of that -night), made me shrink as if about to meet with an instantaneous -punishment.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“I trembled at my undivulged crimes</span> -<span class="i0">Unwhipped of justice——”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>I knew the earl expected either to see or hear from your -mother. He was ignorant of the reception she had met from -me, and I was determined, if possible, he should continue so. -As soon as certified of Lady Malvina’s departure from the -neighborhood of the Abbey, I contrived a letter in Captain -Fitzalan’s name to the earl, filled with the most cutting and -insolent reproaches to him for his conduct to his daughter, and -imputing her precipitate departure from Scotland to it. These -unjust reproaches, I trusted, would irritate the earl, and work -another revolution in his mind; but I was disappointed. -He either believed the letter a forgery, or else resolved the -children should not suffer for the fault of the parent. He accordingly -sent for his agent, an eminent lawyer in one of the -neighboring towns. This man was lately deceased, but his -son, bred to his profession, obeyed the summons to the Abbey. -I dreaded his coming; but scarcely had I seen him, ere this -dread was lost in emotions, till then unknown. A soft, a tender, -an ardent passion took possession of my heart, on beholding -a man, in the very prime of life, adorned with every -natural and acquired grace that could please the eye and ear. -Married at an early period, possessed of all the advantages of -art, said and believing myself to be handsome, I flattered myself -I might on his heart make an impression equal to that he -had done on mine. If so, I thought how easily could the earl’s -intentions in favor of his daughter be defeated, for that love will -readily make sacrifices I had often heard. A will was made, but -my new ideas and schemes divested me of uneasiness about it. -Melross continued at the Abbey much longer than he need -have done, and when he left it, his absence was of short continuance. -The earl’s business was his pretext his long and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span> -frequent visits. But the real motive of them he soon discovered -to me, encouraged, no doubt, by the partiality I betrayed.</p> - -<p>I shall not dwell upon this part of my story; but I completed -my crime by violating my conjugal fidelity, and we entered into -an engagement to be united whenever I was at liberty, which, -from the infirm state of the earl, I now believed would shortly -be the case. In consequence of this, Melross agreed to put -into my hands the earl’s will, which had been intrusted to his -care, and, he acknowledged, drawn up entirely in favor of Lady -Malvina Fitzalan and her offspring. It was witnessed by friends -of his, whom he had no doubt of bribing to silence. You may -wonder that the will was not destroyed as soon as I had it in -my possession. But to do so never was my intention. By -keeping it in my hands, I trusted I should have a power over -my daughter, which duty and affection had never yet given me. -Violent and imperious in her disposition, I doubted not but she -and the marquis, who nearly resembled her in these particulars, -would endeavor to prevent, from pride and selfishness, my -union with Melross. But to know they were in my power would -crush all opposition, I supposed, and obtain their most flattering -notice for him—a notice, from my pride, I found essential to -my tranquillity. The earl requested Melross to inquire about -Lady Malvina, which he promised to do, but, it is almost unnecessary -to say, never fulfilled such a promise.</p> - -<p>In about a year after the commencement of my attachment -for Melross the earl expired, and the marchioness inherited his -possessions by means of a forged will executed by Melross. -Ignorant, indeed, at the time, that it was by iniquity she -obtained them, though her conduct since that period has -proved she would not have suffered any compunction from -such a knowledge, I removed from the Abbey to an estate -about fifteen miles from it, which the earl had left me, and -here, much sooner than decency would have warranted, avowed -my intention of marrying Melross, to the marquis and marchioness -of Roslin. The consequences of this avowal were -pretty much what I expected. The marquis, more by looks -than words expressed his contempt; but the marchioness -openly declared her indignation. To think of uniting myself -to a being so low in life and fortune, she said, as Melross, was -an insult to the memory of her father, and a degradation to his -illustrious house; it would also be a confirmation of the scandalous -reports which had already been circulated to the prejudice -of my character about him. Her words roused all the -violence of my soul. I upbraided her with ingratitude to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> -parent, who had stepped beyond the bounds of rigid propriety -to give her an increase of fortune. My words alarmed her and -the marquis. They hastily demanded an explanation of them. -I did not hesitate in giving one, protesting at the same time -that I would no longer hurt my feelings on their account, as I -found no complaisance to my wishes, but immediately avow -Lady Malvina Fitzalan the lawful heiress of the Earl of Dunreath. -The marquis and marchioness changed color; I saw -they trembled lest I should put my threats into execution, though -with consummate art they pretended to disbelieve that such a -will as I mentioned existed.</p> - -<p>“Beware,” cried I, rising from my chair to quit the room, -"lest I give you too convincing a proof of its reality; except I -meet with the attention and complaisance I have a right to expect, -I shall no longer act contrary to the dictates of my conscience -by concealing it. Unlimited mistress of my own actions, -what but affection for my daughter could make me consult her -upon any of them? Her disapprobation proceeds alone from -selfishness, since an alliance with Melross, from his profession, -accomplishments, and birth, would not disgrace a house even -more illustrious than the one she is descended from or connected -to.”</p> - -<p>I retired to my chamber, secretly exulting at the idea of -having conquered all opposition, for I plainly perceived by the -marquis and marchioness’s manner, they were convinced it was -in my power to deprive them of their newly-acquired possessions, -which, to secure, I doubled not their sacrificing their pride to -my wishes. I exulted in the idea of having my nuptials with -Melross celebrated with that splendor I always delighted in, -and the prospect of having love and vanity gratified, filled me -with a kind of intoxicating happiness.</p> - -<p>In a few hours after I had retired to my room, the marchioness -sent to request an interview with me, which I readily -granted. She entered the apartment with a respectful air, very -unusual to her, and immediately made an apology for her late -conduct. She acknowledged I had reason to be offended, but -a little reflection had convinced her of her error, and both she -and the marquis thanked me for consulting them about the -change I was about making in my situation, and would pay -every attention in their power to the man I had honored with -my choice. That I did not think the marchioness sincere in -her professions you may believe, but complaisance was all I -required. I accompanied her to the marquis; a general reconciliation -ensued, and Melross was presented to them. In about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> -two days after this the marchioness came into my dressing-room -one morning, and told me she had a proposal to make, which -she hoped would be agreeable to me to comply with. It was the -marquis’s intention and hers to go immediately to the continent, -and they had been thinking, if Melross and I would favor -them with our company, that we had better defer our nuptials -till we reached Paris, which was the first place they intended -visiting, as their solemnization in Scotland so soon after the -earl’s decease might displease his friends, by whom we were -surrounded, and, on their return, which would be soon, they -would introduce Melross to their connections as a man every -way worthy of their notice. After a little hesitation I agreed -to this plan, for where it interfered not with my own inclinations -I wished to preserve an appearance of propriety to the world, -and I could not avoid thinking my marrying so soon after the -earl’s death would draw censure upon me, which I should -avoid by the projected tour, as the certain time of my nuptials -could not then be ascertained. Melross submitted cheerfully -to our new arrangements, and it was settled farther, to preserve -appearances, that he should go before us to Paris. I supplied -him with everything requisite for making an elegant appearance -and he departed in high spirits at the prospect of his splendid -establishment for life.</p> - -<p>I counted the moments with impatience for rejoining him, -and as had been settled, we commenced our journey a month -after his departure. It was now the middle of winter, and ere -we stopped for the night, darkness, almost impenetrable, had -veiled the earth. Fatigued, and almost exhausted by the cold, -I followed the marquis through a long passage, lighted by a -glimmering lamp, to a parlor which was well lighted and had a -comfortable fire. I started with amazement on entering it at -finding myself in a place I thought familiar to me; my surprise -however, was but for an instant, yet I could not help expressing -it to the marquis. “Your eyes, madam,” cried he, -with a cruel solemnity, “have not deceived you, for you are now -in Dunreath Abbey!” “Dunreath Abbey!” I repeated: -“Gracious Heaven! what can be the meaning of this?” “To -hide your folly, your imprudence, your deceit from the world,” -he exclaimed; “to prevent your executing the wild projects of -a depraved and distempered mind, by entering into a union at -once contemptible and preposterous, and to save those, from -whom alone you derive your consequence by your connection -with them, farther mortification on your account.”</p> - -<p>To describe fully the effect of this speech upon a heart like -mine is impossible; the fury which pervaded my soul would, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span> -believe, have hurried me into a deed of dire revenge, had I had -the power of executing it; my quivering lips could not express -my strong indignation.</p> - -<p>“And do you then, in a country like this,” I cried, “dare -to think you can deprive me of my liberty?” “Yes,” replied -he, with insulting coolness, “when it is known you are incapable -of making a proper use of that liberty. You should thank me,” -he continued, “for palliating your late conduct, by imputing it -rather to an intellectual derangement than to total depravity. -From what other source than the former could you have asserted -that there was a will in Lady Malvina Fitzalan’s favor?”</p> - -<p>These words at once developed the cause of his unjustifiable -conduct, and proved that there is no real faith between the -guilty. From my disposition the marquis was convinced that -I would assume a haughty sway over him, in consequence of -the secret of the will. He also dreaded that passion or caprice -might one day induce me to betray that secret, and wrest from -him his unlawful possessions. Thus pride and avarice tempted -and determined him, by confining me, to rid himself of these -fears. “Oh! would to Heaven,” cried I, replying to the last -part of his speech, “I had proved my assertion; had I done -justice to others, I should not have been entangled in the snare -of treachery.” “Prove the assertion now,” said he, “by showing -me the will, and you may, perhaps,” he continued, in a -hesitating accent, “find your doing so attended with pleasing -consequences.”</p> - -<p>Rage and scorn flashed from my eyes at these words. -“No,” cried I, “had you the power of torturing, you should -not tear it from me. I will keep it to atone for my sins, and -expose yours to view by restoring it to the right owner.” I -demanded my liberty, I threatened, supplicated, but all in vain. -The marquis told me I might as well compose myself, for my -fate was decided. “You know,” cried he, with a malicious look, -“you have no friends to inquire or interfere about you, and, -even if you had, when I told them what I believe to be the case, -that your senses were disordered, they would never desire to -have you released from this confinement.” I called for my -daughter. “You will see her no more;" he replied, “the passions -she has so long blushed to behold she will no more witness.” -“Rather say,” I exclaimed, “that she dare not behold -her injured parent; but let not the wretch who has severed the -ties of nature hope to escape unpunished. No, my sufferings -will draw a dreadful weight upon her head, and may, when least -expected, torture her heart with anguish.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span> -Convinced that I was entirely in the marquis’s power; convinced -that I had nothing to hope from him or my daughter, -rage, horror, and agony, at their unjust and audacious treatment, -kindled in my breast a sudden frenzy, which strong convulsions -only terminated. When I recovered from them I found myself -on a bed in a room which, at the first glance, I knew to be the -one the late Lady Dunreath had occupied, to whose honors I -so unworthily succeeded. Mrs. Bruce, who had been housekeeper -at the Abbey before my marriage, sat beside me; I -hesitated a few minutes whether I should address her as a suppliant -or a superior; the latter, however, being most agreeable -to my inclinations, I bid her, with a haughty air, which I hoped -would awe her into obedience, assist me in rising, and procure -some conveyance from the Abbey without delay. The marquis -entered the chamber as I spoke. “Compose yourself, madam,” -said he, “your destiny, I repeat, is irrevocable; this Abbey is -your future residence, and bless those who have afforded your -follies such an asylum. It behooves both the marchioness and -me indeed to seclude a woman who might cast imputations on -our characters, which those unacquainted with them might -believe.” I started from the bed, in the loose dress in which -they had placed me on it, and stamping round the room, -demanded my liberty. The marquis heard my demand with -contemptuous silence, and quitted the room. I attempted to -rush after him, but he pushed me back with violence, and -closed the door. My feelings again brought on convulsions, -which terminated in a delirium and fever. In this situation -the marquis and marchioness abandoned me, hoping, no doubt, -that my disorder would soon lay me in a prison even more -secure than the one they had devoted me to. Many weeks -elapsed ere I showed any symptom of recovery. On regaining -my senses, I seemed as if awaking from a tedious sleep, in -which I had been tortured with frightful visions. The first -object my eyes beheld, now blessed with the powers of clear -perception, was Mrs. Bruce bending over my pillow, with a look -of anxiety and grief, which implied a wish, yet a doubt, of my -recovery.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” said I faintly, “am I really in Dunreath Abbey—am -I really confined within its walls by order of my child?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bruce sighed. “Do not disturb yourself with questions -now,” said she; “the reason Heaven has so mercifully -restored would be ill employed in vain murmurs.” “Vain -murmurs!” I repeated, and a deep, desponding sigh burst from -my heart. I lay silent a long time after this. The gloom which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span> -encompassed me at length grew too dreary to be borne, and I -desired Mrs. Bruce to draw back the curtains of the bed and -windows. She obeyed, and the bright beams of the sun, darting -into the room, displayed to my view an object I could not -behold without shuddering—this was the portrait of Lady Dunreath, -exactly opposite the bed. My mind was softened by -illness, and I felt in that moment as if her sainted spirit stood -before me to awaken my conscience to remorse and my heart to -repentance. The benevolence which had irradiated the countenance -of the original with a celestial expression was powerfully -expressed upon the canvas, and recalled, oh! how affectingly -to my memory, the period in which this most amiable of women -gave me a refuge in her house, in her arms, from the storms of -life; and yet her child, I groaned, her child, I was accessory in -destroying. Oh! how excruciating were my feelings at this -period of awakened conscience! I no longer inveighed against -my sufferings; I considered them in the light of retribution, -and felt an awful resignation take possession of my soul. Yes, -groaned I to myself, it is fit that in the very spot in which I -triumphed in deceit and cruelty I should meet the punishment -due to my misdeeds.</p> - -<p>The change in my disposition produced a similar one in my -temper, so that Mrs. Bruce found the task of attending me -easier than she had imagined it would be; yet I did not submit -to confinement without many efforts to liberate myself through -her means; but her fidelity to her unnatural employers was not -to be shaken. Blushing, however, at my past enormities, I -should rather have shrunk from than solicited admission again -into the world, had not my ardent desire of making reparation -to the descendants of Lady Dunreath, influenced me to desire -my freedom. Oh! never did that desire cease—never did a -morning dawn, an evening close, without entreating Heaven to -allow me means of restoring to the injured their inheritance. -Mrs. Bruce, though steady, was not cruel, and nursed me with -the tenderest attention till my health was re-established. She -then ceased to see me, except at night, but took care I should -always be amply stocked with necessaries. She supplied me -with religious and moral books; also, materials for writing, if I -chose to amuse myself with making comments on them. To -those books am I indebted for being able to endure, with some -degree of calmness, my long and dreadful captivity. They -enlarged my heart, they enlightened its ideas concerning the -Supreme Being, they impressed it with awful submission to His -will, they convinced me more forcibly of my transgressions, yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span> -without exciting despair; for, while they showed the horrors of -vice, they proved the efficacy of repentance. Debarred of the -common enjoyments of life, air, exercise, and society, in vain -my heart assured me my punishment was inadequate to my -crimes; nature repined, and a total languor seized me. Mrs. -Bruce at last told me I should be allowed the range of that part -of the building in which I was confined (for I had hitherto been -limited to one room), and consequently air from the windows, -if I promised to make no attempt for recovering my freedom,—an -attempt, she assured me, which would prove abortive, as -none but people attached to the marquis lived in or about the -Abbey, who would immediately betray me to him; and if he -ever detected such a step, it was his determination to hurry me -to France.</p> - -<p>Certain that he would be capable of such baseness, touched -by the smallest indulgence, and eager to procure any recreation, -I gave her the most solemn assurances of never attempting to -make known my situation. She accordingly unlocked the -several doors that had hitherto impeded my progress from one -apartment to another, and removed the iron bolts which secured -the shutters of the windows. Oh! with what mingled pain and -pleasure did I contemplate the rich prospect stretched before -them, now that I was debarred from enjoying it. At liberty, I -wondered how I could ever have contemplated it with a careless -eye; and my spirits, which the air had revived, suddenly sunk -into despondence, when I reflected I enjoyed this common -blessing but by stealth; yet who (cried I, with agony) can I -blame but myself? The choicest gifts of Heaven were mine, -and I lost them by my own means. Wretch as I was, the first -temptation that assailed warped me from integrity, and my -error is marked by the deprivation of every good. With eager, -with enthusiastic delight, I gazed on scenes which I had so -often before regarded with a careless eye; it seemed as if I had -only now perception to distinguish their beauties: the season’s -difference made a material change to me, as all the windows -were shut up in winter, except those of the apartment I occupied, -which only looked into a gloomy court. Ah! how welcome -to me, then, was the return of spring, which again restored to -me the indulgence of visiting the windows. How delightful to -my eyes the green of the valley, and the glowing bloom of the -mountain shrubs just bursting into verdure! Ah! how soothing -to my ear the lulling sound of waterfalls, and the lively carol of -the birds; how refreshing the sweetness of the air, the fragrance -of the plants, which friendly zephyrs, as if pitying my confine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span>ment, -wafted through the windows. The twilight hour was also -hailed by me with delight; it was then I turned my eyes from -earth to heaven, and, regarding its blue and spangled vault but -as a thin covering between me and myriads of angels, felt a -sweet sensation of mingled piety and pleasure, which for the -time had power to steep my sorrows in forgetfulness! But, in -relating my feelings, I wander from the real purpose of my -narrative, and forget that I am describing those feelings to a -person who, from my injurious actions, can take but little -interest in them.</p> - -<p>The will I shall deliver to you to-night. I advise you, if your -brother cannot immediately be found, to put it into the hands -of some man on whose abilities and integrity you can rely; but -till you meet with such a person, beware of discovering you -have it in your possession, lest the marquis, who, I am sorry to -say, I believe capable of almost any baseness, should remove from -your knowledge the penitent, whose testimony to the validity -of the deed will be so cheerfully given, and is so materially essential. -Be secret, then, I again conjure you, till everything is -properly arranged for the avowal of your rights; and, oh! may -the restoration of all those rights you shall claim, be to you -and to your brother productive of every felicity. From your hands -may the wealth it puts into them bestow relief and comfort on -the children of adversity; thus yielding to your hearts a pure -and permanent satisfaction, which the mere possession of riches, -or the expenditure on idle vanities, never can bestow. As -much as possible I wish to have my daughter saved from public -disgrace. From me you will say she merits not this lenient -wish; but, alas! I hold myself accountable for her misconduct. -Intrusted to my care by Providence, I neglected the sacred -charge, nor ever curbed a passion or laid the foundation of a -virtue. Ah! may her wretched parent’s prayers be yet availing; -may penitence, ere too late, visit her heart, and teach her -to regret and expiate her errors! Had she been united to a -better man, I think she never would have swerved so widely -from nature and from duty; but the selfish soul of the marquis -taught her to regard self as the first consideration in life.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bruce informed me that the marquis had written to -Melross, informing him that I had changed my mind, and would -think no more about him, and she supposed he had procured -some pleasant establishment in France, as no one had ever -heard of his returning from it. She made several attempts to -prevail on me to give up the will to her, but I resisted all her -arts, and was rejoiced to think I had concealed it in a place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span> -which would never be suspected. My narrative now concluded, -I wait with even trembling impatience for your expected visit—for -that moment in which I shall make some reparation for -my injuries to your mother. I am also anxious for the moment -in which I shall receive the promised narrative of your life. From -your tears, your words, your manner, I may expect a tale of -sorrow; ah! may it be only that gentle sorrow which yields to -the influence of time, and the sweets of friendship and conscious -innocence.</p> - -<p>I cannot forbear describing what I felt on first hearing your -voice—a voice so like in its harmonious tones to one I knew -had long been silent. Impressed with an awful dread, I stood -upon the stairs, which I was descending to visit the chapel, as -was my constant custom at the close of day. Shivering and -appalled, I had not for a few minutes power to move—but when -I at last ventured nearer to the door, and saw you kneeling -before the dust-covered shade of her I had injured, when I -heard you call yourself her wretched orphan, ah! what were -my emotions? An awful voice seemed sounding in my ear—"Behold -the hour of retribution is arrived! Behold a being, -whom the hand of Providence has conducted hither to receive -reparation for the injustice you did her parents! Adore -that mighty hand which thus affords you means of making -atonement for your offences!” I did adore it. I raised my -streaming eyes, my trembling hands to Heaven, and blessed the -gracious Power which had granted my prayer. The way by -which I saw you quit my retirement, proved to me your entrance -into it was unknown. With an impatience bordering on -agony, I waited for the next evening—it came without bringing -you, and no language can express my disappointment. Dejected, -I returned to my chamber, which you entered soon -after, and where you received so great a fright, yet, be assured, -not a greater one than I experienced, for the gleam of moonlight -which displayed me to you gave you full to my view, and -I beheld the very form and face of Lady Malvina. In form -and face may you alone resemble her; different, far different, -be your destiny from hers. Soon may your brother be restored -to your arms. Should he then shudder at my name, oh! teach -him, with a mercy like your own, to accord me forgiveness.</p> - -<p>Ye sweet and precious descendants of this illustrious house!—ye -rightful heirs of Dunreath Abbey!—may your future joys -amply recompense your past sorrows! May those sorrows be -forgotten, or only remembered to temper prosperity, and teach -it pity for the woes of others! May your virtues add to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span> -renown of your ancestors, and entail eternal peace upon your -souls! May their line by you be continued, and continued as -a blessing to all around! May your names be consecrated to -posterity by the voice of gratitude, and excite in others an emulation -to pursue your courses!</p> - -<p>Alas! my unhappy child! why do I not express such a -wish for you? I have expressed it—I have prayed for its -accomplishment—I have wept in bitterness at the idea of its -being unavailing; lost to the noble propensities of nature, it is -not from virtue, but from pomp and vanity you seek to derive -pleasure.</p> - -<p>Oh! lovely orphans of Malvina, did you but know, or could -you but conceive, the bitter anguish I endure on my daughter’s -account, you would think yourselves amply avenged for all your -injuries.</p> - -<p>Oh, God! ere my trembling soul leaves its frail tenement -of clay, let it be cheered by the knowledge of my child’s repentance.</p> - -<p>Oh! you young and tender pair, who are about entering -into the dangerous possession of riches, learn from me that -their misapplication, the perversion of our talents, and the -neglect of our duties, will, even in this world, meet their punishment.</p> - -<p>Resolute in doing justice to the utmost of my power, I am -ready, whenever I am called upon, to bear evidence to the validity -of the will I shall deliver into your possession. Soon -may all it entitles you to be restored, is the sincere prayer of -her who subscribes herself, the truly penitent</p> - -<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Annabella Dunreath</span>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Cease, then, ah! cease, fond mortal to repine</span> -<span class="i1">At laws, which Nature wisely did ordain;</span> -<span class="i0">Pleasure, what is it? rightly to define,</span> -<span class="i1">’Tis but a short-lived interval from pain:</span> -<span class="i0">Or rather alternately renewed</span> -<span class="i0">Gives to our lives a sweet vicissitude.”—<span class="smcap">Brown.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>The emotions Amanda experienced from reading this narrative -deeply affected but gradually subsided from her mind, -leaving it only occupied by pity for the penitent Lady Dunreath, -and pleasure at the prospect of Oscar’s independence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span>—a -pleasure so pure, so fervent, that it had power to steal her from -her sorrows; and when the recollection of them again returned, -she endeavored to banish it by thinking of the necessity there -was for immediately adopting some plan for the disclosure of -the will Lady Dunreath had advised her to put into the hands -of a friend of integrity and abilities.</p> - -<p>“But where,” cried the desolate Amanda, “can I find such -a friend?” The few, the very few whom she had reason to -think regarded her, had neither power nor ability to assist her -in what would probably be an arduous demand for restitution. -After sitting a considerable time in deep meditation, the idea -of Rushbrook suddenly occurred, and she started, as if in joyful -surprise at the remembrance. She considered that, though -almost a stranger to him, an application of such a nature must -rather be regarded as a compliment than a liberty, from -the great opinion it would prove she had of his honor by intrusting -him with such a secret. From his looks and manner, -she was well convinced he would not only deeply feel for -the injured, but ably advise how those injuries should be redressed. -From his years and situation there could be no -impropriety in addressing him, and she already in imagination -beheld him her friend, advocate and adviser. He also, she -trusted, would be able to put her in a way of making inquiries -after Oscar. Oh! how delightful the prospect of discovering -that brother—of discovering, but to put him in possession of -even a splendid independence! Ah! how sweet the idea of -being again folded to a heart interested in her welfare, after -being so long a solitary mourner treading the rugged path of -life, and bending as she went beneath its adverse storm! Ah! -how sweet again to meet an eye which should beam with tenderness -on hers, an ear which should listen with attentive rapture -to her accents, and a voice that would soothe with softest sympathy -her sorrows! It is only those who, like her, have known -the social ties of life in all their sweetness; who, like her, have -mourned their loss with all the bitterness of anguish, that can -possibly conceive her feelings as these ideas occurred to her -mind. “Oh, Oscar! oh, my brother!” she exclaimed, while -tears wet her pale cheeks, “how rapturous the moment which -restores you to me! How delightful to think your youth will -no more experience the chill of poverty—your benevolence no -longer suffer restraints! Now will your virtues shine forth with -full lustre, dignifying the house from which you have descended, -doing service to your country, and spreading diffusive happiness -around.”</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span></p> - -<p>The morning surprised Amanda in the midst of her meditations. -She opened the shutters, and hailed its first glories in -the eastern hemisphere; the sunbeams, exhaling the mists of -the valley, displayed its smiling verdure, forming a fine contrast -to the deep shadows that yet partially enveloped the surrounding -mountains. The morning breeze gently agitated the old -trees, from whose bending heads unnumbered birds arose, and -in their matin notes seemed to consecrate the first return of -day to the Great Author of life and light!</p> - -<p>Spontaneous praise burst from the lips of Amanda, and she -felt all that calm and sweet delight which ever pervades a mind -of religion and sensibility on viewing the rural beauties of -nature. She left the charming scene to try and get a little rest, -but she thought not of undressing; she soon sunk into a gentle -sleep, and awoke with renovated spirits near the breakfast hour.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bruce expressed the utmost regret at the necessity -there was for parting with her guests; but added, that “she -believed, as well as hoped, their absence from her would be -but short, as she was sure the marquis’s family would leave -Scotland almost immediately after Lady Euphrasia’s nuptials.” -In vain did Amanda struggle for fortitude to support the -mention of those nuptials; her frame trembled, her heart sickened, -whenever they were talked of; the spirits she had endeavored -to collect from the idea, that they would all be -requisite in the important affair she must undertake, fleeted -away at Mrs. Bruce’s words, and a heavy languor took possession -of her.</p> - -<p>They did not leave the Abbey till after tea in the evening, -and the idea that she might soon behold her brother the acknowledged -heir of that Abbey, cast again a gleam of pleasure -on the sad heart of Amanda; a gleam, I say, for it faded before -the almost instantaneous recollection, that ere that period Lord -Mortimer and Lady Euphrasia would be united. Sunk in a -profound melancholy, she forgot her situation, heeded not the -progress of the carriage, or remarked any object. A sudden -jolt roused her from her reverie, and she blushed as she thought -of the suspicions it might give rise to in the mind of Mrs. Duncan, -whose intelligent eye on the preceding night had more -than half confessed her knowledge of Amanda’s feelings. She -now, though with some embarrassment, attempted to enter -into conversation, and Mrs. Duncan, who with deep attention -had marked her pensive companion, with much cheerfulness -rendered the attempt a successful one. The chaise was now -turning from the valley, and Amanda leaned from her window<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span> -to take another view of Dunreath Abbey. The sun was already -sunk below the horizon, but a track of glory still remained that -marked the spot in which its daily course was finished; a -dubious lustre yet played around the spires of the Abbey, and -while it displayed its vast magnificence by contrast added to -its gloom—a gloom heightened by the dreary solitude of its -situation, for the valley was entirely overshaded by the dark -projection of the mountains, on whose summits a few bright and -lingering beams yet remained, that showed the wild shrubs -waving in the evening breeze. A pensive spirit seemed now -to have taken possession of Mrs. Duncan, a spirit congenial to -the scene; and the rest of the little journey was passed almost -in silence. Their lodgings were at the entrance of the town, -and Mrs. Bruce had taken care they should find every requisite -refreshment within them. The woman of the house had already -prepared a comfortable supper for them, which was served up -soon after their arrival. When over, Mrs. Duncan, assisted by -Amanda, put the children to bed, as she knew, till accustomed -to her, they would not like the attendance of the maid of -the house. Neither she nor Amanda felt sleepy; it was a -fine moonlight night, and they were tempted to walk out -upon a terrace, to which a glass door from the room opened. -The terrace overhung a deep valley which stretched to the sea, -and the rocky promontory that terminated it was crowned with -the ruins of an ancient castle; the moonbeams seemed to sleep -upon its broken battlements, and the waves that stole murmuring -to the shore cast a silvery spray around it. A pensive -pleasure pervaded the hearts of Mrs. Duncan and Amanda, -and conversing on the charms of the scene they walked up and -down, when suddenly upon the floating air they distinguished -the sound of a distant drum beating the tattoo. Both stopped, -and leaned upon a fragment of a parapet wall, which had once -stretched along the terrace; and Mrs. Duncan, who knew the -situation of the country, said that the sounds they heard proceeded -from a fort near the town. They ceased in a short -time, but were almost immediately succeeded by martial music; -and Amanda soon distinguished an admired march of her -father’s. Ah! how affectingly did it remind her of him! She -recalled the moments in which she had played it for him, whilst -he hung over her chair with delight and tenderness; she wept -at the tender remembrance it excited—wept at listening to the -sounds which had so often given to his pale cheek the flush of -ardor. They did not return to the house till convinced by a -long interval of silence that the music had ceased for the night.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span></p> - -<p>Amanda having formed a plan relative to the will, determined -not to delay executing it. She had often mentioned to -Mrs. Duncan her uneasiness concerning her brother, as an excuse -for the melancholy that lady, in a half-serious, half-jesting -manner, so often rallied her about; and she now intended to -assign her journey to London (which she was resolved should -immediately take place) to her anxious wish of discovering, or -at least inquiring about him. The next morning she accordingly -mentioned her intention. Mrs. Duncan was not only -surprised, but concerned, and endeavored to dissuade her from -it by representing, in the most forcible manner, the dangers she -might experience in so long a journey without a protector.</p> - -<p>Amanda assured her she was already aware of these, but -the apprehensions they excited were less painful than the -anxiety she suffered on her brother’s account, and ended by -declaring her resolution unalterable.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Duncan, who, in her heart, could not blame Amanda -for such a resolution, now expressed her hopes that she would -not make a longer stay in London than was absolutely necessary, -declaring that her society would be a loss she could -scarcely support.</p> - -<p>Amanda thanked her for her tenderness, and said, “she -hoped they should yet enjoy many happy days together.” She -proposed travelling in a chaise to the borders of England, and -then pursuing the remainder of the journey in a stage-coach. -The woman of the house was sent for, and requested to engage -a carriage for her against the morning, which she promised to -do; and the intervening time was almost entirely passed by -Mrs. Duncan in lamenting the approaching loss of Amanda’s -society, and in entreaties for her to return as soon as possible. -Till this period she did not know, nor did Amanda conceive, the -strength of her friendship. She presented her purse to our -heroine, and in the impassioned language of sincerity, entreated -her to consider it as the purse of a sister, and take from it -whatever was necessary for her long journey and uncertain stay.</p> - -<p>Amanda, who never wished to lie under obligations, when -she could possibly avoid them, declined the offer; but with the -warmest expressions of gratitude and sensibility, declaring (what -she thought indeed would be the case), that she had more than -sufficient for all her purposes; all, therefore, she would accept -was what Mrs. Duncan owed her.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Duncan begged her to take a letter from her to a -family, near whose house her first day’s journey would terminate. -They were relations of Mr. Duncan’s, she said, and had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span> -extremely kind to him and her. She had kept up a correspondence -with them till her removal to Dunreath Abbey, when -she dropped it, lest her residence there should be discovered; -but such an opportunity of writing to them, by a person who -would answer all their inquiries concerning her, she could not -neglect; besides, she continued, they were the most agreeable -and hospitable people she had ever known, and she was convinced -would not suffer Amanda to sleep at an inn, but would -probably keep her a few days at their house, and then escort -her part of the way.</p> - -<p>Averse to the society of strangers, in her present frame of -mind, Amanda said she would certainly take the letter, but -could not possibly present it herself. She thanked Mrs. Duncan -for her solicitous care about her; but added, whether she -lodged at an inn or private house for one night was of little -consequence; and as to her journey being retarded, it was -what she never could allow.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Duncan declared she was too fond of solitude, but did -not argue the point with her. She wrote the letter, however.</p> - -<p>They took leave of each other at night, as the chaise was -ordered at an early hour. As Mrs. Duncan folded Amanda to -her heart, she again besought her to hasten back, declaring -that neither she nor her little girls would be themselves till she -returned.</p> - -<p>At an early hour Amanda entered the chaise; and, as she -stepped into it, could not forbear casting a sad and lingering -look upon a distant prospect, where, the foregoing evening, a -dusky grove of firs had been pointed out to her, as encompassing -the Marquis of Roslin’s Castle. Ah! how did her heart -sicken at the idea of the event which either had or was soon to -take place in that Castle! Ah! how did she tremble at the -idea of her long and lonesome journey, and the difficulties she -might encounter on its termination! How sad, how solitary, -did she feel herself! Her mournful eyes filled with tears as -she saw the rustic families hastening to their daily labors; for -her mind involuntarily drew a comparison between their situation -and her own. And, ah! how sweet would their labor be to -her, she thought, if she, like them, was encompassed with the -social ties of life. Fears, before unthought of, rose in her mind, -from which her timid nature shrunk appalled. Should Rushbrook -be absent from London, or should he not answer her expectations; -but, “I deserve disappointment,” cried she, “if I -thus anticipate it. Oh! let me not be over-exquisite</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">‘To cast the fashion of uncertain evils,’</span> -</div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span> -oppressed as I already am with real ones.” She endeavored to -exert her spirits. She tried to amuse them by attending to the -objects she passed, and gradually they lost somewhat of their -heaviness. On arriving in London, she designed going to the -haberdasher’s, where, it may be remembered, she had once met -Miss Rushbrook; here she hoped to procure lodgings, also a -direction to Rushbrook. It was about five when she stopped -for the night, as the shortened days of autumn would not permit -a longer journey, had the tired horses, which was not the -case, been able to proceed. They stopped at the inn, which -Mrs. Duncan had taken care to know would be the last stage -of the first day’s journey; a small, but neat and comfortable -house, romantically situated at the foot of a steep hill, planted -with ancient firs, and crowned with the straggling remains of -what appeared to have been a religious house, from a small -cross which yet stood over a broken gateway. A stream trickled -from the hill, though its murmurs through the thick underwood -alone denoted its rising there, and winding round the inn, -flowed in meanders through a spacious vale, of which the inn -was not the lone inhabitant, for cottages appeared on either side, -and one large mansion stood in the centre, whose superior size -and neat plantations proclaimed it master of the whole. This -was really the case, for immediately on entering the inn Amanda -had inquired about the Macqueen family, to whom Mrs. -Duncan’s letter was directed, and learned that they inhabited -this house, and owned the grounds to a large extent surrounding -it. Amanda gave Mrs. Duncan’s letter to the landlady, -and begged she would send it directly to Mrs. Macqueen. The -inn was without company; and its quiet retirement, together -with the appearance of the owners, an elderly pair, soothed the -agitated spirits of Amanda. Her little dinner was soon served -up; but when over, and she was left to herself, all the painful -ideas she had sedulously, and with some degree of success, attempted -to banish from her mind in the morning, by attending -to the objects she passed, now returned with full, or rather aggravated, -force. Books, those pleasing, and, in affliction, alleviating -resources, she had forgotten to bring along with her, and -all that the inn contained she had been shown on a shelf in the -apartment she occupied, but without finding one that could possibly -fix her attention or change her melancholy ideas; a ramble, -though the evening was uninviting, she preferred to the passive -indulgence of her sorrow; and having ordered tea against her -return, and invited the landlady to it, she was conducted to the -garden of the inn, from whence she ascended the hill by a wind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span>ing -path. She made her way with difficulty through a path, -which, seldom trodden, was half-choked with weeds and -brambles; the wind blew cold and sharp around her, and the -gloom of closing day was heightened by thick and lowering -clouds that involved the distant mountains in one dark shade. -Near those mountains she knew the domain of Roslin lay; and -from the bleak summit of the hill she surveyed them as a lone -mourner would survey the sad spot in which the pleasure of -his heart was buried. Forgetting the purpose for which she -had walked out, she leaned in melancholy reverie against a -fragment of the ruined building, nor heard approaching footsteps -till the voice of her host suddenly broke upon her ear. -She started, and perceived him accompanied by two ladies, who -he directly informed her were Mrs. and Miss Macqueen. They -both went up to Amanda, and after the usual compliments of -introduction were over, Mrs. Macqueen took her hand, and -with a smile of cordial good-nature, invited her to her house for -the night, declaring that the pleasure she received from Mrs. -Duncan’s letter was heightened by being introduced through its -means to a person that lady mentioned as her particular friend. -Miss Macqueen seconded her mother’s invitation, and said, -“the moment they had read the letter they had come out for -the purpose of bringing her back with them.” “Ay, ay,” said -the host, good-humoredly (who was himself descended from one -of the inferior branches of the Macqueens), “this is the way, -ladies, you always rob me of my guests. In good faith, I think -I must soon change my dwelling, and go higher up the valley.”</p> - -<p>Conscious from her utter dejection that she would be unable, -as she wished, to participate in the pleasures of conversation, -Amanda declined the invitation, alleging, as an excuse for -doing so, her intention of proceeding on her journey the next -morning by dawn of day.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Macqueen declared that she should act as she pleased -in that respect, and both she and her daughter renewed their -entreaties for her company with such earnestness, that Amanda -could no longer refuse them; and they returned to the inn, -where Amanda begged they would excuse her absence a few -minutes; and retired to pay her entertainers, and repeat her -charges to the postilion to be at the house as soon as he should -think any of the family stirring. She then returned to the -ladies, and attended them to their mansion, which might well -be termed the seat of hospitality. The family consisted of Mr. -and Mrs. Macqueen, four sons, and six daughters, now all past -childhood, and united to one another by the strictest ties of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span> -duty and affection. After residing a few years at Edinburgh, -for the improvement of the young people, Mr. and Mrs. Macqueen -returned to their mansion in the valley, where a large -fortune was spent in the enjoyment of agreeable society, and -acts of benevolence. Mrs. Macqueen informed Amanda, during -the walk, that all her family were now assembled together, -as her sons, who were already engaged in different professions -and businesses in various parts of the kingdom, made it a constant -rule to pay a visit every autumn to their friends. It was -quite dark before the ladies reached the house, and the wind -was sharp and cold, so that Amanda found the light and warmth -of the drawing-room, to which she was conducted, extremely -agreeable. The thick window curtains and carpeting, and the -enlivening fire, bid defiance to the sharpness of the mountain -blast which howled without, and rendered the comforts within -more delectable by the effect of contrast. In the drawing-room -were assembled Mr. Macqueen, two of his daughters, and half -a dozen ladies and gentlemen, to whom Amanda was presented, -and they in return to her. In the countenance of Mr. Macqueen, -Amanda perceived a benevolence equal to that which -irradiated his wife’s. Both were past the prime of life; but in -him only was its decline visible. He was lately grown so infirm -as to be unable to remove without assistance. Yet was his -relish for society undiminished; and in his arm-chair, his legs -muffled in flannel, and supported by pillows, he promoted as -much as ever the mirth of his family, and saw with delight the -dance go on in which he had once mixed with his children. Mrs. -Macqueen appeared but as the eldest sister of her daughters; -and between them all Amanda perceived a strong family likeness. -They were tall, well, but not delicately made; handsome, -yet more indebted to the animation of their countenances than -to regularity of features for beauty, which was rendered luxuriant -by a quantity of rich auburn hair, that, unrestrained -by superfluous ornaments, fell in long ringlets on their shoulders, -and curled with a sweet simplicity on their white polished -foreheads.</p> - -<p>“So the boys and girls are not yet returned,” said Mrs. -Macqueen, addressing one of her daughters. “I am afraid -they have taken their friends too far.” She had scarcely -spoken, when a party was heard under the windows laughing -and talking, who ascended the stairs immediately in a kind of -gay tumult. The drawing-room door opened, and a lady entered -(of a most prepossessing appearance, though advanced -in life), and was followed by a number of young people.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span></p> - -<p>But, oh! what were the powerful emotions of Amanda’s -soul, when amongst them she beheld Lady Araminta Dormer -and Lord Mortimer! Shocked, confused, confounded, she -strained an eye of agony upon them, as if with the hope of -detecting an illusion, then dropped her head, anxious to conceal -herself, though she was fatally convinced she could be but -a few minutes unobserved by them. Never, amidst the many -trying moments of her life, had she experienced one more -dreadful. To behold Lord Mortimer, when she knew his esteem -for her was lost, at a period, too, when he was hastening -to be united to another woman, oh! it was agony, torture in the -extreme! Vainly did she reflect she deserved not to lose his -esteem. This consciousness could not at present inspire her -with fortitude. Her heart throbbed as if it would burst; her -bosom, her frame trembled, and she alternately experienced -the glow of confusion and the chill of dismay—dismay at -the idea of meeting the silent but expressive reproach of Lord -Mortimer’s eye for her imaginary errors—dismay at the idea of -meeting the contempt of his aunt (who was the lady that first -entered the room) and sister.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIX" id="CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“It would raise your pity but to see the tears</span> -<span class="i0">Force through her snowy lids their melting course,</span> -<span class="i0">To lodge themselves on her red murm’ring lips,</span> -<span class="i0">That talk such mournful things; when straight a gale</span> -<span class="i0">Of starting sighs carry those pearls away,</span> -<span class="i0">As dews by winds are wafted from the flowers.”—<span class="smcap">Lee.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Bitterly did Amanda regret having been tempted from the -inn, and gratefully would she have acquitted fortune of half -its malignancy to her, had she been able to steal back unnoticed. -The party that entered engaged in talking to those they -found in the drawing-room—laughing and describing their -ramble, which Lady Araminta said was in the style of Will-o’-the-Wisp -(over brakes and through briers)—were some time -before they observed Amanda; but soon, ah! how much too -soon, did she perceive Mrs. Macqueen approaching to introduce -those of her family who were just returned.</p> - -<p>“The trying moment is come!” cried Amanda. “Oh! let -me not by my confusion look as if I really was the guilty thing -I’m supposed to be.” She endeavored to collect herself, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span> -rose to meet the young Macqueens, by a timid glance perceiving -that they yet hid her from the eyes she most dreaded to -encounter. She was unable, however, to return their compliments, -except by a faint smile, and was again sinking upon her -seat—for her frame trembled universally—when Mrs. Macqueen, -taking her hand, led her forward, and presented her to -Lady Martha and Lady Araminta Dormer. It may be remembered -that Lady Martha had never before seen Amanda. She -therefore gave her, as Miss Donald, a benignant smile, which, -had she supposed her Miss Fitzalan, would have been lost in a -contemptuous frown. Seldom, indeed, had she seen a form -more interesting than our heroine’s. Her mourning habit set -off the elegance of her form and the languid delicacy of her -complexion, whilst the sad expression of her countenance denoted -that habit but the shadow of the unseen grief which -dwelt within her soul. Her large blue eyes were half concealed -by their long lashes, but the beams which stole from beneath -those fringed curtains were full of sweetness and sensibility. -Her fine hair, discomposed by the jolting of the carriage -and the blowing of the wind, had partly escaped the -braid on which it was turned under her hat, and hung in long -ringlets of glossy brown upon her shoulders and careless curls -about her face, giving a sweet simplicity to it, which heightened -its beauty. How different was the look she received from -Lady Araminta to that she had received from Lady Martha! -In the expressive countenance of the former she read surprise, -contempt, and anger; her cheeks were flushed with unusual -color, her eyes sparkled with uncommon lustre, and their quick -glances pierced the palpitating heart of Amanda, who heard -her repeat, as if involuntarily, the name of Donald. Ah! how -dreadful was the sound to her ear! Ah! how sad a confirmation -did it convey—that every suspicion to her prejudice would -now be strengthened. “Ah! why, why,” said she to herself, -“was I tempted to take this hated name? Why did I not -prefer incurring any danger to which my own might have exposed -me, rather than assume anything like deceit?” Happily -the party were too much engrossed by one another to heed -the words or manner of Lady Araminta.</p> - -<p>Amanda withdrew her hand from Mrs. Macqueen, and -moved tremblingly to her seat; but that lady, with a politeness -poor Amanda had reason to think officious, stopped her. -“Miss Donald—Lord Mortimer!” said she. Amanda raised -her head, but not her eyes, and neither saw nor heard his lordship. -The scene she had dreaded was over, and she felt a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span> -little relieved at the idea. The haughty glance of Lady Araminta -dwelt upon her mind, and, when agitation had a little -subsided, she stole a look at her, and saw Mrs. Macqueen -sitting between her and Lady Martha; and from the altered -countenance of the latter, she instantly conjectured she had -been informed by her niece of her real name. She also conjectured, -from the glances directed towards her, that she was -the subject of conversation, and concluded it was begun for the -purpose of discovering whether Mrs. Macqueen knew anything -of her real history.</p> - -<p>From these glances she quickly withdrew her own, and one -of the young Macqueens, drawing a chair near hers, began a -conversation with all that spirit and vivacity which distinguished -his family. The mind of Amanda was too much occupied -by its concerns to be able to attend to anything foreign to -them. She scarcely knew what he said, and when she did -reply it was only by monosyllables. At last a question, enforced -with peculiar earnestness, roused her from this inattention, -and blushing for it, she looked at the young man, and -perceived him regarding her with something like wonder. She -now, for the first time, considered the strange appearance she -must make amongst the company, if she did not collect and -compose her spirits. The family, too, to whom she was (she -could not help thinking) so unfortunately introduced, from their -hospitality, merited attention and respect from her. She -resolved, therefore, to struggle with her feelings, and, as an -apology for her absent manner, complained, and not without -truth, of a headache.</p> - -<p>Young Macqueen, with friendly warmth, said he would acquaint -his mother, or one of his sisters, with her indisposition, -and procure some remedy for it; but she insisted he should on -no account disturb the company, assuring him she would soon -be well; she then endeavored to support a conversation with -him; but, ah! how often did she pause in the midst of what -she was saying, as the sweet, insinuating voice of Mortimer -reached her ear, who, with his native elegance and spirit, was -participating in the lively conversation then going forward. In -hers, with young Macqueen, she was soon interrupted by his -father, who, in a good-humored manner told his son he would -no longer suffer him to engross Miss Donald to himself, and -desired him to lead her to a chair near his.</p> - -<p>Young Macqueen immediately arose, and taking Amanda’s -hand, led her to his father, by whom he seated her; and by -whom on the other side sat Lady Martha Dormer; then with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span> -modest gallantry declared it was the first time he ever felt reluctance -to obey his father’s commands, and hoped his ready -acquiescence to them would be rewarded with speedy permission -to resume his conversation with Miss Donald. Amanda -had hitherto prevented her eyes from wandering, though they -could not exclude the form of Lord Mortimer; she had not -yet seen his face, and still strove to avoid seeing it. Mr. Macqueen -began with various inquiries relative to Mrs. Duncan, to -which Amanda, as she was prepared for them, answered with -tolerable composure. Suddenly he dropped the subject of his -relation, and asked Amanda from what branch of the Donalds -she was descended. A question so unexpected shocked, -dismayed, and overwhelmed her with confusion. She made no -reply till the question was repeated, when, in a low and faltering -voice, her face covered with blushes, and almost buried -in her bosom, she said she did not know.</p> - -<p>“Well,” cried he, again changing his discourse, after looking -at her a few minutes, “I do not know any girl but yourself would -take such pains to hide such a pair of eyes as you have. I suppose -you are conscious of the mischief they have the power of -doing, and therefore it is from compassion to mankind you try -to conceal them.”</p> - -<p>Amanda blushed yet more deeply than before at finding her -downcast looks were noticed. She turned hers with quickness -to Mr. Macqueen, who having answered a question of Lady -Martha’s thus proceeded: “And so you do not know from which -branch of the Donalds you are descended? Perhaps now you -only forget, and if I was to mention them one by one, your -memory might be refreshed; but first let me ask your father’s -surname, and what countrywoman he married, for the Donalds -generally married amongst each other?”</p> - -<p>Oh! how forcibly was Amanda at this moment convinced -(if indeed her pure soul wanted such conviction) of the pain, the -shame of deception, let the motive be what it may which prompts -it. Involuntarily were her eyes turned from Mr. Macqueen as -he paused for a reply to his last question, and at the moment -encountered those of Lord Mortimer, who sat directly opposite -to her, and with deep attention regarded her, as if anxious to -hear how she would extricate herself from the embarrassments -her assumed name had plunged her into.</p> - -<p>Her confusion, her blushes, her too evident distress, were -all imputed by Mrs. Macqueen to fatigue at listening to such -tedious inquiries. She knew her husband’s only foible was an -eager desire to trace every one’s pedigree. In order, therefore,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span> -to relieve Amanda from her present situation, she proposed a -party of whist, at which Mr. Macqueen often amused himself, -and for which the table and cards were already laid before him. -As she took up the cards to hand them to those who were to -draw, she whispered Amanda to go over to the tea-table.</p> - -<p>Amanda required no repetition now, and thanking Mrs. -Macqueen in her heart for the relief she afforded her, went to -the table around which almost all the young people were -crowded; so great was the mirth going on amongst them, that -Miss Macqueen, the gravest of the set, in vain called upon her -sisters to assist her in serving the trays, which the servants -handed about, and Mrs. Macqueen had more than once called -for. Miss Macqueen made room for Amanda by herself, and -Amanda, anxious to do anything which could keep her from encountering -the eyes she dreaded, requested to be employed in -assisting her, and was deputed to fill out the coffee. After the -first performance of her task, Miss Macqueen, in a whispering -voice, said to Amanda, “Do you know we are all here more -than half in love with Lord Mortimer. He is certainly very -handsome, and his manner is quite as pleasing as his looks, for -he has none of that foppery and conceit which handsome men -so generally have, and nothing but the knowledge of his engagement -could keep us from pulling caps about him. You have -heard, to be sure, of Lady Euphrasia Sutherland, the Marquis -of Roslin’s daughter; well, he is going to be married to her -immediately; she and the marquis and the marchioness were -here the other day. She is not to be compared to Lord -Mortimer, but she has what will make her be considered very -handsome in the eyes of many—namely, a large fortune. They -only stopped to breakfast here, and ever since we have been on -the watch for the rest of the party, who arrived this morning, -and were, on Lady Martha’s account, whom the journey had -fatigued, prevailed on to stay till to-morrow. I am very glad -you came while they were here. I think both ladies charming -women, and Lady Araminta quite as handsome as her brother; -but see,” she continued, touching Amanda’s hand, “the conquering -hero comes!” Lord Mortimer with difficulty made his -way round the table, and accepted a seat by Miss Macqueen, -which she eagerly offered him, and which she contrived to procure -by sitting closer to Amanda. To her next neighbor, a fine, -lively girl, Amanda now turned, and entered into conversation -with her; but from this she was soon called by Miss Macqueen, -requesting her to pour out a cup of coffee for Lord Mortimer.</p> - -<p>Amanda obeyed, and he rose to receive it; her hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span> -trembled as she presented it. She looked not in his face, but -she thought his hand was not quite steady. She saw him lay -the cup on the table, and bend his eyes to the ground. She -heard Miss Macqueen address him twice ere she received an -answer, and then it was so abrupt that it seemed the effect of -sudden recollection. Miss Macqueen now grew almost as inattentive -to the table as her sisters, and Mrs. Macqueen was -obliged to come over to know what they were all about. At -length the business of the tea-table was declared over; and -almost at the same moment the sound of a violin was heard -from an adjoining room, playing an English country dance, in -which style of dancing the Macqueens had been instructed in -Edinburgh, and chose this evening in compliment to their -guests. The music was a signal for universal motion—all in a -moment was bustle and confusion. The young men instantly -selected their partners, who seemed ready to dance from one -room to another. The young Macqueen, who had been so -assiduous about Amanda, now came, and taking her hand, as if -her dancing was a thing of course, was leading her after the -rest of the party, when she drew back, declaring she could not -dance. Surprised and disappointed, he stood looking on her -in silence, as if irresolute whether he should not attempt to -change her resolution. At last he spoke, and requested she -would not mortify him by a refusal.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Macqueen hearing her son’s request came forward and -joined it. Amanda pleaded her headache.</p> - -<p>“Do, my dear,” said Mrs. Macqueen, “try one dance; my -girls will tell you dancing is a sovereign remedy for everything.” -It was painful to Amanda to refuse; but, scarcely able to stand, -she was utterly unable to dance; had even her strength permitted -her so to do, she could not have supported the idea of -mingling in the set with Lord Mortimer, the glance of whose -eye she never caught without a throb in her heart, which shook -her whole frame. One of the Miss Macqueens ran into the -room, exclaiming: “Lord, Colin, what are you about? Lord -Mortimer and my sister have already led off; do, pray, make -haste and join us,” and away she ran again.</p> - -<p>“Let me no longer detain you,” said Amanda, withdrawing -her hand. Young Macqueen finding her inflexible, at length -went off to seek a partner. He was as fond of dancing as his -sisters, and feared he should not procure one; but luckily there -were fewer gentlemen than ladies present, and a lady having -stood up with his youngest sister, he easily prevailed on her to -change her partner.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We will go into the dancing room, if you please,” said -Mrs. Macqueen to Amanda; “that will amuse without fatiguing -you.” Amanda would rather not have gone, but she could not -say no; and they proceeded to it. Lord Mortimer had just -concluded the dance, and was standing near the door in a pensive -attitude, Miss Macqueen being too much engrossed by -something she was saying to the young lady next to her, to mind -him. The moment he perceived Amanda enter, he again -approached his partner, and began chatting in a lively manner -to her. Amanda and Mrs. Macqueen sat down together, and -in listening to the conversation of that lady, Amanda found herself -insensibly drawn from a too painful attention to surrounding -objects. On expressing the pleasure which a mind of sensibility -must feel on witnessing such family happiness as Mrs. -Macqueen possessed, that lady said she had reason indeed to -be grateful to Heaven, and was truly so for her domestic comforts. -“You see us now,” she continued, “in our gayest -season, because of my sons’ company; but we are seldom dull. -Though summer is delightful, we never think the winter tedious. -Yet though we love amusement, I assure you we dislike dissipation. -The mornings are appropriated to business, and the -evenings to recreation. All the work of the family goes through -the hands of my daughters, and they wear nothing ornamental -which they do not make themselves. Assisted by their good -neighbors, they are enabled to diversify their amusements: the -dance succeeds the concert; sometimes small plays, and now -and then little dramatic entertainments. About two years ago -they performed the Winter’s Tale; their poor father was not -then in his present situation.” Mrs. Macqueen sighed, paused -a minute, and then proceeded—"Time must take something -from us: but I should and do bless, with heartfelt gratitude, the -power which only, by its stealing hand, has made me feel the -lot of human nature. Mr. Macqueen,” continued she, “at the -time I mentioned, was full of spirits, and performed the part of -Autolycus. They made me take the character of the good -Paulina. By thus mixing in the amusements of our children, -we have added to their love and reverence perfect confidence -and esteem, and find, when our presence is wanting, the diversion, -let it be what it may, wants something to render it complete. -They are now about acting the Gentle Shepherd. -Several rehearsals have already taken place in our great barn, -which is the theatre. On these occasions one of my sons -leads the band, another paints the scenes, and Colin, your rejected -partner, acts the part of prompter.” Here this con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span>versation, -so pleasing to Amanda, and interesting to Mrs. Macqueen, -was interrupted by a message from the drawing-room, -to inform the latter the rubber was over, and a new set wanted -to cut in.</p> - -<p>“I will return as soon as possible,” said Mrs. Macqueen, -as she was quitting her seat. If Amanda had not dreaded the -looks of Lady Martha almost as much as those of Lord Mortimer -or Lady Araminta, she would have followed her to the -drawing-room. As this was the case, she resolved on remaining -in her present situation. It was some time ere she was -observed by the young Macqueens. At last Miss Macqueen -came over to her—"I declare,” said she, “you look so sad -and solitary, I wish you could be prevailed on to dance. Do -try this; it is a very fine lively one, and take Flora for your -partner, who, you see, has sat in a corner quite discomposed -since she lost her partner, and by the next set Colin will be -disengaged.”</p> - -<p>Amanda declared she could not dance, and Miss Macqueen -being called to her place at the instant, she was again left to -herself. Miss Macqueen, however, continued to come and chat -with her whenever she could do so without losing any part of -the dance. At last Lord Mortimer followed her. The eyes of -Amanda were involuntarily bent to the ground when she saw -him approach:—"You are an absolute runaway,” cried he to -Miss Macqueen; “how do you suppose I will excuse your frequent -desertions?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Miss Donald is so lonely,” said she.</p> - -<p>“See,” cried he, with quickness, “your sister beckons you -to her. Suffer me (taking her hand) to lead you to her.”</p> - -<p>Amanda looked up as they moved from her, and saw Lord -Mortimer’s head half turned back; but the instant she perceived -him he averted it, and took no further notice of her. -When the set was finished, Miss Macqueen returned to Amanda, -and was followed by some of her brothers and sisters. -Some of the gentlemen also approached Amanda, and requested -the honor of her hand, but she was steady in refusing all. Rich -wines, sweetmeats, and warm lemonade, were now handed -about in profusion, and the strains of the violin were succeeded -by those of the bagpipe, played by the family musician, venerable -in his appearance, and habited in the ancient Highland -dress. With as much satisfaction to himself as to his Scotch -auditors, he played a lively Scotch reel, which in a moment -brought two of the Miss Macqueens and two gentlemen forward, -and they continued the dance till politeness induced them to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</a></span> -stop, that one might be begun in which the rest of the party -could join. Dancing continued in this manner with little intermission, -but whenever there was an interval, the young Macqueens -paid every attention to Amanda; and on her expressing -her admiration of the Scotch music, made it a point that -she should mention some favorite airs that they might be played -for her; but these airs, the lively dances, the animated conversation, -and the friendly attentions paid her, could not remove -her dejection, and with truth they might have said—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“That nothing could a charm impart</span> -<span class="i0">To soothe the stranger’s woe.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The entrance of Mrs. Macqueen was the signal for the -dance being ended. She made the young people sit down to -refresh themselves before supper, and apologized to Amanda -for not returning to her; but said Lady Martha Dormer had -engaged her in a conversation which she could not interrupt. -At last they were summoned to supper, which, on Mr. Macqueen’s -account, was laid out in a room on the same floor. -Thither without ceremony whoever was next the door first proceeded. -Mr. Macqueen was already seated at the table in his -arm-chair, and Lady Martha Dormer on his right hand. The -eldest son was deputed to do the honors of the foot of the table. -The company was checkered, and Amanda found herself between -Lord Mortimer and Mr. Colin Macqueen; and in conversing -with the latter, Amanda sought to avoid noticing, or -being noticed by Lord Mortimer; and his lordship, by the particular -attention which he paid Miss Macqueen, who sat on the -other side, appeared actuated by the same wish. The sports of -the morning had furnished the table with a variety of the choicest -wild fowl, and the plenty and beauty of the confectionery denoted -at once the hospitable spirit and elegant taste of the mistress of -the feast. Gayety presided at the board, and there was scarcely -a tongue, except Amanda’s, which did not utter some lively sally. -The piper sat in the lobby, and if his strains were not melodious, -they were at least cheerful. In the course of supper, Lord -Mortimer was compelled to follow the universal example in -drinking Amanda’s health. Obliged to turn her looks to him, -oh! how did her heart shrink at the glance, the expressive -glance of his eye, as he pronounced Miss Donald. Unconscious -whether she had noticed in the usual manner his distressing -compliment, she abruptly turned to young Macqueen, and addressed -some scarcely articulate question to him. The supper -things removed, the strains of the piper were silenced, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span> -songs, toasts, and sentiments succeeded. Old Mr. Macqueen -set the example by a favorite Scotch air, and then called upon -his next neighbor. Between the songs, toasts were called for. -At last it came to Lord Mortimer’s turn. Amanda suddenly -ceased speaking to young Macqueen. She saw the glass of -Lord Mortimer filled, and in the next moment heard the name -of Lady Euphrasia Sutherland. A feeling like wounded pride -stole into the soul of Amanda. She did not decline her head -as before, and she felt a faint glow upon her cheek. The eyes -of Lady Martha and Lady Araminta she thought directed to -her with an expressive meaning. “They think,” cried she, -“to witness mortification and disappointment in my looks, but -they shall not (if, indeed, they are capable of enjoying such a -triumph) have it.”</p> - -<p>At length she was called upon for a song. She declined -the call; but Mr. Macqueen declared, except assured she could -not sing, she should not be excused. This assurance, without -a breach of truth, she could not give. She did not wish to appear -ungrateful to her kind entertainers, or unsocial in the -midst of mirth, by refusing what she was told would be pleasing -to them and their company. She also wished, from a -sudden impulse of pride, to appear cheerful in those eyes she -knew were attentively observing her, and therefore, after a little -hesitation, consented to sing. The first song which occurred to -her was a little simple, but pathetic air, which her father used -to delight in, and which Lord Mortimer more than once had -heard from her; but indeed she could recollect no song which -at some time or other she had not sung for him. The simple -air she had chosen seemed perfectly adapted to her soft voice, -whose modulations were inexpressibly affecting. She had proceeded -through half the second verse, when her voice began -to falter. The attention of the company became, if possible, -more fixed; but it was a vain attention; no rich strain of melody -repaid it, for the voice of the songstress had suddenly ceased. -Mrs. Macqueen, with the delicacy of a susceptible mind, feared -increasing her emotion by noticing it, and, with a glance of her -expressive eye, directed her company to silence. Amanda’s -eyes were bent to the ground. Suddenly a glass of water was -presented to her by a trembling hand—by the hand of Mortimer -himself. She declined it with a motion of hers, and, reviving -a little, raised her head. Young Macqueen then gave her an -entreating whisper to finish the song. She thought it would -look like affectation to require farther solicitation, and, faintly -smiling, again began in strains of liquid melody, strains that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span> -seemed to breathe the very spirit of sensibility, and came over -each attentive ear,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i5">“Like a sweet sound</span> -<span class="i0">That breathes upon a bank of violets</span> -<span class="i0">Stealing and giving odor.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The plaudits she received from her singing gave to her -cheeks such a faint tinge of red as is seen in the bosom of the -wild rose. She was now authorized to call for a song, and, as -if doomed to experience cause for agitation, Lord Mortimer -was the person from whom, in the rotation of the table, she -was to claim it. Thrice she was requested to do this ere she -could obey. At last she raised her eyes to his face, which was -now turned towards her, and she saw in it a confusion equal to -that she herself trembled under. Pale and red by turns, he appeared -to her to wait in painful agitation for the sound of her -voice. Her lips moved, but she could not articulate a word. -Lord Mortimer bowed, as if he had heard what they would have -said, and then turning abruptly to Miss Macqueen, began speaking -to her.</p> - -<p>“Come, come, my lord,” said Mr. Macqueen, “we must -not be put off in this manner.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer laughed, and attempted to rally the old -gentleman; but he seemed unequal to the attempt, for, with a -sudden seriousness, he declared his inability of complying with -the present demand. All farther solicitation on the subject -was immediately dropped. In the round of toasts, they forgot -not to call upon Amanda for one. If she had listened attentively -when Lord Mortimer was about giving one, no less attentively -did he now listen to her. She hesitated a moment, -and then gave Sir Charles Bingley. After the toast had passed, -“Sir Charles Bingley,” repeated Miss Macqueen, leaning forward, -and speaking across Lord Mortimer. “Oh! I recollect -him very well. His regiment was quartered about two years -ago at a little fort some distance from this—and I remember -his coming with a shooting party to the mountains, and sleeping -one night here. We had a delightful dance that evening, -and all thought him a charming young man. Pray, are you -well acquainted with him?” “Yes—No,” replied Amanda.</p> - -<p>“Ah! I believe you are, sly girl,” cried Miss Macqueen, -laughing. “Pray, my lord, does not that blush declare Miss -Donald guilty?” “We are not always to judge from the countenance,” -said he, darting a penetrating yet quickly-withdrawn -glance at Amanda. “Experience,” continued he, “daily -proves how little dependence is to be placed on it.” Amanda<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span> -turned hastily away, and pretended, by speaking to young Macqueen, -not to notice a speech she knew directly pointed at her; -for often had Lord Mortimer declared that, “in the lineaments -of the human face divine, each passion of the soul might be well -traced.”</p> - -<p>Miss Macqueen laughed, and said she always judged of the -countenance, and that her likings and dislikings were always -the effects of first sight.</p> - -<p>The company broke up soon after this, and much earlier -than their usual hour, on account of the travellers. All but -those then immediately belonging to the family having departed, -some maids of the house appeared, to show the ladies to their -respective chambers. Lady Martha and Lady Araminta retired -first. Amanda was following them, when Mrs. Macqueen -detained her, to try and prevail on her to stay two or three -days along with them. The Miss Macqueens joined their -mother; but Amanda assured them she could not comply with -their request, though she felt with gratitude its friendly warmth. -Old Mr. Macqueen had had his chair turned to the fire, and -his sons and Lord Mortimer were surrounding it. “Well, -well,” said he, calling Amanda to him, and taking her hand, -“if you will not stay with us now, remember, on your return, -we shall lay an embargo on you. In the mean time, I shall -not lose the privilege which my being an old married man -gives me.” So saying, he gently pulled Amanda to him, and -kissed her cheek. She could only smile at this innocent freedom -but she attempted to withdraw her hand to retire. “Now,” -said Mr. Macqueen, still detaining it, “are all these young -men half mad with envy?” The young Macqueens joined in -their father’s gallantry, and not a tongue was silent except -Lord Mortimer’s. His head rested on his hand, and the cornice -of the chimney supported his arm. His hair, from which -the dancing had almost shaken all the powder, hung negligently -about his face, and added to its paleness and sudden -dejection. One of the young Macqueens, turning from his -brothers, who were yet continuing their mirth with their father, -addressed some question to his lordship, but received no answer. -Again he repeated it. Lord Mortimer then suddenly -started, as if from a profound reverie, and apologized for his -absence.</p> - -<p>“Ay, ah, my lord,” exclaimed old Mr. Macqueen, jocosely, -"we may all guess where your lordship was then travelling in -idea—a little beyond the mountains, I fancy. Ay, we all know -where your heart and your treasure now lie.” “Do you?” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span> -Lord Mortimer, with a tone of deep dejection, and a heavy -sigh, with an air, also, which seemed to declare him scarcely -conscious of what he said. He recollected himself, however, -at the instant, and began rallying himself, as the surest means -of preventing others doing so. The scene was too painful to -Amanda. She hastily withdrew her hand, and, faintly wishing -the party a good-night, went out to the maid, who was waiting -for her in the lobby, and was conducted to her room. She -dismissed the servant at the door, and, throwing herself into a -chair, availed herself of solitude to give vent to the tears whose -painful suppression had so long tortured her heart. She had -not sat long in this situation when she heard a gentle tap at -the door. She started, and believing it to be one of the Miss -Macqueens, hastily wiped away her tears, and opened the door. -A female stranger appeared at it, who curtseying, respectfully -said, “Lady Martha Dormer, her lady, desired to see Miss -Donald for a few minutes, if not inconvenient to her.” “See -me!” repeated Amanda, with the utmost surprise; “can it be -possible?” She suddenly checked herself, and said she -would attend her ladyship immediately. She accordingly followed -the maid, a variety of strange ideas crowding upon her -mind. Her conductress retired as she shut the door of the -room into which she showed Amanda. It was a small ante-chamber -adjoining the apartment Lady Martha was to lie in. -Here, with increasing surprise, she beheld Lord Mortimer -pacing the room in an agitated manner. His back was to the -door as she entered, but he turned round with quickness, approached, -looked on her a few moments, then, striking his hand -suddenly against his forehead, turned from her with an air of -distraction.</p> - -<p>Lady Martha, who was sitting at the head of the room, and -only bowed as Amanda entered it, motioned for her to take a -chair; a motion Amanda gladly obeyed, for her trembling -limbs could scarcely support her.</p> - -<p>All was silent for a few minutes. Lady Martha then spoke -in a grave voice:—"I should not, madam, have taken the liberty -of sending for you at this hour, but that I believe so favorable -an opportunity would not again have occurred of speaking -to you on a subject particularly interesting to me—an opportunity -which has so unexpectedly saved me the trouble of trying -to find you out, and the necessity of writing to you.”</p> - -<p>Lady Martha paused, and her silence was not interrupted -by Amanda. “Last summer,” continued Lady Martha—again -she paused. The throbbings of Amanda’s heart became more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</a></span> -violent. “Last summer,” she said again, “there were some -little gifts presented to you by Lord Mortimer. From the -events which followed their acceptance, I must presume they -are valueless to you: from the events about taking place, they -are of importance elsewhere.” She ceased, but Amanda could -make no reply.</p> - -<p>“You cannot be ignorant,” said Lady Martha, with something -of severity in her accent, as if offended by the silence of -Amanda,—"you cannot be ignorant, I suppose, that it is the -picture and ring I allude to. The latter, from being a family -one of particular value, I always destined for the wife of Lord -Mortimer; I therefore claim it in my own name. The picture, -I have his lordship’s approbation and authority to demand; -and to convince you I have,—indeed, if such a conviction be -necessary,—have prevailed on him to be present at this conversation.” -"No, madam, such a conviction was not necessary,” -cried Amanda. “I should——" She could utter no -more at the moment, yet tried to suppress the agonizing feeling -that tumultuously heaved her bosom.</p> - -<p>“If not convenient to restore them immediately,” said Lady -Martha, “I will give you a direction where they may be left in -London, to which place Mrs. Macqueen has informed me you -are going.” “It is perfectly convenient now to restore them, -madam,” replied Amanda, with a voice perfectly recovered, -animated with conscious innocence and offended pride, which -always gave her strength. “I shall return,” continued she, -moving to the door, “with them immediately to your ladyship.”</p> - -<p>The picture was suspended from her neck, and the ring in -its case lay in her pocket; but by the manner in which they -had been asked, or rather demanded from her, she felt amidst -the anguish of her soul a sudden emotion of pleasure that she -could directly give them back. Yet, when in her own room she -hastily untied the picture from her neck, pulled the black ribbon -from it, and laid it in its case, her grief overcame every -other feeling, and a shower of tears fell from her. “Oh, Mortimer! -dear Mortimer!” she sighed, “must I part even with -this little shadow! must I retain no vestige of happier hours! -Yet, why—why should I wish to retain it, when the original -will so soon be another’s ? Yes, if I behold Mortimer again, it -will be as the husband of Lady Euphrasia.”</p> - -<p>She recollected she was staying beyond the expected time, -and wiped away her tears. Yet, still she lingered a few minutes -in the chamber, to try to calm her agitation. She called -her pride to her aid; it inspired her with fortitude, and she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[Pg 464]</a></span> -proceeded to Lady Martha, determined that lady should see -nothing in her manner which she could possibly construe into -weakness or meanness. Never did she appear more interesting -than at the moment she re-entered the apartment. The -passion she had called to her aid gave a bright glow to her -cheeks, and the traces of the tears she had been shedding appeared -upon those glowing cheeks like dew on the silken leaves -of the rose ere the sunbeams of the morning have exhaled it. -Those tears left an humble lustre in her eyes, even more interesting -than their wonted brilliancy. Her hair hung in rich -and unrestrained luxuriance—for she had thrown off her hat on -first going to her chamber—and gave to the beauty of her face, -and the elegance of her form, a complete finishing.</p> - -<p>“Here, madam, is the ring,” cried she, presenting it to -Lady Martha, “and here is the picture,” she would have -added, but her voice faltered, and a tear started from her eye. -Determined to conceal, if possible, her feelings, she hastily -dashed away the pearly fugitive. Lady Martha was again extending -her hand when Lord Mortimer suddenly started from a -couch on which he had thrown himself, and snatching the picture -from the trembling hand that held it, pulled it from its -case, and flinging it on the floor, trampled it beneath his feet. -“Thus perish,” exclaimed he, “every memento of my attachment -to Amanda! Oh, wretched, wretched girl!” cried he, -suddenly grasping her hand, and as suddenly relinquishing -it, “Oh, wretched, wretched girl! you have undone yourself -and me!” He turned abruptly away, and instantly quitted the -room. Shocked by his words, and terrified by his manner, -Amanda had just power to gain a chair. Lady Martha seemed -also thunderstruck; but, from the musing attitude in which she -stood, the deep convulsive suffocating sobs of Amanda soon -called her. She went to her, and finding her unable to help -herself, loosened her cravat, bathed her temples with lavender, -and gave her water to drink. These attentions, and the tears she -shed, revived Amanda. She raised herself in her chair, on which -she had fallen back, but was yet too much agitated to stand.</p> - -<p>“Poor, unhappy young creature!” said Lady Martha, “I -pity you from my soul! Ah! if your mind resembled your -person, what a perfect creature had you been! How happy -had then been my poor Mortimer!”</p> - -<p>Now, now was the test, the shining test of Amanda’s virtue, -agonized by knowing she had lost the good opinion of those -whom she loved with such ardor, esteemed with such reverence. -She knew by a few words she could explain the appearances<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[Pg 465]</a></span> -which had deprived her of his good opinion, and fully regain it—regain, -by a few words, the love, the esteem of her valued, -her inestimable Mortimer—the affection, the protection, of his -amiable aunt and sister. She leaned her head upon her hand, -the weight on her bosom became less oppressive; she raised -her head. “Of my innocence I can give such proofs,” cried -she. Her lips closed, a mortal paleness overspread her face; -the sound of suicide seemed piercing through her ear; she -trembled; the solemn, the dreadful declaration Lord Cherbury -had made of not surviving the disclosure of his secret, her promise -of inviolably keeping it, both rushed upon her mind. She -beheld herself on the very verge of a tremendous precipice, and -about plunging herself and a fellow-creature into it, from -whence, at the tribunal of her God, she would have to answer -for accelerating the death of that fellow-creature. “And is it -by a breach of faith?” she asked herself, “I hope to be reestablished -in the opinion of Lord Mortimer and his relations. -Ah! mistaken idea, and how great is the delusion passion -spreads before our eyes, even if their esteem could be thus regained? -Oh! what were that, or what the esteem, the plaudits -of the world, if those of my own heart were gone forever! -Oh! never!” cried she, still to herself, and raising her eyes to -Heaven. “Oh! never may the pang of self-reproach be added -to those which now oppress me!” Her heart at the moment -formed a solemn vow never, by any wilful act, to merit such a -pang. “And, oh, my God!” she cried, “forgive thy weak -creature who, assailed by strong temptation, thought for a moment -of wandering from the path of truth and integrity, which -can alone conduct her to the region where peace and immortal -glory will be hers.”</p> - -<p>Amanda, amidst her powerful emotions, forgot she was observed, -except by that Being to whom she applied for pardon -and future strength. Lady Martha had been a silent spectator -of her emotions, and, thinking as she did of Amanda, could -only hope that they proceeded from contrition for her past conduct, -forcibly awakened by reflecting on the deprivations it had -caused her.</p> - -<p>When she again saw Amanda able to pay attention, she -addressed her: “I said I was sorry for witnessing your distress; -I shall not repent the expression, thinking as I now do; -I hope that it is occasioned by regret for past errors: the tears -of repentance wash away the stains of guilt, and that heart -must indeed be callous which the sigh of remorse will not melt -to pity.” Amanda turned her eyes with earnestness on Lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[Pg 466]</a></span> -Martha as she spoke, and her cheeks were again tinged with a -faint glow.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I speak too plainly,” cried Lady Martha, witnessing -this glow, and imputing it to resentment; “but I have ever -liked the undisguised language of sincerity. It gave me pleasure,” -she continued, “to hear you had been in employment at -Mrs. Duncan’s, but that pleasure was destroyed by hearing you -were going to London, though to seek your brother; Mrs. Duncan -has informed Mrs. Macqueen. If this were indeed the -motive, there are means of inquiring without taking so imprudent -a step.” “Imprudent!” repeated Amanda, involuntarily. -“Yes,” cried Lady Martha, “a journey so long, without a -protector, to a young, I must add, a lovely woman, teems with -danger, from which a mind of delicacy would shrink appalled. -If, indeed, you go to seek your brother, and he regards you as -he should, he would rather have you neglect him (though that -you need not have done by staying with Mrs. Duncan), than -run into the way of insults. No emergency in life should lead -us to do an improper thing; as trying to produce good by evil -is impious, so trying to produce pleasure by imprudence is folly; -they are trials, however flatteringly they may commence, which -are sure to end in sorrow and disappointment.</p> - -<p>“You will,” continued Lady Martha, “if indeed anxious to -escape from any farther censure than what has already fallen -upon you, return to Mrs. Duncan, when I inform you (if indeed -you are already ignorant of it) that Colonel Belgrave passed -this road about a month ago, on his way from a remote part of -Scotland to London, where he now is.” “I cannot help,” said -Amanda, “the misconstructions which may be put on my actions; -I can only support myself under the pain they inflict by -conscious rectitude. I am shocked, indeed, at the surmises -entertained about me, and a wretch whom my soul abhorred -from the moment I knew his real principles.”</p> - -<p>“If,” said Lady Martha, “your journey is really not prompted -by the intention of seeing your brother, you heighten every -other by duplicity.” “You are severe, madam,” exclaimed -Amanda, in whose soul the pride of injured innocence was -again reviving.</p> - -<p>“If I probe the wound,” cried Lady Martha. “I would -also wish to heal it. It is the wish I feel of saving a young -creature from further error, of serving a being once so valued -by him who possesses my first regard, that makes me speak as -I now do. Return to Mrs. Duncan’s, prove in one instance at -least you do not deserve suspicion. She is your friend, and in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[Pg 467]</a></span> -your situation a friend is too precious a treasure to run the -risk of losing it with her; as she lives retired, there will be little -danger of your history or real name being discovered, which I -am sorry you dropped, let your motive for doing so be what it -may, for the detection of one deception makes us suspect every -other. Return, I repeat, to Mrs. Duncan’s, and if you want any -inquiries made about your brother, dictate them, and I will take -care they shall be made, and that you shall know their result.”</p> - -<p>Had Amanda’s motive for a journey to London been only -to seek her brother, she would gladly have accepted this offer, -thus avoiding the imputation of travelling after Belgrave, or of -going to join him, the hazard of encountering him in London, -and the dangers of so long a journey; but the affair of the will -required expedition, and her own immediate presence—an affair -the injunction of Lady Dunreath had prohibited her disclosing -to any one who could not immediately forward it, and -which, if such an injunction never existed, she could not with -propriety have divulged to Lady Martha, who was so soon to -be connected with a family so materially concerned in it, and -in whose favor, on account of her nephew’s connection with -them, it was probable she might be biased.</p> - -<p>Amanda hoped and believed that in a place so large as -London, and with her assumed name (which she now resolved -not to drop till in a more secure situation), she should escape -Belgrave. As to meeting him on the road she had not the -smallest apprehension concerning that, naturally concluding -that he never would have taken so long a journey as he had -lately done, if he could have stayed but a few weeks away. -Time, she trusted, would prove the falsity of the inference, -which she already was informed would be drawn from her -persevering in her journey. She told Lady Martha “that -she thanked her for her kind offer, but must decline it, as the -line of conduct she had marked out for herself rendered it unnecessary -whose innocence would yet be justified,” she added. -Lady Martha shook her head; the consciousness of having excited -suspicions which she could not justify, had indeed given -to the looks of Amanda a confusion when she spoke which confirmed -them in Lady Martha’s breast. “I am sorry for your -determination,” said she, “but notwithstanding it is so contrary -to my ideas of what is right, I cannot let you depart without -telling you that, should you at any time want or require -services, which you would, or could not, ask from strangers, or -perhaps expect them to perform, acquaint me, and command -mine; yet, in doing justice to my own feelings, I must not do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[Pg 468]</a></span> -injustice to the noble ones of Lord Mortimer. It is by his desire, -as well as my own inclination, I now speak to you in this -manner, though past events, and the situation he is about entering -into, must forever preclude his personal interference in -your affairs. He could never hear the daughter of Captain -Fitzalan suffered inconveniency of any kind, without wishing, -without having her, indeed, if possible, extricated from it.” -“Oh! madam,” cried Amanda, unable to repress her gushing -tears, “I am already well acquainted with the noble feelings of -Lord Mortimer, already oppressed with a weight of obligations.” -Lady Martha was affected by her energy; her eyes grew -humid, and her voice softened. “Error in you will be more -inexcusable than in others,” cried Lady Martha, “because, -like too many unhappy creatures, you cannot plead the desertion -of all the world. To regret past errors, be they what they -may, is to insure my assistance and protection, if both, or -either, are at any time required by you. Was I even gone, I -should take care to leave a substitute behind me who should -fulfil my intentions towards you, and by so doing at once soothe -and gratify the feelings of Lord Mortimer.” “I thank you, -madam,” cried Amanda, rising from her chair, and, as she -wiped away her tears, summoning all her fortitude to her aid, -“for the interest you express about me; the time may yet -come, perhaps, when I shall prove I never was unworthy of -exciting it—when the notice now offered from compassion may -be tendered from esteem—then,” continued Amanda, who -could not forbear this justice to herself, “the pity of Lady -Martha Dormer will not humble but exalt me, because then I -shall know that it proceeded from that generous sympathy -which one virtuous mind feels for another in distress.” She -moved to the door. “How lamentable,” said Lady Martha, -“to have such talents misapplied!” “Ah! madam,” cried -Amanda, stopping, and turning mournfully to her, “I find you -are inflexible.”</p> - -<p>Lady Martha shook her head, and Amanda had laid her -hand upon the lock, when Lady Martha said suddenly, “There -were letters passed between you and Lord Mortimer.” Amanda -bowed. “They had better be mutually returned,” said Lady -Martha. “Do you seal up his and send them to Lord Cherbury’s -house in London, directed to me, and I will pledge -myself to have yours returned.” “You shall be obeyed, -madam,” replied Amanda, in a low, broken voice, after the -pause of a moment. Lady Martha then said she would no -longer encroach upon her rest, and she retired.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[Pg 469]</a></span></p> - -<p>In her chamber, the feelings she had so long, so painfully -tried to suppress, broke forth without again meeting opposition. -The pride which had given her transient animation was -no more; for, as past circumstances arose to recollection, she -could not wonder at her being condemned from them. She -no longer accused Lady Martha in her mind of severity—no -longer felt offended with her; but, oh! Mortimer, the bitter -tears she shed fell not for herself alone; she wept to think thy -destiny, though more prosperous, was not less unhappy than -her own; for in thy broken accents, thy altered looks, she perceived -a passion strong and sincere as ever for her, and well -she knew Lady Euphrasia not calculated to soothe a sad heart, -or steal an image from it which corroded its felicity. Rest, -after the incidents of the evening, was not to be thought of, -but nature was exhausted, and insensibly Amanda sunk upon -the bed in a deep sleep—so insensibly, that when she awoke, -which was not till the morning was pretty far advanced, she -felt surprised at her situation. She felt cold and unrefreshed -from having lain in her clothes all night, and when she went to -adjust her dress at the glass, was surprised at the pallidness of -her looks. Anxious to escape a second painful meeting, she -went to the window to see if the chaise was come, but was disappointed -on finding that she had slept at the back of the house. -She heard no noise, and concluded the family had not yet -risen after the amusements of the preceding night, sat down by -the window which looked into a spacious garden, above which -rose romantic hills that formed a screen for some young and -beautiful plantations that lay between them and the garden; -but the misty tops of the hills, the varied trees which autumn -spread over the plantations, nor the neat appearance of the -garden, had power to amuse the imagination of Amanda. Her -patience was exhausted after sitting some time, and going to -the door she softly opened it, to try if she could hear any one -stirring. She had not stood long, when the sound of footsteps -and voices rose from below. She instantly quitted her room, and -descended the stairs into a small hall, across which was a folding-door; -this she gently opened, and found it divided the hall she -stood in from the one that was spacious and lofty, and which -her passing through the preceding night before it was lighted -up had prevented her taking notice of. Here, at a long table, -were the men servants belonging to the family, and the guests -assembled at breakfast, the piper at the head, like the king of -the feast. Amanda stepped back the moment she perceived -them, well knowing Lord Mortimer’s servants would recollect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[Pg 470]</a></span> -her, and was ascending the stairs to her room to ring for one -of the maids, when a servant hastily followed her, and said -the family were already in the breakfast-room. At the same -moment, Mr. Colin Macqueen came from a parlor which opened -into the little hall, and paying Amanda, in a lively and affectionate -manner, the compliments of the morning, he led her to -the parlor, where not only all the family guests who had lain -in the house, but several gentlemen, who had been with them -the preceding night, were assembled. Doctor Johnson has -already celebrated a Scotch breakfast, nor was the one at which -Mrs. Macqueen and her fair daughters presided inferior to any -he had seen. Beside chocolate, tea, and coffee, with the usual -appendages, there were rich cakes, choice sweetmeats, and a -variety of cold pastry, with ham and chickens, to which several -of the gentlemen did honor. The dishes were ornamented -with sweet herbs and wild flowers, gathered about the feet of -the mountains and in the valley, and by every guest was placed -a fine bouquet from the green-house, with little French mottoes -on love and friendship about them, which, being opened and -read, added to the mirth of the company.</p> - -<p>“I was just going to send one of the girls for you,” said -Mrs. Macqueen, when Amanda had taken a place at the table, -“and would have done so before, but wished you to get as -much rest as possible, after your fatiguing journey.” “I assure -you, madam,” said Amanda, “I have been up this long time, -expecting every moment a summons to the chaise.” “I took -care of that last night,” said Mrs. Macqueen, “for I was determined -you should not depart, at least without breakfasting.” -Amanda was seated between Mr. Colin Macqueen and his -eldest sister, and sought, by conversing with the former, for the -latter was too much engrossed by the general gayety to pay -much attention to any one, to avoid the looks she dreaded to -see. Yet the sound of Lord Mortimer’s voice affected her as -much almost as his looks.</p> - -<p>“Pray, Lady Martha,” said the second Miss Macqueen, a -lively, thoughtless girl, “will your ladyship be so good as to -guarantee a promise Lord Mortimer has just made me, or rather -that I have extorted from him, which is the cause of this application?” -“You must first, my dear,” answered Lady Martha, -“let me know what the promise is.” “Why, gloves and bridal -favors; but most unwillingly granted, I can assure your ladyship.” -Amanda was obliged to set down the cup she was -raising to her lips, and a glance stole involuntarily from her -towards Lord Mortimer—a glance instantly withdrawn when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[Pg 471]</a></span> -she saw his eyes in the same direction. “I declare,” continued -Miss Phœbe Macqueen, “I should do the favor all due honor.” -“I am sure,” cried Lord Mortimer, attempting to speak cheerfully, -“your acceptance of it will do honor to the presenter.” -“And your lordship may be sure, too,” said one of her brothers, -“it is a favor she would wish with all her heart to have an -opportunity of returning.” “Oh! in that she would not be -singular,” said a gentleman. “What do you think, Miss Donald,” -cried Colin Macqueen, turning to Amanda, “do you -imagine she would not?” Amanda could scarcely speak. -She tried, however, to hide her agitation, and, forcing a faint -smile, with a voice nearly as faint, said, “that was not a fair -question.” The Miss Macqueens took upon themselves to -answer it, and Amanda, through their means, was relieved from -farther embarrassment.</p> - -<p>Breakfast over, Amanda was anxious to depart, and yet -wanted courage to be the first to move. A charm seemed to bind -her to the spot where, for the last time, she should behold Lord -Mortimer, at least the last time she ever expected to see him -unmarried.</p> - -<p>Her dread of being late on the road—and she heard the -destined stage for the night was at a great distance—at last conquered -her reluctance to move, and she said to Mr. Colin Macqueen -it was time for her to go. At that moment Lord Mortimer -rose, and proposed to the young Macqueens going with -them to see the new plantations behind the house, which old -Mr. Macqueen had expressed a desire his lordship should give -his opinion of.</p> - -<p>All the young gentlemen, as well as the Macqueens, Colin -excepted, attended his lordship; nor did they depart without -wishing Amanda a pleasant journey.</p> - -<p>Silent and sad, she continued in her chair for some minutes -after they quitted the room, forgetful of her situation, till the -loud laugh of the Miss Macqueens restored her to a recollection -of it. She blushed, and, rising hastily, was proceeding to -pay her farewell compliments, when Mrs. Macqueen, rising, -drew her to the window, and in a low voice repeated her request -for Amanda’s company a few days. This Amanda again declined, -but gratefully expressed her thanks for it, and the hospitality -she had experienced. Mrs. Macqueen said, on her return -to Scotland, she hoped to be more successful. She also -added, that some of her boys and girls would gladly have accompanied -Amanda a few miles on her way, had not they all -agreed, ere her arrival, to escort Lord Mortimer’s party to an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[Pg 472]</a></span> -inn at no great distance, and take an early dinner, with them. -She should write that day, she said, to Mrs. Duncan, and thank -her for having introduced to her family a person whose acquaintance -was an acquisition. Amanda, having received the affectionate -adieus of this amiable woman and her daughters, curtseyed, -though with downcast looks, to Lady Martha and Lady -Araminta, who returned her salutation with coolness.</p> - -<p>Followed by two of the Miss Macqueens, she hurried through -the hall, from which the servants and the breakfast things were -already removed, but how was she distressed when the first -object she saw outside the door was Lord Mortimer, by whom -stood Colin Macqueen—who had left the parlor to see if the -chaise was ready—and one of his brothers. Hastily would she -have stepped forward to the chaise, had not the gallantry of the -young men impeded her way. They expressed sorrow at her -not staying longer among them, and hopes on her return she -would.</p> - -<p>“Pray, my lord,” cried the Miss Macqueens, while their -brothers were thus addressing Amanda, “pray, my lord,” almost -in the same breath, “what have you done with the gentlemen?” -“You should ask your brother,” he replied; “he has locked -them up in the plantation.” A frolic was at all times pleasing -to the light-hearted Macqueens, and to enjoy the present one off -they ran directly, followed by their brothers, all calling, as they -ran, to Amanda not to stir till they came back, which would be -in a few minutes; but Amanda, from the awkward, the agitating -situation in which they had left her, would instantly have relieved -herself, could she have made the postilion hear her; but, -as if enjoying the race, he had gone to some distance to view -it, and none of the servants of the house were near. Conscious -of her own emotions, she feared betraying them, and stepped a -few yards from the door, pretending to be engrossed by the -Macqueens. A heavy sigh suddenly pierced her ears. -“Amanda,” in the next moment said a voice to which her heart -vibrated. She turned with involuntary quickness and saw -Lord Mortimer close by her. “Amanda,” he repeated; then -suddenly clasping his hands together, exclaimed, with an agonized -expression, while he turned abruptly from her, “Gracious -Heaven! what a situation! Amanda,” said he, again looking -at her, “the scene which happened last night was distressing. -I am now sorry on your account that it took place. Notwithstanding -past events, I bear you no ill-will. The knowledge of -your uneasiness would give me pain. From my heart I forgive -you all that you have caused—that you have entailed upon me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[Pg 473]</a></span> -At this moment I could take you to my arms, and weep over -you—like the fond mother over the last darling of her hopes—tears -of pity and forgiveness.”</p> - -<p>Amanda, unutterably affected, covered her face to hide the -tears which bedewed it.</p> - -<p>“Let me have the pleasure of hearing,” continued Lord -Mortimer, “that you forgive the uneasiness and pain I might -have occasioned you last night.” “Forgive!” repeated Amanda. -“Oh, my lord,” and her voice sunk in the sobs which heaved -her bosom. “Could I think you were, you would be happy—" -Lord Mortimer stopped, overcome by strong emotions.</p> - -<p>“Happy!” repeated Amanda! “oh! never—never!” continued -she, raising her streaming eyes to heaven; “oh, never—never -in this world!”</p> - -<p>At this moment the Macqueens were not only heard but -seen running back, followed by the gentlemen whom they had -been prevailed on to liberate. Shocked at the idea of being -seen in such a situation, Amanda would have called the postilion, -but he was too far off to hear her weak voice, had she then -even been able to exert that voice. She looked towards him, -however, with an expression which denoted the feelings of her -soul. Lord Mortimer, sensible of those feelings, hastily pulled -open the door of the chaise, and taking the cold and trembling -hand of Amanda with one equally cold and trembling, assisted -her into the chaise, then pressing the hand he held between -both his, he suddenly let it drop from him, and closing the door -without again looking at Amanda, called to the driver, who instantly -obeyed the call, and had mounted ere the Macqueens -arrived. Oh, what a contrast did their looks, blooming with -health and exercise, their gayety, their protected situation, form -to the wan, dejected, desolate Amanda! With looks of surprise -they were going up to the chaise, when Lord Mortimer, still -standing by it, and anxious to save his unhappy, lost Amanda -the pain of being noticed in such agitation, gave the man a -signal to drive off, which was instantly obeyed.</p> - -<p>Thus did Amanda leave the mansion of the Macqueens, -where sorrow had scarcely ever before entered without meeting -alleviation, a mansion, where the stranger, the wayfaring man, -and the needy, were sure of a welcome, cordial as benevolence -and hospitality themselves could give; and where happiness, -as pure as in this sublunary state can be experienced, was enjoyed. -As she drove from the door, she saw the splendid -equipages of Lord Mortimer and Lady Martha driving to it. -She turned from them with a sigh, at reflecting they would soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[Pg 474]</a></span> -grace the bridal pomp of Lady Euphrasia. She pursued the -remainder of her journey without meeting anything worthy of -relation. It was in the evening she reached London. The -moment she stopped at the hotel she sent for a carriage, and -proceeded in it to Mrs. Connel’s, in Bond Street.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_L" id="CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Dissembling hope, her cloudy front she clears,</span> -<span class="i0">And a false vigor in her eyes appears.”—<span class="smcap">Dryden.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>She alighted from the carriage when it stopped at the door, -and entered the shop, where, to her inexpressible satisfaction, -the first object she beheld was Miss Rushbrook, sitting pensively -at one of the counters. The moment she saw Amanda -she recollected her, and, starting up, exclaimed, as she took her -hand, “Ah! dear madam, this is indeed a joyful surprise! Ah! -how often have I wished to meet you again to express my gratitude.” -The affectionate reception she met, and the unexpected -sight of Miss Rushbrook, seemed to promise Amanda that her -wishes relative to Rushbrook would not only be accelerated, -but crowned with success. She returned the fervent pressure -of Miss Rushbrook’s hand, and inquired after her parents—the -inquiry appeared distressing, and she was answered, with -hesitation, that they were indifferent. The evident embarrassment -her question excited prevented her renewing it at -this time. The mistress of the house was not present, and -Amanda requested, if she was within, she might see her directly. -Miss Rushbrook immediately stepped to a parlor behind the -shop, and almost instantly returned, followed by the lady herself, -who was a little fat Irish woman, past her prime, but not -past her relish for the good things of this life. “Dear madam,” -said she, curtseying to Amanda, “you are very welcome. I -protest I am very glad to see you, though I never had that -pleasure but once before; but it is no wonder I should be so, -for I have heard your praises every day since, I am sure, from -that young lady,” looking at Miss Rushbrook. Amanda bowed, -but her heart was too full of the purpose of this visit to allow -her to speak about anything else. She was just come from the -country, she told Mrs. Connel, where (she sighed as she spoke) -she had left her friends, and, being unwilling to go amongst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[Pg 475]</a></span> -total strangers, she had come to her house in hopes of being -able to procure lodgings in it.</p> - -<p>“Dear ma’am,” said Mrs. Connel, “I protest I should have -been happy to have accommodated you, but at present my -house is quite full.”</p> - -<p>The disappointment this speech gave Amanda rendered her -silent for a moment, and she was then going to ask Mrs. Connel -if she could recommend her to a lodging, when she perceived -Miss Rushbrook whispering her. “Why, madam,” cried the -former, who, by a nod of her head, seemed to approve of what -the latter had been saying, “since you dislike so much going -among strangers, which, indeed, shows your prudence, considering -what queer kind of people are in the world, Miss Emily -says, that if you condescend to accept of part of her little bed, -till you can settle yourself more comfortably in town, you shall -be extremely welcome to it; and I can assure you, madam, I -shall do everything in my power to render my house agreeable -to you.” “Oh, most joyfully, most thankfully, do I accept the -offer,” said Amanda, whose heart had sunk at the idea of going -amongst strangers. “Any place,” she continued, speaking in -the fulness of that agitated heart, “beneath so reputable a roof, -would be an asylum of comfort I should prefer to a palace, if -utterly unacquainted with the people who inhabited it.” Her -trunk was now brought in, and the carriage discharged. “I -suppose, ma’am,” said Mrs. Connel, looking at the trunk on -which her assumed name was marked, “you are Scotch by your -name, though, indeed, you have not much of the accent about -you.” “I declare,” cried Emily, also looking at it, “till this -moment I was ignorant of your name.”</p> - -<p>Amanda was pleased to hear this, and resolved not to disclose -her real one, except convinced Rushbrook would interest -himself in her affairs. She was conducted into the parlor, which -was neatly furnished, and opened into the shop by a glass door. -Mrs. Connel stirred a declining fire into a cheerful blaze, and -desired to know if Amanda would choose anything for dinner. -“Speak the word only, my dear,” said she, “and I think I can -procure you a cold bone in the house. If you had come two -hours sooner, I could have given you a bit of nice veal for your -dinner.” Amanda assured her she did not wish to take anything -till tea-time.</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” cried Mrs. Connel, “you shall have a snug cup -of tea by and by, and a hot muffin with it. I am very fond of -tea myself, though poor Mr. Connel, who is dead and gone, -used often and often to say, ‘I that was so nervous should never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[Pg 476]</a></span> -touch tea;’ ‘but, Biddy,’ he would say, and he would laugh so, -poor clear man, ‘you and all your sex are like your mother Eve, -unable to resist temptation.’”</p> - -<p>Emily retired soon after Amanda entered; but returned in -a few minutes with her hat and cloak on, and said, nothing but -a visit she must pay her parents should have induced her to -forego, for the first evening, at least, the pleasure of Miss -Donald’s society. Amanda thanked her for her politeness, -but assured her if considered as a restraint she should be -unhappy.</p> - -<p>“I assure you,” said Mrs. Connel, as Emily departed, “she -is very fond of you.” “I am happy to hear it,” replied -Amanda, “for I think her a most amiable girl.” “Indeed she -is,” cried the other; “all the fault I find with her is being too -grave for her time of life. Poor thing, one cannot wonder at -that, however, considering the situation of her parents.” “I -hope,” interrupted Amanda, “it is not so bad as it was.” -“Bad! Lord! it cannot be worse; the poor captain has been -in jail above a year.” “I am sorry,” said Amanda, “to hear this. -Has any application been made to Lady Greystock since his -confinement?” “To Lady Greystock! why, Lord! one might -as well apply to one of the wild beasts in the Tower! Ah! -poor gentleman, if he was never to get nothing but what she -gave him, I believe he would not long be a trouble to any one. -It is now about fourteen years since my acquaintance with him -first commenced. My poor husband, that is no more, and I -kept a shop in Dublin, where the captain’s regiment was quartered, -and he being only a lieutenant had not room enough for -his family in the barracks, so he took lodgings at our house, -where Mrs. Rushbrook lay in, and I being with her now and -then during her confinement, a kind of friendship grew up -amongst us. They had not left us long to go to America, when -a relation of my husband, who owned this house and shop, having -lost his wife, and being lonesome, without either chick or -child, invited us to come and live with him, promising us if we -did, to settle us in his business, and leave us everything he had. -Well, such offers do not come every day; so, to be sure, we -took him at his word; and here we had not long been when -the poor man bid adieu to all mortal care, and was soon followed -by Mr. Connel. Well, to be sure, I was sad and solitary enough; -but when I thought how irreligious it was to break one’s heart -with grief, I plucked up my spirits and began to hold up my -head again. So, to make a short story of a long one, about six -years ago Mrs. Rushbrook and Miss Emily came one day into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[Pg 477]</a></span> -the shop to buy something, little thinking they should see an -old friend. It was, to be sure, a meeting of joy and sorrow, as -one may say. We told all our griefs to each other, and I found -things were very bad with the poor captain. Indeed I have a -great regard for him and his family, and when he was confined, -I took Emily home as an assistant in my business. The money -she earned was to go to her parents, and I agreed to give her -her clothes gratis; but that would have gone but a little way in -feeding so many mouths, had I not procured plain work for -Mrs. Rushbrook and her daughters. Emily is a very good girl, -indeed, and it is to see her parents she is now gone. But while -I am gabbling away I am sure the kettle is boiling.” So saying, -she started up, and ringing the bell, took the tea-things from a -beaufet where they were kept. The maid having obeyed the -well-known summons, then retired; and as soon as the tea was -made, and the muffins buttered, Mrs. Connel made Amanda -draw her chair close to the table, that she might, as she said, -look snug, and drink her tea comfortably.</p> - -<p>“I assure you, madam,” cried she, “it was a lucky hour for -Miss Emily when she entered my house.” “I have no doubt -of that,” said Amanda. “You must know, madam,” proceeded -Mrs. Connel, “about a month ago a gentleman came to lodge -with me, who I soon found was making speeches to Miss Emily. -He was one of those wild looking sparks, who, like Ranger in -the play, looked as if they would be popping through every one’s -doors and windows, and playing such tricks as made poor Mr. -Strickland so jealous of his wife. Well, I took my gentleman -to task one day unawares. ‘So, Mr. Sipthorpe,’ says I, ‘I am -told you have cast a sheep’s eye upon one of my girls; but I -must tell you she is a girl of virtue and family, so if you do not -mean to deal honorably with her, you must either decamp from -this, or speak to her no more.’ Upon this he made me a speech -as long as a member of parliament’s upon a new tax. ‘Lord, -Mr. Sipthorpe,’ said I, ‘there is no occasion for all this oratory, -a few words will settle the business between us.’ Well, this -was coming close to the point, you will say, and he told me -then he always meant to deal honorably by Miss Emily, and -told me all about his circumstances; and I found he had a fine -fortune, which indeed I partly guessed before from the appearance -he made, and he said he would not only marry Miss -Emily, but take her parents out of prison, and provide for the -whole family. Well, now comes the provoking part of the story. -A young clergyman had been kind at the beginning of their -distress to them, and he and Miss Emily took it into their heads<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[Pg 478]</a></span> -to fall in love with each other. Well, her parents gave their -consent to their being married, which to be sure I thought a -very foolish thing, knowing the young man’s inability to serve -them. To be sure he promised fair enough; but, Lord! what -could a poor curate do for them, particularly when he got a wife -and a house full of children of his own? I thought; so I supposed -they would be quite glad to be off with him, and to give -her to Mr. Sipthorpe; but no such thing I assure you. When -I mentioned it to them, one talked of honor, and another of -gratitude, and as to Miss Emily, she fairly went into fits. Well, -I thought I would serve them in spite of themselves, so, knowing -the curate to be a romantic young follow, I writes off to -him, and tells him what a cruel thing it would be, if, for his own -gratification, he kept Miss Emily to her word, and made her -lose a match which would free her family from all their difficulties; -and, in short, I touched upon his passion not a little, -I assure you, and, as I hoped, a letter came from him, in which -he told her he gave her up. Well, to be sure there was sad -work when it came—with her, I mean, for the captain and his -wife were glad enough of it, I believe, in their hearts; so at -last everything was settled for her marriage with Mr. Sipthorpe, -and he made a number of handsome presents to her, I assure -you, and they are to be married in a few days. He is only -waiting for his rents in the country to take the captain out of -prison; but here is Miss Emily, instead of being quite merry -and joyful, is as dull and as melancholy as if she was going -to be married to a frightful old man.” “Consider,” said -Amanda, “you have just said her heart was pre-engaged.” -“Lord!” cried Mrs. Connel, “a girl at her time of life -can change her love as easily as her cap.” “I sincerely -hope,” exclaimed Amanda, “that she either has, or may -soon be able to transfer hers.” “And now, pray, madam,” -said Mrs. Connel, with a look which seemed to say Amanda -should be as communicative as she had been, “may I ask from -whence you have travelled?” “From a remote part of Scotland.” -“Dear, what a long journey!—Lord! they say that is -a very desolate place, without never a tree or a bush in it.” -“I assure you it wants neither shade nor verdure,” replied -Amanda. “Really; well, Lord, what lies some people tell! -Pray, ma’am, may I ask what countrywoman you are?” “Welsh,” -said Amanda. “Really; well, I suppose, ma’am, you have had -many a scramble up the mountains, after the goats, which they -say are marvellous plenty in that part of the world.” “No, indeed,” -replied Amanda, “Are you come to make any long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[Pg 479]</a></span> -stay in London, ma’am?” “I have not determined.” “I -suppose you have come about a little business, ma’am?” resumed -Mrs. Connel. “Yes,” replied Amanda. “To be sure, -not an affair of great consequence, or so young a lady would -not have undertaken it.” Amanda smiled, but made no reply, -and was at length relieved from these tiresome and inquisitive -questions by Mrs. Connel’s calling in her girls to tea; after -which she washed the tea-things, put them into the beaufet, -and left the room to order something comfortable for supper. -Left to herself, Amanda reflected that at the present juncture -of Rushbrook’s affairs, when his attention and time were -engrossed by the approaching settlement of his daughter, an -application to him, on her own account, would be not only impertinent, -but unavailing; she therefore determined to wait till -the hurry and agitation produced by such an event had subsided, -and most sincerely did she hope that it might be productive -of felicity to all. Mrs. Connel was not long absent, and -Emily returned almost at the moment she re-entered the room. -“Well, miss,” said Mrs. Connel, addressing her ere she had -time to speak to Amanda, “I have been telling your good -friend here all about your affairs.”</p> - -<p>“Have you, ma’am?” cried Emily, with a faint smile, and -a dejected voice. Amanda looked earnestly in her face, and -saw an expression of the deepest sadness in it. From her -own heart she readily imagined what her feelings must be at -such a disappointment as Mrs. Connel had mentioned, and -felt the sincerest pity for her. Mrs. Connel’s volubility tormented -them both; supper happily terminated it, as she was -then much better employed, in her own opinion, than she could -possibly have been in talking. Amanda pleaded fatigue for -retiring early. Mrs. Connel advised her to try a few glasses -of wine as a restorative, but she begged to be excused, and was -allowed to retire with Emily. The chamber was small but neat, -and enlivened by a good fire, to which Amanda and Emily sat -down while undressing. The latter eagerly availed herself of -this opportunity to express the gratitude of her heart. Amanda -tried to change the discourse, but could not succeed. “Long, -madam,” continued Emily, “have we wished to return our -thanks for a benefaction so delicately conveyed as yours, and -happy were my parents to-night when I informed them I could -now express their grateful feelings.” “Though interested exceedingly -in your affairs,” said Amanda, making another effort -to change the discourse, “be assured I never should have -taken the liberty of inquiring minutely into them, and I men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[Pg 480]</a></span>tion -this, lest you might suppose from what Mrs. Connel said, -that I had done so.” “No, madam,” replied Emily, “I had -no such idea, and an inquiry from you would be rather pleasing -than otherwise, because I should then flatter myself you -might be induced to listen to griefs which have long wanted -the consolation of sympathy—such, I am sure, as they would -receive from you.” “Happy should I be,” cried Amanda, -“had I the power of alleviating them.” “Oh! madam, you -have the power,” said Emily, “for you would commiserate -them, and commiseration from you would be balm to my heart; -you would strengthen me in my duties—you would instruct -me in resignation; but I am selfish in desiring to intrude them -on you.” “No,” replied Amanda, taking her hand, “you flatter -me by such a desire.” “Then, madam, whilst you are undressing, -I will give myself the melancholy indulgence of -relating my little story.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LI" id="CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Take heed, take heed, thou lovely maid,</span> -<span class="i0">Nor be by glittering ills betrayed.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>To open our hearts to those we know will commiserate our -sorrows is the sweetest consolation those sorrows can receive; -to you, then, madam, I divulge mine, sure at least of pity. At -the time I first had the happiness of seeing you, the little credit -my father had was exhausted, and his inability to pay being -well known, he was arrested one evening as he sat by the bedside -of my almost expiring mother! I will not pain your gentle -nature by dwelling on the horrors of that moment, on the agonies -of a parent, and a husband torn from a family so situated -as was my father’s. Feeble, emaciated, without even sufficient -clothing to guard him from the inclemency of the weather, he -leaned upon the arm of one of the bailiffs, as he turned his -eyes from that wife he never more expected to behold. She -fainted at the moment he left the room, and it was many minutes -ere I had power to approach her. The long continuance -of her fit at length recalled my distracted thoughts; but I had -no restoratives to apply, no assistance to recover her, for my -eldest brother had followed my father, and the rest of the children, -terrified by the scene they had witnessed, wept together<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[Pg 481]</a></span> -in a corner of the room. I at last recollected a lady who lived -nearly opposite to us, and from whom I hoped to procure some -relief for her. Nothing but the present emergency could have -made me apply to her, for the attention she had paid us on first -coming to Mr. Heathfield’s was entirely withdrawn after his -death. Pride, however, was forgotten at the present moment, -and I flew to her house. The servant showed me into a parlor, -where she, her daughters, and a young clergyman I had never -before seen, were sitting at tea. I could not bring myself to -mention my distress before a stranger, and accordingly begged -to speak to her in another room; but she told me in a blunt -manner I might speak there. In a low and faltering voice, -which sighs and tears often impeded, I acquainted her of what -had happened, the situation of my mother, and requested a cordial -for her. How great was my confusion when she declared -aloud all I had told her, and turning to her daughter, bid her -give me part of a bottle of wine. ‘Ay, ay,’ cried she, ‘I always -thought things would turn out so. It was really very foolish of -Mr. Heathfield to bring you to his house, and lead you all -into such expenses!’ I listened to no more, but taking the -wine with a silent pang, retired.</p> - -<p>“I had not been many minutes returned, and was kneeling -by the bedside of my mother, who began to show some symptoms -of returning life, when a gentle knock came to the hall-door. -I supposed it my brother, and bade one of the children -fly to open it. What was my surprise when in a few minutes -she returned, followed by the young clergyman I had just seen. -I started from my kneeling posture, and my looks expressed -my wonder. He approached, and in the soft accent of benevolence, -apologized for his intrusion; but said he came with a -hope and a wish that he might be serviceable. Oh! how soothing -was his voice! Oh! how painfully pleasing the voice of -tenderness to the wretched! The tears which pride and -indignation had suspended but a few moments before again -began flowing.</p> - -<p>“But I will not dwell upon my feelings; suffice it to say, -that every attention which could mitigate my wretchedness he -paid, and that his efforts, aided by mine, soon restored my -mother. His looks, his manner, his profession, all conspired -to calm her spirits, and she blessed the power which so unexpectedly -had given us a friend. My brother returned from my -father merely to inquire how we were, and to go back to him -directly. The stranger requested permission to accompany -him; a request most pleasing to us, as we trusted his soothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[Pg 482]</a></span> -attention would have the same effect upon his sorrowing heart -as it had upon ours. Scarcely were they gone ere a man arrived -from a neighboring hotel with a basket loaded with wine -and provisions. But to enumerate every instance of this young -man’s goodness would be encroaching upon your patience. In -short, by his care, my mother in a few days was able to be carried -to my father’s prison. Mrs. Connel, who, on the first intimation -of our distress, had come to us, took me into the -house at a stated salary, which was to be given to my parents, -and the rest of the children were to continue with them. My -mother desired me one evening to take a walk with the children -to Kensington, as she thought them injured by constant -confinement. Our friend attended us, and in our way thither, -informed me that he must soon leave town, as he was but a -country curate, and his leave of absence from his rector was -expired. It was above a month since we had known him, during -which time his attentions were unremitting, and he was a -source of comfort to us all. A sudden chill came over my -heart as he spoke, and every sorrow at that moment seemed -aggravated. On entering Kensington gardens, I seated myself -on a little rising mount, for I felt trembling and fatigued, and -he sat beside me. Never had I before felt so oppressed, and -my tears gushed forth in spite of my efforts to restrain them. -Something I said of their being occasioned by the recollection -of the period when my parents enjoyed the charming scene I -now contemplated along with him. ‘Would to Heaven,’ cried -he, ‘I could restore them again to the enjoyment of it.’</p> - -<p>“‘Ah,’ said I, ‘they already lie under unreturnable obligations -to you. In losing you,’ added I, involuntarily, ‘they -would lose their only comfort.’ ‘Since then,’ cried he, ‘you -flatter me by saying it is in my power to give them comfort, -oh! let them have a constant claim upon me for it! Oh! -Emily!’ he continued, taking my hand, ‘let them be my -parents as well as yours; then will their too scrupulous delicacy -be conquered, and they will receive as a right what they now -consider as a favor.’ I felt my cheeks glow with blushes, but -still did not perfectly conceive his meaning. ‘My destiny is -humble,’ he continued; ‘was it otherwise, I should long since -have entreated you to share it with me. Could you be prevailed -on to do so, you would give it pleasures it never yet -experienced.’ He paused for a reply, but I was unable to -give one.</p> - -<p>“Ah! madam, how little necessity either was there for one; -my looks, my confusion, betrayed my feelings. He urged me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[Pg 483]</a></span> -to speak, and at last I acknowledged I should not hesitate to -share his destiny, but for my parents, who, by such a measure, -would lose my assistance. ‘Oh! do not think,’ cried he, ‘I -would ever wish to tempt you into any situation which should -make you neglect them.’ He then proceeded to say that, -though unable at present to liberate them, yet he trusted that -if they consented to our union, he should by economy be enabled -to contribute more essentially to their support than I -could do, and also be able in a short time to discharge their -debts. His proposals were made known to them, and met -their warmest approbation. The pleasure they derived from -them was more on my account than their own, as the idea of -having me so settled removed a weight of anxiety from their -minds; some of my brothers and sisters should live with us, -he said, and promised my time should be chiefly spent in doing -fine works, which should be sent to Mrs. Connel to dispose of -for my parents; and also that, from time to time, I should -visit them till I had the power of bringing them to my cottage, -for such he described his residence.</p> - -<p>“He was compelled to go to the country, but it was settled -he should return in a short time, and have everything finally -settled. In about a week after his departure, as I was returning -one morning from a lady’s, where I had been on a message -from Mrs. Connel, a gentleman joined me in the street, and -with a rude familiarity endeavored to enter into conversation -with me. I endeavored to shake him off, but could not succeed, -and hastened home with the utmost expedition, whither -I saw he followed me. I thought no more of the incident till -about two days after I saw him enter the shop, and heard him -inquire of Mrs. Connel about her lodgings, which to my great -mortification he immediately took, for I could not help suspecting -he had some improper motive for taking them. I -resolved, however, if such a motive really existed, to disappoint -it by keeping out of his way; but all my vigilance was unavailing; -he was continually on the watch for me, and I could not -go up or down stairs without being insulted by him. I at -length informed Mrs. Connel of his conduct, and entreated -her to fulfil the sacred trust her friends reposed in her, when -they gave me to her care, by terminating the insults of Mr. -Sipthorpe. Alas! could I have possibly foreseen the consequences -that would have followed my application to her, I -should have borne these insults in silence. She has already -informed you of them. Oh! madam! when the letter came -which dissolved a promise so cheerfully, so fondly given, every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[Pg 484]</a></span> -prospect of felicity was in a moment overshadowed! For a -long time I resisted every effort that was made to prevail on -me to marry Sipthorpe; but when at last my mother said she -was sorry to find my feelings less than his, who had so generously -resigned me, that my father might be extricated from his -difficulties, I shrunk with agony at the rebuke. I wondered, I -was shocked, how I could have so long hesitated to open the -prison gates of my father, and determined from that moment -to sacrifice myself for him; for oh! Miss Donald, it is a sacrifice -of the most dreadful nature I am about making. Sipthorpe -is a man I never could have liked, had my heart even been disengaged.”</p> - -<p>Amanda felt the truest pity for her young friend, who ended -her narrative in tears; but she did not, by yielding entirely to -that pity (as too many girls with tender hearts, but weak heads, -might have done), heighten the sorrow of Miss Rushbrook. -She proved her friendship and sympathy more sincerely than -she could have done by mere expressions of condolement, -which feed the grief they commiserate, in trying to reconcile -her to a destiny that seemed irrevocable. She pointed out -the claims a parent had upon a child, and dwelt upon the -delight a child experienced when conscious of fulfilling those -claims. She spoke of the rapture attending the triumph of -reason and humanity over self and passion, and mentioned the -silent plaudits of the heart as superior to all gratification or -external advantages. She spoke from the real feelings of her -soul. She recollected the period at which, to a father’s admonition, -she had resigned a lover, and had that father been in -Captain Rushbrook’s situation, and the same sacrifice been -demanded from her as from Emily, she felt, without hesitation, -she would have made it. She was indeed a monitress that had -practised, and would practise (was there a necessity for so -doing) the lessons she gave, not as poor Ophelia says—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Like some ungracious pastors,</span> -<span class="i0">Who show the steep and thorny path to heaven,</span> -<span class="i0">But take the primrose one themselves.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The sweet consciousness of this gave energy, gave more -than usual eloquence to her language; but whilst she wished -to inspirit her young friend, she felt from the tenderness of -her nature, and the sad situation of her own heart, what that -friend must feel from disappointed affection and a reluctant -union. Scarcely could she refrain from weeping over a fate so -wretched, and which she was tempted to think as dreadful as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[Pg 485]</a></span> -her own; but a little reflection soon convinced her she had -the sad pre-eminence of misery; for in her fate there were -none of those alleviations as in Emily’s, which she was convinced -must, in some degree, reconcile her to it. Her sufferings, -unlike Emily’s, would not be rewarded by knowing that they -contributed to the comfort of those dearest to her heart.</p> - -<p>“Your words, my dear madam,” said Emily, “have calmed -my spirits; henceforth I will be more resolute in trying to -banish regrets from my mind. But I have been inconsiderate -to a degree in keeping you so long from rest, after your -fatiguing journey.” Amanda indeed appeared at this moment -nearly exhausted, and gladly hastened to bed. Her slumbers -were short and unrefreshing; the cares which clung to her -heart when waking were equally oppressive while sleeping. -Lord Mortimer mingled in the meditations of the morning, in -the visions of the night, and when she awoke she found her -pillow wet with the tears she had shed on his account. Emily -was already up, but on Amanda’s drawing back the curtain -she laid down the book she was reading, and came to her. -She saw she looked extremely ill, and, imputing this to fatigue, -requested she would breakfast in bed; but Amanda, who knew -her illness proceeded from a cause which neither rest nor assiduous -care could cure, refused complying with this request, -and immediately dressed herself.</p> - -<p>As she stood at the toilet, Emily suddenly exclaimed, “If -you have a mind to see Sipthorpe, I will show him to you now, -for he is just going out.” Amanda went to the window, which -Emily gently opened; but, oh! what was the shock of that -moment, when in Sipthorpe she recognized the insidious Belgrave! -A shivering horror ran through her veins, and recoiling -a few paces she sunk half fainting on a chair. Emily, -terrified by her appearance, was flying to the bell to ring for -assistance, when, by a faint motion of her hand, Amanda prevented -her. “I shall soon be better,” said she, speaking with -difficulty; “but I will lie down on the bed for a few minutes, -and I beg you may go to your breakfast.” Emily refused to -go, and entreated, that instead of leaving her, she might have -breakfast brought up for them both. Amanda assured her she -could take nothing at present, and wished for quiet. Emily -therefore reluctantly left her. Amanda now endeavored to -compose her distracted thoughts, and quiet the throbbings of -her agonizing heart, that she might be able to arrange some -plan for extricating herself from her present situation, which -appeared replete with every danger to her imagination; for,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[Pg 486]</a></span> -from the libertine principles of Belgrave, she could not hope -that a new object of pursuit would detach him from her, when -he found her so unexpectedly thrown in his way. Unprotected -as she was, she could not think of openly avowing her knowledge -of Belgrave. To discover his baseness, required therefore -caution and deliberation, lest in saving Emily from the -snare spread for her destruction, she should entangle herself -in it. To declare at once his real character, must betray her -to him; and though she might banish him from the house, yet, -unsupported as she was by her friends or kindred—unable to -procure the protection of Rushbrook, in his present situation, -however willing he might be to extend it—she trembled to -think of the dangers to which, by thus discovering, she might -expose herself—dangers which the deep treachery and daring -effrontery of Belgrave would, in all probability, prevent her -escaping. As the safest measure, she resolved on quitting the -house in the course of the day; but without giving any intimation -that she meant not to return to it. She recollected a -place where there was a probability of her getting lodgings -which would be at once secret and secure; and by an anonymous -letter to Captain Rushbrook, she intended to acquaint -him of his daughter’s danger, and refer him to Sir Charles -Bingley, at whose agent’s he could receive intelligence of him -for the truth of what she said. Her plan concerted, she grew -more composed, and was able, when Emily entered the room -with her breakfast, to ask, in a seemingly careless manner, -when Mr. Sipthorpe was expected back.</p> - -<p>“It is very uncertain, indeed,” answered she.</p> - -<p>“I must go out in the course of the day,” said Amanda, -“about particular business; I may therefore as well prepare -myself at once for it.” She accordingly put on her habit, and -requested materials for writing from Emily, which were immediately -brought, and Emily then retired till she had written her -letter. Amanda, left to herself, hastily unlocked her little -trunk, and taking from it two changes of linen, and the will and -narrative of Lady Dunreath, she deposited the two former in -her pocket, and the two latter in her bosom, then sat down and -wrote the following letter to Captain Rushbrook:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>A person who esteems the character of Captain Rushbrook, and the -amiable simplicity of his daughter, cautions him to guard that simplicity -against the danger which now threatens it, from a wretch who, under the -sacred semblance of virtue, designs to fix a sharper sting in the bosom of -affliction than adversity ever yet implanted. The worth of Sipthorpe is not -more fictitious than his name. His real one is Belgrave. His hand is already -another’s, and his character for many years past marked with in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[Pg 487]</a></span>stances -of deceit, if not equal, at least little inferior to the present. For -the truth of these assertions, the writer of the letter refers Captain Rushbrook -to Sir Charles Bingley, of —— regiment, from whose agent a -direction may be procured to him, certain, from his honor and sensibility, -he will eagerly step forward to save worth and innocence from woe and -destruction.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Amanda’s anxiety about Emily being equal to what she felt -for herself, she resolved to leave this letter at Rushbrook’s -prison, lest any accident should happen if it went by any other -hands. She was anxious to be gone, but thought it better to -wait till towards evening, when there would be the least chance -of meeting Belgrave, who at that time would probably be fixed in -some place for the remainder of the day. Emily returned in -about an hour, and finding Amanda disengaged, requested permission -to sit with her. Amanda, in her present agitation, -would have preferred solitude, but could not decline the company -of the affectionate girl, who, in conversing with her, -sought to forget the heavy cares which the dreadful idea of a -union with Sipthorpe had drawn upon her. Amanda listened -with a beating heart to every sound, but no intimation of -Belgrave’s return reached her ear. At length they were -summoned to dinner; but Amanda could not think of going to -it, lest she should be seen by him. To avoid this risk, and -also the particularity of a refusal, she determined immediately -to go out, and, having told Emily her intention, they both descended -the stairs together. Emily pressed her exceedingly to -stay for dinner, but she positively refused, and left the house -with a beating heart, without having answered Emily’s question, -who desired to know if she would not soon return. Thus -perpetually threatened with danger, like a frighted bird again -was she to seek a shelter for her innocent head. She walked -with quickness to Oxford Street, where she directly procured a -carriage, but was so weak and agitated the coachman was almost -obliged to lift her into it. She directed it to the prison, -and on reaching it sent for one of the turnkeys, to whom she -gave her letter for Rushbrook, with a particular charge to deliver -it immediately to him. She then ordered the carriage to -Pall Mall, Where it may be remembered she had once lodged -with Lady Greystock. This was the only lodging-house in -London she knew, and in it she expected no satisfaction but -what would be derived from thinking herself safe, as its mistress -was a woman of a most unpleasant temper. She had -once been in affluent circumstances, and the remembrance of -those circumstances soured her temper, and rendered her, if not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[Pg 488]</a></span> -incapable of enjoying, at least unwilling to acknowledge, the -blessings she yet possessed. On any one in her power she -vented her spleen. Her chief pursuit was the gratification of -a most insatiate curiosity, and her first delight relating the -affairs, good or bad, which that curiosity dived into. Amanda, -finding she was within, dismissed the coach, and was shown by -the maid into the back parlor, where she sat. “Oh dear!” -cried she, with a supercilious smile, the moment Amanda entered, -without rising from her chair to return her salute, “When -did you return to London?—and pray, may I ask what brought -you back to it?”</p> - -<p>Amanda was convinced from Mrs. Hansard’s altered manner, -who had once been servile to a degree to her, that she -was perfectly acquainted with her destitute condition, and a -heavy sigh burst from her heart at the idea of associating with -a woman who had the meanness to treat her ill because of that -condition. A chillness crept through her frame when she reflected -her sad situation might long compel her to this. Sick, -weak, exhausted, she sunk upon a chair, which she had neither -been offered nor desired to take. “Well, miss, and pray what -is your business in town?” again asked Mrs. Hansard, with an -increased degree of pertness.</p> - -<p>“My business, madam,” replied Amanda, “can be of no -consequence to a person not connected with me. My business -with you is to know whether you can accommodate me with lodgings?” -“Really. Well, you might have paid me the compliment -of saying you would have called at any rate to know how -I did. You may guess how greatly flattered an humble being -like me would be by the notice of so amiable a young lady.”</p> - -<p>These words were pronounced with a kind of sneer that, by -rousing the pride of Amanda, a little revived her spirits. “I -should be glad, madam,” said she, with a composed voice, while -a faint glow stole over her cheek, “to know whether you can, -or choose, to accommodate me with lodgings?” “Lord, my -dear,” replied Mrs. Hansard, “do not be in such a wondrous -hurry—take a cup of tea with me, and then we will settle about -that business.” These words implied that she would comply -with the wish of Amanda; and, however disagreeable the -asylum, yet to have secured one cheered her sinking heart. Tea -was soon made, which to Amanda, who had touched nothing -since breakfast—and but little then—would have been a pleasant -refreshment, had she not been tormented and fatigued by -the questions of Mrs. Hansard, who laid a thousand baits to -betray her into a full confession of what had brought her to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[Pg 489]</a></span> -London. Amanda, though a stranger in herself to every species -of art, from fatal experience was aware of it in others, and -therefore guarded her secret. Mrs. Hansard, who loved what -she called a gossipping cup of tea, sat a tedious time over the -tea-table. Amanda, at last mortified and alarmed by some expressions -which dropped from her, again ventured to ask if she -could be lodged under her roof.</p> - -<p>“Are you really serious in that question?” said Mrs. Hansard. -There was a certain expression of contempt in her features -as she spoke, which shocked Amanda so much that she -had not power to reply; “because if you are, my dear,” continued -Mrs. Hansard, “you have more assurance than I thought -you were possessed of, though I always gave you credit for a -pretty large share. Do you think I would ruin my house, -which lodges people of the first rank and character, by admitting -you into it? you, who, it is well known, obtained Lady Greystock’s -protection from charity, and lost it through misconduct. -Poor lady—I had the whole story from her own mouth. She -suffered well from having anything to say to you. I always -guessed how it would be. Notwithstanding your demure look, -I saw well enough how you would turn out. I assure you, to -use your own words, if I could accommodate you in my house, -it would not answer you at all, for there are no convenient -closets in it in which a lady of your disposition might now and -then want to hide a smart young fellow. I advise you, if you -have had a tiff with any of your friends, to make up the difference; -though, indeed, if you do not, in such a place as London, -you can never be at a loss for such friends. Perhaps you -are now beginning to repent of your evil courses, and, if I took -you into my house, I should suffer as much in my pocket, I -suppose, as in my character.”</p> - -<p>The terrified and distressed look with which Amanda listened -to this speech, would have stopped Mrs. Hansard in the -middle of it, had she possessed a spark of humanity, even if -she believed her (which was not the case) guilty. But lost to -the noble, the gentle feelings of humanity, she exulted in the -triumph of malice, and rejoiced to have an opportunity of -piercing the panting heart of helpless innocence with the sharp -darts of insult and unmerited reproach. Amidst the various -shocks Amanda had experienced in the short but eventful -course of her life, one greater than the present she had never -felt. Petrified by Mrs. Hansard’s words, it was some time ere -she had power to speak. “Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed -she, at last, looking up to that Heaven she addressed, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[Pg 490]</a></span> -which she now considered her only refuge from evil, “to what -trials am I continually exposed! Persecuted, insulted, shocked! -Oh! what happiness to lay my feeble frame, my woe-struck -heart, within that low asylum where malice could no more -annoy, deceit no more betray me! I am happy,” she continued, -starting up, and looking at Mrs. Hansard, “that the -accommodation I desired in this house you refused me, for I -am now well convinced, from the knowledge of your disposition, -that the security my situation requires I should not have -found within it.” She hastily quitted the room; but on entering -the hall her spirits entirely forsook her, at the dreadful idea -of having no home to go to. Overcome with horror, she sunk -in a flood of tears upon one of the hall chairs. A maid, who -had probably been listening to her mistress’s conversation, now -came from a front parlor, and as Mrs. Hansard had shut the -door after Amanda, addressed her without fear of being overheard. -“Bless me, miss,” said she, “are you crying? Why, -Lord! surely you would not mind what old Blouzy in the parlor -says? I promise you, if we minded her, we should have -red eyes here every day in the week. Do, pray, miss, tell me -if I can be of any service to you?”</p> - -<p>Amanda, in a voice scarcely articulate, thanked her, and -said in a few minutes she should be better able to speak. To -seek lodgings at this late hour was not to be thought of, except -she wished to run into the very dangers she had wanted -to avoid, and Mrs. Connel’s house returned to her recollection, -as the impossibility of procuring a refuge in any other was confirmed -in her mind. She began to think it could not be so -dangerous as her fears in the morning had represented it to be. -Ere this she thought Belgrave (for since the delivery of the -letter there had been time enough for such a proceeding) might -be banished from it; if not, she had a chance of concealing -herself, and, even if discovered, she believed Mrs. Connel -would protect her from his open insults, whilst she trusted her -own precautions would, under Heaven, defeat his secret -schemes, should he again contrive any. She therefore resolved, -or rather necessity compelled her—for could she have -avoided it she would not have done so—to return to Mrs. Connel’s ; -she accordingly requested the maid to procure her a carriage, -and rewarded her for her trouble. As she was returning -to Mrs. Connel’s, she endeavored to calm her spirits, and quell -her apprehensions. When the carriage stopped, and the maid -appeared, she could scarcely prevent herself ere she alighted -from inquiring whether any one but the family was within;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[Pg 491]</a></span> -conscious, however, that such a question might create suspicions, -and that suspicions would naturally excite inquiries, she -checked herself, and re-entered, though with trembling limbs, -that house from whence in the morning she had fled with such -terror.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LII" id="CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Why, thou poor mourner, in what baleful corner</span> -<span class="i0">Hast thou been talking with that witch, the night?</span> -<span class="i0">On what cold stone hast thou been stretched along,</span> -<span class="i0">Gathering the grumbling winds about thy head,</span> -<span class="i0">To mix with theirs the accents of thy woes?”—<span class="smcap">Otway.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Amanda had not reached the parlor when the door opened, -and Mrs. Connel came from it. “Oh! oh! miss,” cried she, -“so you are returned. I protest I was beginning to think you -had stolen a march upon us.” There was a rude bluntness in -this speech which confounded Amanda; and her mind misgave -her that all was not right. “Come,” continued Mrs. Connel, -“come in, miss, I assure you I have been very impatient for -your return.” Amanda’s fears increased. She followed Mrs. -Connel in silence into the parlor, where she beheld an elderly -woman, of a pleasing but emaciated appearance, who seemed -in great agitation and distress. How she could possibly have -anything to say to this woman, she could not conjecture, and -yet an idea that she had, instantly darted into her mind; she -sat down, trembling in every limb, and waited with impatience -for an explanation of this scene. After a general silence of a -few minutes, the stranger, looking at Amanda, said, “My -daughter, madam, has informed me we are indebted to your -bounty; I am therefore happy at an opportunity of discharging -the debt.” These words announced Mrs. Rushbrook, but -Amanda was confounded at her manner; its coolness and -formality were more expressive of dislike and severity than of -gentleness or gratitude. Mrs. Rushbrook rose as she spoke, -and offered a note to her. Speechless from astonishment, -Amanda had not power either to decline or accept it, and it -was laid on a table before her.</p> - -<p>“Allow me, madam,” said Mrs. Rushbrook, as she resumed -her seat, “to ask if your real name is Donald?” Amanda’s -presentiment of underhand doings was now verified; it was -evident to her that their author was Belgrave, and that he had -been too successful in contriving them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[Pg 492]</a></span> -Amanda now appeared to have reached the crisis of her -fate. In all the various trials she had hitherto experienced, -she had still some stay, some hope, to support her weakness, -and soothe her sorrows. When groaning under the injuries -her character sustained by the success of an execrable plot, -she had the consolation to think an idolizing father would -shelter her from further insult. When deprived of that father, -tender friends stepped forward, who mingled tears of sympathy -with hers, and poured the balm of pity on her sorrowing heart. -When torn from the beloved object enshrined within that heart, -while her sick soul languished under the heavy burden of existence, -again did the voice of friendship penetrate its gloom, -and, though it could not remove, alleviated its sufferings. Now -helpless, unprotected, she saw a dreadful storm ready to burst -over her devoted head, without one hope to cheer, one stretched-out -arm to shield her from its violence. Surrounded by strangers -prejudiced against her, she could not think that her plain, unvarnished -tale would gain their credence, or prevail on them to -protect her from the wretch whose machinations had ruined -her in their estimation. The horrors of her situation all at -once assailed her mind, overpowered its faculties; a kind of -mental sickness seized her, she leaned her throbbing head -upon her hand, and a deep groan burst from her agonizing -heart.</p> - -<p>“You see,” said Mrs. Connel, after a long silence, “she -cannot brave this discovery.”</p> - -<p>Amanda raised her head at these words; she had grown a -little more composed. “The Being in whom I trust,” she said -to herself, “and whom I never wilfully offended, will still, I -doubt not, as heretofore, protect me from danger.” Mrs. -Rushbrook’s unanswered question still sounded in her ear. -“Allow me, madam,” she cried, turning to her, “to ask your -reason for inquiring whether my real name is Donald?” “Oh, -Lord! my dear!” said Mrs. Connel, addressing Mrs. Rushbrook, -“you need not pester yourself or her with any more -questions about the matter; her question is an answer in itself.” -“I am of your opinion, indeed,” exclaimed Mrs. Rushbrook, -“and think any farther inquiry needless.” “I acknowledge, -madam,” said Amanda, whose voice grew firmer from the -consciousness of never having acted improperly, “that my name -is not Donald. I must also do myself the justice to declare -(let me be credited or not) that my real one was not concealed -from any motive which could deserve reproach or censure. -My situation is peculiarly distressing. My only consolation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[Pg 493]</a></span> -amidst my difficulties is the idea of never having drawn them -upon myself by imprudence.” “I do not want, madam,” replied -Mrs. Rushbrook, “to inquire into your situation; you have -been candid in one instance, I hope you will be equally -so in another. Pray, madam,” handing to Amanda the letter -she had written to Rushbrook, “Is this your writing?” “Yes, -madam,” answered Amanda, whose pride was roused by the -contempt she met, “it is my writing.” “And pray,” said Mrs. -Rushbrook, looking steadfastly at her, while her voice grew -more severe, “what was your motive for writing this letter?” -“I think, madam,” cried Amanda, “the letter explains that.” -“A pretty explanation, truly!” exclaimed Mrs. Connel; “and -so you will try to vilify the poor gentleman’s character; but, -miss, we have had an explanation you little dream of; ay, we -found you out, notwithstanding your slyness in writing, like -one of the madams in a novel, a bit of a letter without ever a -name to it. Mr. Sipthorpe knew directly who it came from. -Ah! poor gentleman, he allowed you wit enough; a pity there -is not more goodness with it; he knows you very well to his -cost.” “Yes,” said Amanda, “he knows I am a being whose -happiness he disturbed, but whose innocence he never triumphed -over. He knows that like an evil genius, he has pursued my -wandering footsteps, heaping sorrow upon sorrow on me by his -machinations; but he also knows, when encompassed with -those sorrows, perplexed with those machinations, I rose superior -to them all, and with uniform contempt and abhorrence rejected -his offers.” “Depend upon it,” cried Mrs. Connel, “she has -been an actress.” “Yes, madam,” said Amanda, whose struggling -voice confessed the anguish of her soul, “upon a stage -where I have seen a sad variety of scenes.” “Come, come,” -exclaimed Mrs. Connel, “confess all about yourself and -Sipthorpe; full confession will entitle you to pardon.” “It -behooves me, indeed,” said Amanda, “to be explicit; my -character requires it, and my wish,” she continued, turning to -Mrs. Rushbrook, “to save you from a fatal blow demands it.” -She then proceeded to relate everything she knew concerning -Belgrave; but she had the mortification to find her short and -simple story received with every mark of incredulity. “Beware, -madam,” said she to Mrs. Rushbrook, “of this infatuation; I -adjure you beware of the consequences of it. Oh! doom not -your innocent, your reluctant Emily to destruction; draw not -upon your own head by such a deed horrible and excruciating -anguish. Why does not Mr. Sipthorpe, If I must call him so, -appear, and in my presence support his allegations?” “I -asked him to do so,” replied Mrs. Rushbrook; “but he has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[Pg 494]</a></span> -feeling, and he wished not to see your distress, however merited it -might be.” “No, madam,” cried Amanda, “he refused, because -he knew that without shrinking he could not behold the innocent -he has so abused; because he knew the conscious coloring of -his cheek would betray the guilty feelings of his soul. Again, I -repeat, he is not what he appears to be. I refer you for the truth -of my words to Sir Charles Bingley. I feel for you, though you have -not felt for me. I know, from false representations, you think -me a poor misguided creature; but was I even so, my too -evident anguish might surely have excited pity. Pardon me, -madam, if I say your conduct to me has been most unkind. -The gentle virtues are surely those best fitting a female breast. -She that shows leniency to a fallen fellow-creature, fulfils the -Divine precept. The tear she sheds over her frailties is consecrated -in the sight of Heaven, and her compassion draws a -blessing on her own head. Oh! madam, I once looked forward -to a meeting with you, far, far different from the present one. -I once flattered myself, that from the generous friendship of -Mr. and Mrs. Rushbrook, I should derive support and consolation; -but this, like every other hope, is disappointed.” -Amanda’s voice faltered at these last words, and tears again -trickled down her lovely cheeks. A faint glow tinged the pale -cheek of Mrs. Rushbrook at Amanda’s accusation of unkindness. -She bent her eyes to the ground as if conscious it was merited, -and it was many minutes ere she could again look on the trembling -creature before her. “Perhaps,” said she, at last, “I -may have spoken too severely, but it must be allowed I had -great provocation. Friendship and gratitude could not avoid -resenting such shocking charges as yours against Sipthorpe.” -“For my part, I wonder you spoke so mildly to her,” exclaimed -Mrs. Connel; “I protest in future I shall be guarded who I -admit into my house. I declare she seemed so distressed at -the idea of going amongst strangers, that, sooner than let her -do so, I believe, if Miss Emily had not, I should have offered -her part of my bed; but this distress was all a pretext to get -into the house with Mr. Sipthorpe, that she might try to entangle -him in her snares again. Well, I am determined she -shall not stay another night under my roof. Ay, you may stare -as you please, miss, but you shall march directly. You are not -so ignorant about London, I dare say, as you pretend to be.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Connel rose as she spoke, and approached her with a -look which seemed to say she would put her threat into execution. -It was Amanda’s intention to quit the house the next morning, -but to be turned from it at such an hour, a wanderer in the -Street, the idea was replete with horror! She started up, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[Pg 495]</a></span> -retreating a few paces, looked at Mrs. Connel with a kind of -melancholy wildness. “Yes,” repeated Mrs. Connel, “I say -you shall march directly.” The wretched Amanda’s head grew -giddy, her sight failed, her limbs refused to support her, and -she would have fallen to the ground had not Mrs. Rushbrook, -who perceived her situation, timely caught her. She was -replaced in a chair, and water sprinkled on her face. “Be -composed, my dear,” said Mrs. Rushbrook, whose softened -voice proclaimed the return of her compassion, “you shall not -leave this house to-night, I promise, in the name of Mrs. Connel. -She is a good-natured woman, and would not aggravate -your distress.” “Ay, Lord knows, good-nature is my foible,” -exclaimed Mrs. Connel. “So, miss, as Mrs. Rushbrook has -promised, you may stay here to-night.” Amanda, opening her -languid eyes, and raising her head from Mrs. Rushbrook’s -bosom, said in a low, tremulous voice, “To-morrow, madam, I -shall depart. Oh! would to Heaven,” cried she, clasping her -hands together, and bursting into an agony of tears, “before -to-morrow I could be rid of the heavy burden that oppresses -me!” “Well, we have had wailing and weeping enough -to-night,” said Mrs. Connel, “so, miss, you may take one of -the candles off the table, and go to your chamber if you choose.”</p> - -<p>Amanda did not require to have this permission repeated. -She arose, and taking the light, left the parlor. With feeble -steps she ascended to the little chamber; but here all was dark, -and solitary, no cheerful fire sent forth an animating blaze; -no gentle Emily, like the mild genius of benevolence, appeared -to offer with undissembled kindness her little attentions. Forsaken, -faint, the pale child of misery laid down the candle, and -seating herself at the foot of the bed, gave way to deep and -agonizing sorrow.</p> - -<p>“Was I ever,” she asked herself, “blessed with friends -who valued my existence as their own, who called me the -beloved of their hearts? Oh! yes,” she groaned, “once such -friends were mine, and the sad remembrance of them aggravates -my present misery. Oh! happy is our ignorance of futurity. -Oh! my father, had you been permitted to read the awful volume -of fate, the page marked with your Amanda’s destiny would -have rendered your existence miserable, and made you wish a -thousand times the termination of hers.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Oscar! from another hand than mine must you receive -the deed which shall entitle you to independence. My trials -sink me to the grave, to that grave where, but for the sweet -hope of again seeing you, I should long since have wished my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[Pg 496]</a></span>self.” -The chamber door opened. She turned her eyes to it -in expectation of seeing Emily, but was disappointed on perceiving -only the maid of the house. “Oh! dear ma’am,” cried -she, going up to Amanda, “I declare it quite grieves me to see -you in such a situation. Poor Miss Emily is just in as bad a -plight. Well, it is no matter, but I think both the old ladies -will be punished for plaguing you in this manner. Madam -Rushbrook will be sorry enough, when, after giving her daughter -to Mr. Sipthorpe, she finds he is not what he seems to be.” -Amanda shrunk with horror from the idea of Emily’s destruction, -and by a motion of her hand, signified to the maid her dislike -to the subject. “Well, ma’am,” she continued, “Miss Emily, -as I was saying, is quite in as bad a plight as yourself. They -have clapped her into my mistress’s chamber, which she durst -not leave without running the risk of bringing their tongues -upon her. However, she contrived to see me, and sent you this -note.” Amanda took it and read as follows:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>“I hope my dear Miss Donald will not doubt my sincerity when I declare -that all my sorrows are heightened by knowing I have been the occasion of -trouble to her. I have heard of the unworthy treatment she has received in -this house, and her intention of quitting it to-morrow. Knowing her -averseness to lodge in a place she is unacquainted with, I have been speaking -to the maid about her, and had the satisfaction to hear, that, through -her means, my dear Miss Donald might be safely accommodated for a short -time; long enough, however, to permit her to look out for an eligible -situation. I refer her for particulars of the conversation to the maid, -whose fidelity may be relied on. To think it may be useful to my dear -Miss Donald, affords me the only pleasure I am now capable of enjoying. -In her esteem may I ever retain the place of a sincere and affectionate -friend.</p> - -<p class="quotsig">E. R.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>“And where is the place I can be lodged in?” eagerly -asked Amanda. “Why, ma’am,” said the maid, “I have a -sister who is housemaid, at a very grand place, on the Richmond -Road. All the family are now gone to Brighton, and -she is left alone in the house, where you would be very welcome -to take up your residence till you could get one to your mind. -My sister is a sage, sober body, and would do everything in -her power to please and oblige you, and you would be as snug -and secure with her as in a house of your own; and poor Miss -Emily begged you would go to her, till you could get lodgings -with people whose characters you know. And, indeed, ma’am, -it is my humble opinion, it would be safe and pleasant for you -to do so; and, if you consent, I will conduct you there to-morrow -morning; and I am sure, ma’am, I shall be happy if I have -the power of serving you.” Like the Lady in Comus, Amanda -might have said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[Pg 497]</a></span>—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i5">“I take thy word,</span> -<span class="i0">And trust thy honest offered courtesy,</span> -<span class="i5">For in a place</span> -<span class="i0">Less warranted than this, or less secure</span> -<span class="i0">I cannot be, that I should fear to change it:</span> -<span class="i0">Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial</span> -<span class="i0">To my proportioned strength.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>To take refuge in this manner, in any one’s house, was truly -repugnant to the feelings of Amanda; but sad necessity conquered -her scrupulous delicacy, and she asked the maid at what -hour in the morning she should be ready for her.</p> - -<p>“I shall come to you, ma’am,” answered she, “as soon as I -think there is a carriage on the stand, and then we can go together -to get one. But I protest, ma’am, you look sadly. I -wish you would allow me to assist in undressing you, for I am -sure you want a little rest. I dare say, for all my mistress said, -if you choose it, I could get a little wine from her to make whey -for you.” Amanda refused this, but accepted her offer of assistance, -for she was so overpowered by the scenes of the day, -as to be almost unequal to any exertion. The maid retired -after she had seen her to bed. Amanda entreated her to be -punctual to an early hour, and also requested her to give her -most affectionate love to Miss Rushbrook, and her sincere -thanks for the kind solicitude she had expressed about her. -Her rest was now, as on the preceding night, broken, and disturbed -by frightful visions. She arose pale, trembling, and unrefreshed. -The maid came to her soon after she was dressed, -and she immediately accompanied her down stairs, trembling -as she went, lest Belgrave should suddenly make his appearance, -and either prevent her departure, or follow her to her -new residence. She left the house, however, without meeting -any creature, and soon obtained the shelter of a carriage.</p> - -<p>As they proceeded, Amanda besought the maid, who seemed -perfectly acquainted with everything relative to Belgrave, to -tell Miss Rushbrook to believe her assertions against him if -she wished to save herself from destruction. The maid assured -her she would, and declared she always suspected Mr. Sipthorpe -was not as good as he should be. Amanda soon found herself -at the end of her little journey. The house was elegant -and spacious, with a short avenue before it planted with chestnuts. -The maid’s sister was an elderly-looking woman, who -received Amanda with every appearance of respect, and conducted -her into a handsome parlor, where a neat breakfast was -laid out. “I took care, ma’am,” said the maid, smiling, “to -apprise my sister last night of the honor she was to have this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[Pg 498]</a></span> -morning: and I am sure she will do everything in her power to -oblige you.” “I thank you both,” cried Amanda, with her usual -sweetness, but while she spoke a struggling tear stole down -her lovely cheek at the idea of that forlorn situation which had -thus cast her upon the kindness of strangers—strangers who -were themselves the children of poverty and dependence. “I -hope, however, I shall not long be a trouble to either, as it is my -intention immediately to look out for a lodging amongst the -cottages in this neighborhood, till I can settle my affairs to -return to my friends. In the mean time, I must insist on making -some recompense for the attention I have received, and -the expense I have put you to.” She accordingly forced a present -upon each, for both the women appeared unwilling to accept -them, and Mrs. Deborah, the maid’s sister, said it was -quite unnecessary at present to think of leaving the house, as -the family would not return to it for six weeks. Amanda, however, -was resolved on doing what she had said, as she could -not conquer her repugnance to continue in a stranger’s house. -Mrs. Connel’s maid departed in a few minutes. Of the breakfast -prepared for her, Amanda could only take some tea. Her -head ached violently, and her whole frame felt disordered. Mrs. -Deborah, seeing her dejection, proposed showing her the house -and garden, which were very fine, to amuse her, but Amanda -declined the proposal at present, saying she thought if she lay -down she should be better. She was immediately conducted -to an elegant chamber, where Mrs. Deborah left her, saying -she would prepare some little nice thing for her dinner, which -she hoped would tempt her to eat. Amanda now tried to compose -her spirits by reflecting she was in a place of security; -but their agitation was not to be subdued from the sleep into -which mere fatigue threw her. She was continually starting in -inexpressible terrors. Mrs. Deborah came up two or three -times to know how she was, and at last appeared with dinner. -She laid a small table by the bedside, and besought Amanda -to rise and try to eat. There was a friendliness in her manner -which recalled to Amanda’s recollection her faithful nurse -Edwin, and she sighed to think that the shelter of her humble -cottage she could no more enjoy (should such a shelter be required) -from its vicinity to Tudor Hall, near which every feeling -of propriety and tenderness must forbid her residing; the -sad remembrance of which, now reviving in her mind, drew -tears from her, and rendered her unable to eat. She thanked -Mrs. Deborah for her attention, but, anxious to be alone, said -she would no longer detain her; yet no sooner was she alone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[Pg 499]</a></span> -than she found solitude insupportable. She could not sleep, -the anguish of her mind was so great, and arose with the idea -that a walk in the garden might be of use to her. As she was -descending the stairs, she heard, notwithstanding the door was -shut, a man’s voice from a front parlor. She started, for she -thought it was a voice familiar to her ear. With a light foot -and a throbbing heart she turned into a parlor at the foot of the -stairs which communicated with the other. Here she listened, -and soon had her fears confirmed by recollecting the voice to -be that of Belgrave’s servant, whom she had often seen in -Devonshire. She listened with that kind of horror which the -trembling wretch may be supposed to feel when about hearing -a sentence he expects to be dreadful.</p> - -<p>“Ay, I assure you,” cried the man, “we are blown up at -Mrs. Connel’s, but that is of little consequence to us; the -colonel thinks the game now in view better than that he has -lost, so to-night you may expect him in a chaise and four to -carry off your fair guest.” “I declare, I am glad of it,” said -Mrs. Deborah, “for I think she will die soon.” “Die soon!” -repeated he. “Oh! yes, indeed, great danger of that—" and -he added something else, which, being delivered with a violent -burst of laughter, Amanda could not hear. She thought she -heard them moving towards the door; she instantly slipped -from the parlor, and, ascending the stairs in breathless haste, -stopped outside the chamber door to listen. In a few minutes -she heard them coming into the hall, and the man softly let out -by Mrs. Deborah. Amanda now entered the chamber and -closed the door, and knowing a guilty conscience is easily -alarmed, she threw herself on the bed, lest Mrs. Deborah, if -she found her up, should have her suspicions awakened. Her -desperate situation inspired her with strength and courage, and -she trusted by presence of mind to be able to extricate herself -from it. It was her intention, if she effected her escape, to -proceed directly to London, though the idea of entering it, without -a certain place to go to, was shocking to her imagination; -yet she thought it a more secure place for her than any of the -neighboring cottages, which she thought might be searched. -Mrs. Deborah, as she expected, soon came up to her. Amanda -involuntarily shuddered at her appearance, but knowing her -safety depended on the concealment of her feelings, she forced -herself to converse with the treacherous creature. She at -last arose from the bed, declaring she had indulged her -languor too much, and, after a few turns about the room, went -to the window, and pretended to be engrossed in admiring the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[Pg 500]</a></span> -garden. “There is a great deal of fruit in the garden,” said -she, turning to Mrs. Deborah; “if I did not think it encroached -too much on your kindness, I should ask for a nectarine -or two.” “Dear ma’am,” replied Miss Deborah, “you -are heartily welcome. I declare I should have offered them -to you, only I thought you would like a turn in the garden -and pull them yourself.” “No,” said Amanda, “I cannot at -present.” Mrs. Deborah went off, and Amanda watched at the -window till she saw her at the very end of the garden; she -then snatched up her hat, and tied it on with a handkerchief, -the better to conceal her face, then hastily descended the stairs, -and locked the back door to prevent any immediate pursuit. She -ran down the avenue, nor flagged in her course till she had got -some paces from it; she was then compelled to do so, as much -from weakness as from fear of attracting notice, if she went on -in such a wild manner. She started at the sound of every carriage, -and hastily averted her head as they passed; but she -reached London without any alarm but what her own fears gave -her. The hour was now late and gloomy, and warned Amanda -of the necessity there was for exertions to procure a lodgings. -Some poor women she saw retiring from their little fruit-stand -drew a shower of tears from her, to think her situation was -more wretched than theirs, whom but a few days before she -should have considered as objects of compassion. She knew -at such an hour she would only be received into houses of an -inferior description, and looked for one in which she could -think there might be a chance of gaining admittance. She at -last came to a small, mean-looking house. “This humble roof, -I think,” cried she, “will not disdain to shelter an unhappy -wanderer!” She turned into the shop, where butter and cheese -were displayed, and where an elderly woman sat knitting behind -the counter. She arose immediately, as if from surprise -and respect at Amanda’s appearance, who in universal agitation -leaned against the door for support, unable for some minutes -to speak. At last, in faltering accents, whilst over her pale face -a crimson blush was diffused, she said, “I should be glad to -know if you have any lodgings to let?”</p> - -<p>The woman instantly dropped into her seat, and looked -steadfastly at Amanda. “This is a strange hour,” cried she, -“for any decent body to come looking for lodgings!” “I am -as sensible of that as you can be,” said Amanda, “but peculiar -circumstances have obliged me to it; if you can accommodate -me, I can assure you you will not have reason to repent doing -so.” “Oh! I do not know how that may be,” cried she; “it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[Pg 501]</a></span> -is natural for a body to speak a good word for themselves; however, -if I do let you a room, for I have only one to spare, I -shall expect to be paid for it beforehand.” “You shall, indeed,” -said Amanda. “Well, I will show it you,” said she. She accordingly -called a little girl to watch the shop, and, taking a -candle, went up, before Amanda, a narrow, winding flight of -stairs, and conducted her into a room, whose dirty, miserable -appearance made her involuntarily shrink back, as if from the -den of wretchedness itself. She tried to subdue the disgust it -inspired her with, by reflecting that, after the imminent danger -she had escaped, she should be happy to procure any asylum -she could consider safe. She also tried to reconcile herself to -it, by reflecting that in the morning she should quit it.</p> - -<p>“Well, ma’am,” said the woman, “the price of the room is -neither more nor less than one guinea per week, and if you do -not like it, you are very welcome not to stay.” “I have no objection -to the price,” replied Amanda; “but I hope you have -quiet people in the house.” “I flatter myself, ma’am,” said the -woman, drawing up her head, “there is never a house in the -parish can boast a better name than mine.” “I am glad to -hear it,” answered Amanda; “and I hope you are not offended -by the inquiry.” She now put her hand in her pocket for the -purse, to give the expected guinea, but the purse was not there. -She sat down on the side of the bed, and searched the other, -but with as little success. She pulled out the contents of both, -but no purse was to be found. “Now—now,” cried she, clasping -her hands together, in an agony which precluded reflection, -“now—now, I am lost indeed! My purse is stolen,” she continued, -“and I cannot give you the promised guinea.” “No, -nor never could, I suppose,” exclaimed the woman. “Ah! I -suspected all along what you were;—and so you was glad my -house had a good name? I shall take care it does not lose -that name by lodging you.” “I conjure you,” cried Amanda, -starting up, and laying her hand on the woman’s, “I conjure -you to let me stay this night; you will not—you shall not lose -by doing so. I have things of value in a trunk in town, for -which I will this instant give you a direction.” “Your trunk!” -replied the woman in a scornful tone. “Oh! yes, you have a -trunk with things of value in it, as much as you have a purse -in your pocket. A pretty story, indeed. But I know too much -of the ways of the world to be deceived nowadays—so march -directly.”</p> - -<p>Amanda again began to entreat, but the woman interrupted -her, and declared, if she did not depart directly, she would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[Pg 502]</a></span> -sorry for it. Amanda instantly ceased her importunities, and -in trembling silence followed her down stairs. Oppressed with -weakness, she involuntarily hesitated in the shop, which the -woman perceiving, she rudely seized her, and pushing her from -it, shut the door. Amanda could not now, as in former exigencies, -consider what was to be done. Alas! if even capable of -reflection, she could have suggested no plan which there was -a hope of accomplishing. The powers of her mind were overwhelmed -with horror and anguish. She moved mechanically -along, nor stopped, till from weakness, she sunk upon the step -of a door, against which she leaned her head in a kind of -lethargy; but from this she was suddenly aroused by two men -who stopped before her. Death alone could have conquered -her terrors of Belgrave. She instantly concluded these to be -him and his man. She started up, uttered a faint scream, and -calling upon Heaven to defend her, was springing past them, -when her hand was suddenly caught. She made a feeble but -unsuccessful effort to disengage it, and overcome by terror and -weakness fell, though not fainting, unable to support herself, -upon the bosom of him who had arrested her course. “Gracious -Heaven!” cried he, “I have heard that voice before.”</p> - -<p>Amanda raised her head. “Sir Charles Bingley!” she exclaimed. -The feelings of joy, surprise, and shame, that pervaded -her whole soul, and thrilled through her frame, were, in -its present weak state, too much for it, and she again sunk upon -his shoulder. The joy of unexpected protection—for protection -she was convinced she should receive from Sir Charles Bingley—was -conquered by reflecting on the injurious ideas her present -situation must excite in his mind—ideas she feared she should -never be able to remove, so strongly were appearances against -her.</p> - -<p>“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed Sir Charles, “is this Miss -Fitzalan? Oh, this,” he cried, in a tone of deep dejection, “is -indeed a meeting of horror!” A deep convulsive sob from -Amanda alone proclaimed her sensibility; for she lay motionless -in his arms—arms which involuntarily encircled and enfolded -her to a heart that throbbed with intolerable anguish on her -account. His friend stood all this time a spectator of the scene, -the raillery which he had been on the point of uttering at seeing -Amanda, as he thought, so premeditatedly fell into the arms -of his companion, was stopped by the sudden exclamation of -Sir Charles. Though the face of Amanda was concealed, the -glimmering of a lamp over their heads gave him a view of her -fine form, and the countenance of Sir Charles as he bent over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[Pg 503]</a></span> -her, full of sorrow and dismay. “Miss Fitzalan,” cried Sir -Charles, after the silence of a minute, “you are ill; allow me -to have the pleasure of seeing you home.” “Home!” repeated -Amanda, in the slow and hollow voice of despair, and -raising her languid head, “alas! I have no home to go to.”</p> - -<p>Every surmise of horror which Sir Charles had formed from -seeing her in her present situation was now confirmed. He -groaned, he shuddered, and scarcely able to stand, was obliged -to lean with the lovely burden he supported against the rails. -He besought his friend either to procure a chair or coach in -which he might have her conveyed to a house where he knew -he could gain her admittance. Touched by his distress, and -the powerful impulse of humanity, his friend instantly went to -comply with his request.</p> - -<p>The silence of Amanda Sir Charles imputed to shame and -illness, and grief and delicacy forbade him to notice it. His -friend returned in a few minutes with a coach, and Sir Charles -then found that Amanda’s silence did not altogether proceed -from the motives he had ascribed it to; for she had fainted on -his bosom. She was lifted into the carriage, and he again received -her in his arms. On the carriage stopping, he committed -her to the care of his friend, whilst he stepped into the house -to procure a reception. In a few minutes he returned with a -maid, who assisted him in carrying her up stairs. But on entering -the drawing-room, how great was his amazement, when a -voice suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, merciful Powers! this is Miss -Donald!” It was indeed to Mrs. Connel’s house, and to the -care of the Rushbrooks, whom his bounty had released from -prison, he had brought her. He had previously informed them -of the situation in which he found her, little suspecting, at the -time, she was the Miss Donald they mentioned being under -such obligations to.</p> - -<p>“It is I, it is I,” cried Mrs. Rushbrook, gazing on her with -mingled horror and anguish, “it is I have been the occasion of -her distress, and never shall I forgive myself for it.” “Oh, -my preserver, my friend, my benefactress!” said Emily, clasping -her in an agony of tears to her bosom, “is it thus your Emily -beholds you?” Amanda was laid upon a couch, and her hat -being removed, displayed a face which, with the paleness of -death, had all the wildness of despair—a wildness that denoted -more expressively than language could have done, the conflicts -her spirit had endured; heavy sighs announced her having recovered -from her fainting fit; but her eyes still continued closed, -and her head, too weak to be self-supported, rested against the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[Pg 504]</a></span> -arm of the couch. Mrs. Rushbrook and her daughter hung -over her in inexpressible agonies. If they were thus affected, -oh! how was Sir Charles Bingley distressed—oh! how was his -heart, which loved her with the most impassionate tenderness, -agonized! As he bent over the couch, the big tear trickled -down his manly cheek, and fell upon the cold, pale face he contemplated. -He softly asked himself, Is this Amanda? Is this -she, whom but a short time ago I beheld moving with unequalled -elegance, adorned with unrivalled beauty, whom my heart worshipped -as the first of women, and sought to unite its destiny -to, as the surest means of rendering that destiny happy? Oh! -what a change is here! How feeble is that form! how hollow -is that cheek! how heavy are those eyes whose languid glance -speak incurable anguish of the soul! Oh, Amanda, was the -being present who first led you into error, what horror and -remorse must seize his soul at seeing the consequence of that -error! “Has this unhappy young creature,” asked Rushbrook, -who had approached the couch and viewed her with the truest -pity, “no connections that could be prevailed on to save her?” -“None that I know of,” replied Sir Charles; “her parents are -both dead.” “Happy are the parents,” resumed Rushbrook, -“who, shrouded in the dust, cannot see the misfortunes of their -children—the fall of such a child as this!” glancing his tearful -eyes as he spoke on his daughters.</p> - -<p>“And pray, sir,” said Mrs. Connel, who was chafing her temples -with lavender, “if she recovers, what is to become of her?” -“It shall be my care,” cried Sir Charles, “to procure her an -asylum. Yes, madam,” he continued, looking at her with an -expression of mingled tenderness and grief, “he that must -forever mourn thy fate, will try to mitigate it; but does she not -want medical assistance?” “I think not,” replied Mrs. Connel; -“it is want of nourishment and rest has thrown her into -her present situation.” “Want of nourishment and rest!” repeated -Sir Charles. “Good Heavens!” continued he, in the -sudden agony of his soul, and walking from the couch, “is it -possible that Amanda was a wanderer in the streets, without -food, or a place to lay her head in? Oh, this is dreadful! Oh! -my friends,” he proceeded, looking around him, whilst his eyes -beamed the divine compassion of his soul, “be kind, be careful -of this poor creature; but it is unnecessary to exhort you to this, -and excuse me for having done so. Yes, I know you will delight -in binding up a broken heart, and drying the tears of a wretched -outcast. A short time ago, and she appeared——" he stopped, -overcome by his emotions, and turned away his head to wipe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[Pg 505]</a></span> -away his tears. “A short time ago,” he resumed, “and she -appeared all that the heart of man could desire, all that a woman -should wish and ought to be. Now she is fallen, indeed, lost -to herself and to the world!” “No,” cried Emily, with generous -warmth, starting from the side of the couch, at which she -had been kneeling, “I am confident she never was guilty of an -error.” “I am inclined, indeed, to be of Emily’s opinion,” said -Mrs. Rushbrook. “I think the monster, who spread such a -snare for her destruction, traduced Miss Donald in order to -drive her from those who would protect her from his schemes.” -“Would to Heaven the truth of your conjecture could be -proved,” exclaimed Sir Charles. Again he approached the -couch. Amanda remained in the same attitude, but seeing -her eyes open, he took her cold hand, and in a soothing voice -assured her she was safe; but the assurance had no effect upon -her. Hers, like the “dull, cold ear of death,” was insensible -of sound. A faint spark of life seemed only quivering through -her woe-worn frame. “She is gone!” cried Sir Charles, pressing -her hand between his; “she is gone, indeed! Oh! sweet -Amanda, the mortal bounds that enclose thy afflicted spirit will -soon be broken!” “I trust not, sir,” exclaimed Captain Rushbrook. -His wife and daughter were unable to speak. “In -my opinion she had better be removed to bed.”</p> - -<p>Amanda was accordingly carried to a chamber, and Sir -Charles remained in the drawing-room till Mrs. Rushbrook had -returned to it. She informed him Miss Donald continued in -the same state. He desired a physician might be sent for, and -departed in inexpressible dejection.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIII" id="CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once.”—<span class="smcap">Thomson</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>We shall now account for the incidents in the last chapter. -Amanda’s letter to the Rushbrooks filled them with surprise -and consternation. Mrs. Rushbrook directly repaired to Mrs. -Connel, who, without hesitation, gave it as her opinion that the -whole was a fabrication, invented by malice to ruin Sipthorpe -in their opinion, or else by envy to prevent their enjoying the -good fortune which he offered to their acceptance. Mrs. Rushbrook -was inclined to be of the same opinion. Her mind was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[Pg 506]</a></span> -sensibly affected by the favors Sipthorpe had conferred on her -family, and, yielding to its gratitude, she resolved to be guided -implicitly by her friend, who advised her to show the letter to -him. She considered this the best measure she could pursue. -If innocent, he would be pleased by the confidence reposed in -his honor; if guilty, his confusion must betray him. But Belgrave -was guarded against detection. His servant had seen -Amanda as she was alighting from the coach the evening she -arrived in town. He inquired from the maid concerning her, -and learned that she was to lodge in the house, and go by her -assumed name. These circumstances he related to his master -the moment he returned home, who was transported at the intelligence. -From her change of name, he supposed her not -only in deep distress, but removed from the protection of her -friends, and he determined not to lose so favorable an opportunity -as the present for securing her in his power. He instantly -resolved to relinquish his designs on Emily—designs which her -beautiful simplicity and destitute condition had suggested, and -to turn all his thoughts on Amanda, who had ever been the -first object of his wishes. His pride, as well as love, was interested -in again ensnaring her, as he had been deeply mortified -by her so successfully baffling his former stratagems; he knew -not of the manner she had left the house. Half distracted at -what he supposed her escape from it, he had followed her to -Ireland, and remained incognito near the convent, till the appearance -of Lord Mortimer convinced him any schemes he -formed against her must prove abortive; but to concert a plan -for securing her required some deliberation. Ere he could devise -one he was summoned to Mrs. Connel’s parlor to peruse -the letter, and from the hand as well as purport, instantly knew -Amanda to be its author. With the daring effrontery of vice, -he directly declared she was a discarded mistress of his, who -from jealousy had taken this step, to prevent, if possible, his -union. He assured them her real name was not Donald, bid -them tax her with that deceit, and judge from her confusion -whether she was not guilty of that, as well as everything else he -alleged against her. His unembarrassed manner had the appearance -of innocence to his too credulous auditors, prejudiced -as they were already in his favor, and in their minds he was -now fully acquitted of his imputed crimes. He was now careless -whether Amanda saw him or not (for he had before stolen -into the house), being well convinced nothing she could allege -against him would be credited. When night approached without -bringing her, he grew alarmed lest he had lost her again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[Pg 507]</a></span> -At last her return relieved him from this fear. The conversation -which passed in the parlor he heard through the means of -his servant, who had listened to it. The mention of Amanda’s -removal in the morning made him immediately consult his servant -about measures for securing her, and he, with the assistance -of the maid, contrived the scheme which has been already -related, having forged a letter in Emily’s name. But how inadequate -is language to describe the rage that took possession -of his soul, when, going at the appointed hour to carry Amanda -off, he found her already gone. He raved, cursed, stamped, -and accused the woman and his servant of being privy to her -escape. In vain Mrs. Deborah told him of the trick she had -played on her, and how she had been obliged to get into the -house through the window. He continued his accusations, -which so provoked his servant, conscious of their unjustness, -that he at last replied to them with insolence. This, in the -present state of Belgrave’s mind, was not to be borne, and he -immediately struck him over the forehead with his sword, and -with a violence which felled him to the earth. Scarcely had he -obeyed ere he repented his impulse of passion, which seemed -attended with fatal consequences, for the man gave no symptoms -of existence. Consideration for his own safety was more prevalent -in his mind than any feelings of humanity, and he instantly -rushed from the house, ere the woman was sufficiently recovered -from her horror and amazement to be able to call to the -other servants, as she afterwards did, to stop him. He fled to -town, and hastened to an hotel in Pall Mall, from whence he -determined to hire a carriage for Dover, and thence embark for -the continent. Ascending the stairs he met a man, of all others -he would have wished to avoid, namely, Sir Charles Bingley. -He started, but it was too late to retreat. He then endeavored -to shake off his embarrassment, from a faint hope that Sir -Charles had not heard of his villanous design upon Miss Rushbrook; -but this hope vanished the moment Sir Charles addressed -him, who with coldness and contempt said he would be -glad to speak to him for a few minutes. But ere we relate their -conversation, it is necessary to relate a few particulars of the -Rushbrooks.</p> - -<p>Captain Rushbrook, from knowing more of the deceits of -mankind than his wife, was less credulous. The more he reflected -on the letter the more he felt doubts obtruding on his -mind, and he resolved sooner to forfeit the friendship of Sipthorpe -than permit any further intercourse between him and his -daughter till those doubts were removed. He sent his son to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[Pg 508]</a></span> -Sir Charles’s agent, and had the satisfaction of hearing he was -then in town, and lodged at an hotel in Pall Mall. He immediately -wrote to Sir Charles, and requested to see him whenever -he was at leisure; adding, he was well convinced his -benevolence would excuse the liberty he had taken, when -informed of the purpose for which his visit was requested. Sir -Charles was fortunately within, and directly attended little -Rushbrook to the prison. The letter had filled him with surprise, -but that surprise gave way, the moment he entered the -wretched apartment of Rushbrook, to the powerful emotions of -pity. A scene more distressing he had never seen, or could -not have conceived. He saw the emaciated form of the soldier, -for such his dress announced him, seated beside a dying -fire, his little children surrounding him, whose faded countenances -denoted their keen participation of his grief, and the -sad partner of his misery bending her eyes upon those children -with mingled love and sorrow.</p> - -<p>Rushbrook was unable to speak for a few minutes after his -entrance. When he recovered his voice, he thanked him for -the kind attention he had paid his request, briefly informed -him of the motives for that request, and ended by putting -Amanda’s letter into his hand. Sir Charles perused it with -horror and amazement. “Gracious Heaven!” he exclaimed, -“what a monster! I know not the lady who has referred you -to me, but I can testify the truth of her allegations. I am -shocked to think such a monster as Belgrave exists.”</p> - -<p>Shocked at the idea of the destruction she was so near -devoting her daughter to, disappointed in the hopes she entertained -of having her family liberated from prison, and struck -with remorse for her conduct to Amanda, Mrs. Rushbrook fell -fainting to the floor, overpowered by her painful emotions. Sir -Charles aided in raising her from it, for the trembling hand of -Rushbrook refused its assistance. “Unhappy woman!” he -exclaimed, “the disappointment of her hopes is too much for -her feeble frame.” Water, the only restorative in the room, -being sprinkled on her face, she slowly revived, and the first -object she beheld was the pale and weeping Emily, whom her -father had insisted on being brought to the prison. “Oh, my -child,” she cried, clasping her to her bosom, “can you forgive -the mother who was so near devoting you to destruction? Oh! -my children, for your sake, how near was I sacrificing this dear, -this precious girl! I blush! I shudder! when I reflect on my -conduct to the unhappy young creature, who, like a guardian -angel, interposed between my child and ruin. But these dreary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[Pg 509]</a></span> -walls,” she continued, bursting into an agony of tears, “which -now we must never hope to pass, will hide my shame and sorrows -together!” “Do not despair, my dear madam,” said Sir -Charles, in the soft accent of benevolence, “nor do you,” continued -he, turning to Rushbrook, “deem me impertinent in inquiring -into those sorrows.” His accent, his manner, were so -soothing, that these children of misery, who had long been -strangers to the voice of kindness, gave him, with tears, and -sighs, a short relation of their sorrows. He heard them with -deep attention, and, when he departed, gave them such a smile -as, we may suppose, would beam from an angel, if sent by -Heaven to pour the balm of comfort and mercy over the sorrows -of a bursting heart.</p> - -<p>He returned early in the morning. How bright, how animated -was his countenance! Oh, ye sons of riot and extravagance! -ye children of dissipation! never did ye experience a -pleasure equal to his, when he entered the apartment of Rushbrook -to inform him he was free; when, in the impassioned, yet -faltering accents of sensibility, he communicated the joyful -tidings, and heard the little children repeat his words, while -their parents gazed on each other with surprise and rapture.</p> - -<p>Rushbrook at length attempted to pour out the fulness of -his heart, but Sir Charles stopped him. “Blessed with a fortune,” -cried he, “beyond my wants, to what nobler purpose -could superfluous wealth be devoted, than to the enlargement -of a man who has served his country, and who has a family -which he may bring up to act as he has done? May the restoration -of liberty be productive of every happiness! Your -prison gates, I rejoice to repeat, are open. May the friendship -which commenced within these walls be lasting as our lives!” -To dwell longer on this subject is unnecessary. The transported -family were conveyed to Mrs. Connel’s, where he had -been the preceding night to order everything for their reception. -He then inquired about Sipthorpe, or rather Belgrave, -whom he meant to upbraid for his cruel designs against Miss -Rushbrook; but Belgrave, as soon as his plan was settled about -Amanda, had quitted Mrs. Connel’s. The joy of the Rushbrooks -was greatly damped the next morning on hearing of the -secret departure of Amanda. What Belgrave had said against -her they never would have credited, but for the appearance of -mystery which enveloped her. Still, her amiable attention to -them merited their truest gratitude; they wished to have expressed -that gratitude to her, and offer her their services. -Much as appearances were against Amanda, yet from the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[Pg 510]</a></span> -moment Mrs. Rushbrook declared it her idea that Belgrave had -traduced her for the purpose of depriving her of protection, a -similar idea started in Sir Charles’s mind, and he resolved to -seek Belgrave, and never rest till he had discovered whether -there was any truth in his assertions against Amanda. Their -meeting at the hotel was considered as fortunate as unexpected -by him; yet could he not disguise for a moment the contempt -his character inspired him with. He reproached him as soon -as they entered an apartment, for his base designs against Miss -Rushbrook; designs in every respect degrading to his character, -since he knew the blow he levelled at the peace of her father, -could not, from the unfortunate situation of that father, be resented. -“You are,” continued Sir Charles, “not only the -violator, but the defamer of female innocence. I am well convinced -from reflection on past and present circumstances, that -your allegations against Miss Fitzalan were as false as vile.” -“You may doubt them, Sir Charles,” replied Belgrave, “if it is -agreeable to you; but yet, as a friend, I advise you not to let -every one know you are her champion.” “Oh, Belgrave!” -cried Sir Charles, “can you think without remorse, of having -destroyed not only the reputation, but the existence of an amiable -young creature?” “The existence!” repeated Belgrave, -starting, and with a kind of horror in his look. “What do you -mean?” “I mean that Amanda Fitzalan, involved through -your means in a variety of wretchedness she was unable to support, -is now on her death-bed!” Belgrave changed color, -trembled, and in an agitated voice, demanded an explanation -of Sir Charles’s words.</p> - -<p>Sir Charles saw his feelings were touched, and trusting they -would produce the discovery he wished, briefly gave him the -particulars he asked for.</p> - -<p>Amanda was the only woman that had ever really touched -the heart of Belgrave. His mind, filled with horror and enervated -with fear at the idea of the crime he had recently committed, -could make no opposition to the grief he experienced -on hearing of her situation—a grief heightened almost to distraction, -by reflecting that he was accessory to it. “Dying!” -he repeated, “Amanda Fitzalan dying! but she will be happy! -Hers will be a pure and ministering spirit in heaven, when mine -lies howling. The angels are not purer in mind and person -than she is!” “Then you are an execrable villain,” cried Sir -Charles, laying his hand on his sword. “Strike,” exclaimed -Belgrave, with an air of wildness; “death will rid me of horrors. -Death from you will be better than the ignominious one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[Pg 511]</a></span> -which now stares me in the face; for I have, oh, horrible! this -night I have committed murder!”</p> - -<p>Astonished and dismayed, Sir Charles gazed on him with -earnestness. “It is true!” continued he, in the same wild -manner, “it is true! therefore strike! but against you I will -not raise my hand; it were impious to touch a life like yours, -consecrated to the purposes of virtue. No, I would not deprive -the wretched of their friend.” Sir Charles, still shuddering at -his words, demanded an explanation of them; and the tortured -soul of Belgrave, as if happy to meet any one it could confide -in, after a little hesitation, divulged at once its crimes and horrors. -“No,” cried Sir Charles, when he had concluded, “to -raise a hand against him over whom the arm of justice is uplifted, -were cruel as well as cowardly. Go, then, and may -repentance, not punishment, overtake you.” To describe the -raptures Sir Charles experienced at the acquittal of Amanda, is -impossible. Not a fond father rejoicing over the restored fame -of a darling child, could experience more exquisite delight. -The next morning, as soon as he thought it possible he could -gain admittance, he hastened to Mrs. Connel’s, and had the -satisfaction of hearing from Mrs. Rushbrook that Amanda was -then in a sweet sleep, from which the most salutary consequences -might be expected. With almost trembling impatience -he communicated the transports of his heart, and his auditors -rejoiced as much at these transports on Amanda’s account as -on his. Mrs. Rushbrook and Emily had sat up with her the -preceding night, which she passed in a most restless manner, -without any perception of surrounding objects. Towards -morning she fell into a profound sleep, which they trusted -would recruit her exhausted frame. Mrs. Rushbrook then withdrew -to her husband. It was past noon ere Amanda awoke. -At first a pleasing languor was diffused through her frame, -which prevented her from having an idea of her situation; but -gradually her recollection returned, and with it anxiety to know -where she was. She remembered, too, the moment she had met -Sir Charles, but no further. She gently opened the curtain, -and beheld—oh! how great the pleasure of that moment—Emily -sitting by the bedside, who, instantly rising, kissed her -cheek in a transport of affection, and inquired how she did. -Oh! how delightful, how soothing was that gentle voice to the -ears of Amanda! The softest music could not have been -more grateful. Her heart vibrated to it with an exquisite -degree of pleasure, and her eyes feasted on the rays of benevolence -which streamed from those of Emily. At last, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[Pg 512]</a></span> -a faint voice, she said: “I am sure I am safe, since I am with -Emily.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rushbrook entered at that instant. Her delight at -the restored faculties of Amanda was equal to her daughter’s ; -yet the recollection of her own conduct made her almost reluctant -to approach her. At last, advancing, “I blush, yet I -rejoice—oh! how truly rejoice—to behold you,” she exclaimed; -“that I could be tempted to harbor a doubt against you fills -me with regret; and the vindication of your innocence can -scarcely yield you more pleasure than it yields me.” “The -vindication of my innocence!” repeated Amanda, raising her -head from the pillow. “Oh, gracious Heaven! is it then -vindicated? Tell me, I conjure you, how, and by what -means.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Rushbrook hastened to obey her, and related all she -had heard from Sir Charles. The restoration of her fame -seemed to reanimate the soul of Amanda, yet tears burst from -her, and she trembled with emotion. Mrs. Rushbrook was -alarmed, and endeavored to compose her. “Do not be uneasy,” -said Amanda, “those tears will never injure me. It is -long, it is very long, since I have shed tears of joy!” She -implored Heaven’s choicest blessings on Sir Charles for his -generosity to her, his benevolence to the Rushbrooks. Her -heart, relieved of a heavy burden of anxiety on her own account, -now grew more anxious than ever to learn something -of her poor Oscar; and notwithstanding Mrs. Rushbrook’s entreaties -to the contrary, who feared she was exerting herself -beyond her strength, she arose in the afternoon for the purpose -of going to the drawing-room, determined, as Sir Charles’s generous -conduct merited her confidence, to relate to him as well -as to Mrs. Rushbrook the motives which had brought her to -town; the particulars of her life necessary to be known; and -to request their assistance in trying to learn intelligence of her -brother. Emily helped her to dress, and supported her to the -drawing-room. Sir Charles had continued in the house the -whole day, and met her as she entered with mingled love and -pity; for in her feeble form, her faded cheek, he witnessed the -ravages of grief and sickness. His eyes more than his tongue -expressed his feelings, yet in the softest accent of tenderness -did he pour forth those feelings, whilst his hand trembled as it -pressed hers to his bosom. “My feelings, Sir Charles,” said -she, “cannot be expressed; but my gratitude to you will cease -but with my existence.”</p> - -<p>Sir Charles besought her to be silent on such a subject.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[Pg 513]</a></span> -“He was selfish,” he said, “in everything he did for her, for -on her happiness his depended.”</p> - -<p>Rushbrook approached to offer his congratulations. He -spoke of her kindness, but, like Sir Charles, the subject was -painful to her, and dropped at her request. The idea of being -safe, the soothing attentions she experienced, gave to her mind -a tranquillity it had long been a stranger to, and she looked -back on her past dangers but to enjoy more truly her present -security. As she witnessed the happiness of the Rushbrooks, -she could scarcely forbear applauding aloud the author of that -happiness; but she judged of his heart by her own, and therefore -checked herself by believing he would prefer the silent -plaudits of that heart to any praise whatsoever. After tea, when -only Sir Charles, Mr. and Mrs. Rushbrook, and Emily, were -present, she entered upon the affairs she wished to communicate. -They heard her with deep attention, wonder, and pity, -and, when she concluded, both Sir Charles and Rushbrook -declared their readiness to serve her. The latter, who had betrayed -strong emotions during her narrative, assured her he -doubted not, nay, he was almost convinced, he should soon be -able to procure her intelligence of her brother.</p> - -<p>This was a sweet assurance to the heart of Amanda, and, -cheered by it, she soon retired to bed. Her strength being exhausted -by speaking, she sunk into a tranquil slumber, and next -morning she arose for breakfast. “Well,” said Rushbrook to -her as they sat at it, “I told you last night I should soon be -able to procure you intelligence of your brother, and I was not -mistaken.” “Oh, heavens!” cried Amanda, in trembling emotion, -“have you really heard anything of him?” “Be composed, -my dear girl,” said he, taking her hand in the most -soothing, most affectionate manner, “I have heard of him, but——" -“But what?” interrupted Amanda, with increased -emotion. “Why, that he has experienced some of the trials -of life. But let the reflection that these trials are over, prevent -your suffering pain by hearing of them.” “Oh! tell me, -I entreat,” said Amanda, “where he is! Tell me, I conjure -you; shall I see him?” “Yes,” replied Rushbrook, “you shall -see him, to keep you no longer in suspense. In that dreary -prison, from which I have just been released, he has languished -for many months.” “Oh, my brother!” exclaimed Amanda, while -tears gushed from her.</p> - -<p>“I knew not,” continued Rushbrook, “from the concealment -of your name, that he was your brother, till last night. I -then told Sir Charles, and he is gone this morning to him; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[Pg 514]</a></span> -you must expect to see him somewhat altered. The restoration -of liberty, and the possession of fortune, will no doubt soon -re-establish his health. Hark! I think I hear a voice on the -stairs.”</p> - -<p>Amanda started, arose, attempted to move, but sunk again -upon her chair. The door opened, and Sir Charles entered, -followed by Oscar. Though prepared for an alteration in his -looks, she was not by any means prepared for an alteration -which struck her the moment she beheld him. Pale and thin, -even to a degree of emaciation, he was dressed, or rather -wrapped, in an old regimental great-coat, his fine hair wildly -dishevelled. As he approached her, Amanda rose. “Amanda, -my sister!” said he, in a faint voice. She tottered forward, -and falling upon his bosom, gave way in tears to the mingled -joy and anguish of the moment. Oscar pressed her to his -heart. He gazed on her with the fondest rapture—yet a rapture -suddenly checked, by surveying the alteration in her appearance, -which was as striking to him, as his was to her. Her -pale and woe-worn countenance, her sable dress, at once declared -her sufferings, and brought most painfully to recollection -the irreparable loss they had sustained since their last meeting.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my father!” groaned Oscar, unable to control the -strong emotions of his mind—"Oh, my father! when last we -met we were blessed with your presence.” He clasped Amanda -closer to his heart as he spoke, as if doubly endeared to him -by her desolate situation.</p> - -<p>“To avoid regretting him is indeed impossible,” said Amanda; -“yet, had he lived, what tortures would have wrung his heart -in witnessing the unhappiness of his children, when he had not -the power of removing it!” “Come,” cried Captain Rushbrook, -whose eyes, like those of every person present, confessed -his sympathetic feelings, “let us not cloud present blessings by -the retrospection of past misfortunes. In this life we must all -expect to meet with such losses as you lament.” As soon as Oscar -and Amanda grew composed, they were left to themselves, -and Oscar then satisfied the anxious and impatient heart of his -sister, by informing her of all that had befallen him. He began -with his attachment for Adela, and the disappointment of that -attachment; but as this part of his story is already known, we -Shall pass it over in silence, and merely relate the occasion of -his quarrel with Belgrave.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[Pg 515]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIV" id="CHAPTER_LIV">CHAPTER LIV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“But thou who, mindful of the unhonored dead,</span> -<span class="i1">Dost in these lines their artless tale relate,</span> -<span class="i0">If chance, by lonely contemplation led,</span> -<span class="i1">Some kindred spirit should lament thy fate,</span> -<span class="i0">Haply some hoary headed swain may say,</span> -<span class="i1">Oft have I seen him at the peep of dawn,</span> -<span class="i0">Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,</span> -<span class="i1">To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>“I left Enniskillen,” said Oscar, “in the utmost distress of -mind, for I left it with the idea that I might no more behold -Adela. Yet, dear and precious as was her sight to my soul, I -rejoiced she had not accompanied the regiment, since to have -beheld her but as the wife of Belgrave would have been insupportable. -Had the disappointment of my passion been occasioned -by its not meeting a return, pride would have assisted -me to conquer it; but to know it was tenderly returned, at -once cherished and, if possible, increased it. The idea of the -happiness I might have attained, rendered me insensible of any -that I might still have enjoyed. I performed the duties of my -situation mechanically, and shunned society as much as possible, -unable to bear the raillery of my gay companions on my -melancholy.</p> - -<p>“The summer you came to Ireland the regiment removed -to Bray, whose romantic situation allowed me to enjoy many -delightful and solitary rambles. It was there a man enlisted, -whose manner and appearance were for many days subjects of -surprise and conversation to us all. From both, it was obvious -he had been accustomed to one of the superior situations in -life. A form more strikingly elegant I never beheld. The -officers made many attempts to try and discover who he really -was; but he evaded all their inquiries, yet with the utmost -agitation. What rendered him, if possible, more interesting, -was his being accompanied by a young and lovely woman, who, -like him, appeared sunk beneath her original state; but to their -present one both conformed, if not with cheerfulness, at least -with resignation.</p> - -<p>“Mary obtained work from almost all the officers; Henry -was diligent in his duties; and both were universally admired -and respected. Often, in my lonely rambles, have I surprised -this unfortunate pair, who, it was evident, like me, sought solitude -for the indulgence of sorrow, weeping together as if over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[Pg 516]</a></span> -the remembrance of happier hours. Often have I beheld them -gazing with mingled agony and tenderness on the infant which -Mary nursed, as if shuddering at the idea of its destiny.</p> - -<p>“The loveliness of Mary was too striking not to attract the -notice of Belgrave; and from her situation he flattered himself -she would be an easy prey. He was, however, mistaken. She -repulsed his overtures with equal abhorrence and indignation. -She wished to conceal them from her husband, but he heard of -them through the means of his fellow-soldiers, who had several -times seen the colonel following his wife. It was then he -really felt the bitterness of a servile situation. Of his wife he -had no doubt; she had already given him a convincing proof -of constancy, but he dreaded the insults she might receive from -the colonel. The united vigilance of both prevented, however, -for some time, a repetition of those insults. Exasperated by -their vigilance, the colonel at last concerted one of the most -diabolical plans which could have entered into the heart of man. -A party of soldiers were ordered to the sea-side to watch there -for smuggled goods. Henry was named to be of the party, -but when the soldiers were drawn out he was not to be found. -Belgrave’s servant, the vile agent of his master, had informed -him that the colonel meant to take advantage of his absence, -and visit his wife. He trembled for her safety, resolved to run -every risk, sooner than leave her unguarded, and accordingly -absconded till the departure of the party. The consequence of -this was, that on his reappearance he was put under an arrest -for disobedience of orders, tried the next day, and sentenced -to be flogged on the following one. The very officers that -passed the sentence regretted it, but the strictness of military -discipline rendered it unavoidable.</p> - -<p>“I shall not attempt to describe the situation of the unhappy -young couple; they felt for each other more than for -themselves, and pride heightened the agonies of Henry.</p> - -<p>“Pale, weeping, with a distracted air, Mary flew to my -apartment, and, sinking at my feet, with uplifted hands besought -me to interpose in favor of her husband. I raised the -poor mourner from the ground, and assured her, yet with a -sigh, from the fear of proving unsuccessful, that I would do all -in my power to save him. I therefore hastened to the colonel, -to ask for another that favor I should have disdained to desire -for myself; but to serve this wretched couple, I felt I could -almost humble myself to the earth.</p> - -<p>“The colonel was on the parade; and, as if aware of my intention, -appeared sedulous to avoid me. But I would not be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[Pg 517]</a></span> -repulsed by this, and followed him, entreating his attention for -a few minutes. ‘Dispatch your business then in haste, sir,’ said -he, with an unusual haughtiness. ‘I shall, sir,’ cried I, endeavoring -to repress the indignation his manner excited, ‘and I -also hope with success.’ ‘What is your business, sir?’ demanded -he. ‘’Tis the business of humanity,’ I replied, ‘and -’tis only for others I could ask a favor.’</p> - -<p>“I then proceeded to mention it. Rage and malice inflamed -his countenance as I spoke. ‘Never,’ exclaimed he, -‘shall the wretch receive pardon from me; and I am astonished -at your presumption in asking it.’ ‘Yet not half so astonished,’ -replied I, ‘as I am at your obduracy. Though, why do I say -so? from your past actions, I should not be surprised at any -act you may commit.’</p> - -<p>“His passion grew almost to frenzy; he asked me if I -knew whom I was addressing. ‘Too well,’ I replied; ‘I -know I am addressing one of the completest villains upon -earth.’</p> - -<p>“He raised a small rattan he held, at these words, in a -threatening manner. I could no longer oppose my indignation. -I rushed upon him, wrested it from his hand, broke it, and -flung it over his head. ‘Now,’ cried I, laying my hand upon -my sword, ‘I am ready to give you the satisfaction you may -desire for my words—words whose truth I will uphold with my -life.’ ‘No,’ said he, with the coolness of deliberate malice; -‘’tis a far different satisfaction I shall expect to receive. Some -of the officers had by this time gathered round us, and attempted -to interfere, but he commanded their silence in a -haughty manner, and ordered me under an immediate arrest. -My fate I then knew decided, but I resolved to bear that fate -with fortitude, nor let him triumph in every respect over me. I -was confined to my room, and Henry the next morning was -brought forth to receive his punishment. I will not, my sister, -pain your gentle heart by describing to you, as it was described -to me by an officer, his parting from his wife. Pride, indignation, -tenderness, and pity, were struggling in his heart, and -visible in his countenance. He attempted to assume composure, -but when he reached the destined spot, he could no longer -control his feelings. The idea of being exposed, disgraced, -was too much for his noble soul. The paleness of his face increased. -He tottered, fell into the arms of a soldier, and expired -groaning forth the name of Mary. Four days after this -melancholy event a court-martial was held on me, when, as I -expected, I was broken for contempt to my superior officer. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518">[Pg 518]</a></span> -retired to a solitary inn near Bray, in a state of mind which -baffles description, destitute of friends and fortune. I felt in -that moment as if I had no business in the world. I was followed -to the inn by a young lieutenant with whom I had been on an -intimate footing. The grief he expressed at my situation roused -me from almost a stupefaction that was stealing on me. The -voice of friendship will penetrate the deepest gloom, and I felt -my sorrows gradually allayed by it. He asked me had I fixed -on any plan for myself. I replied I had not, for it was vain to -fix on plans when there were no friends to support them. He -took my hand and told me I was mistaken. In a few days he -trusted to procure me letters to a gentleman in London who -had considerable possessions in the West Indies, if such a -thing was agreeable to me. It was just what I wished for, and -I thanked him with the sincerest gratitude.</p> - -<p>“In the evening I received a message from the unfortunate -Mary, requesting to see me directly. The soldier who brought -it said she was dying. I hastened to her. She was in bed, -and supported by a soldier’s wife. The declining sunbeams -stole into the apartment, and shed a kind of solemn glory around -her. The beauty that had caused her misfortunes was faded, -but she looked more interesting than when adorned with that -bloom of beauty. Sighs and tears impeded her words for some -minutes after I approached her. At last, in a faint voice she -said, ‘I sent for you, sir, because I knew your goodness, your -benevolence would excuse the liberty. I knew you would think -that no trouble which could soothe the last sad moments of a -wretched woman.’</p> - -<p>“She then proceeded to inform me of the motives which -made her send—namely, to convey her infant to her father, a -person of fortune in Dublin, and to see her remains, ere I did -so, laid by those of her husband. Her unfortunate Henry, she -added, had been son to a respectable merchant. Their families -were intimate, and an attachment which commenced at an early -period between them was encouraged. Henry’s father experienced -a sudden reverse of fortune, and hers, in consequence of -it, forbade their ever thinking more of each other; but they -could not obey his commands, and married clandestinely, thus -forfeiting the favor of all their friends, as Henry’s thought -he wanted spirit, and hers deemed her deficient in respect to -her father. They were therefore compelled by necessity to a -state of life infinitely beneath them. ‘But in my grave,’ continued -she, ‘I trust my father will bury all his resentment, and -protect this little orphan.’</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">[Pg 519]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I promised a religious observance to her commands, and -she expired in about an hour after I quitted her. Mournful -were the tasks she enjoined me. I attended her remains to the -grave, and then conveyed her child to Dublin.</p> - -<p>“Startled, amazed, distressed, her father too late regretted -his rigor, and received her infant to his arms with floods of -repentant tears.</p> - -<p>“I now procured my recommendatory letters, and sailed for -England, having first written farewell ones to my father and -Mrs. Marlowe, in which I informed both I was about quitting the -kingdom. As soon as I had procured cheap lodgings in London, -I repaired to the gentleman to whom I was recommended; -but conceive my consternation when I heard he was himself -gone to the West Indies. I turned into a coffee-house, with an -intention of communicating this intelligence to my friend. -While the waiter was getting me materials for writing, I took up -a newspaper, and cast my eyes carelessly over it. Oh! my -Amanda, what was the shock of that moment, when I read my -father’s death: grief for him, anxiety for you, both assailed my -heart too powerfully for its feelings. My heart grew giddy, -my sight failed me, and I fell back with a deep groan. When -recovered, by the assistance of some gentlemen, I requested a -carriage might be sent for, but I was too weak to walk to it. -On returning to my lodgings, I was compelled to go to bed, -from which I never rose for a fortnight. During my illness all -the little money I had brought along with me was expended, -and I was besides considerably in debt with the people of the -house for procuring me necessaries. When able to sit up they -furnished their accounts, and I candidly told my inability to -discharge them. In consequence of this I was arrested, and -suffered to take of my clothes but a change or two of linen. -The horrors of what I imagined would be a lasting captivity -were heightened by reflecting on your unprotected situation. -A thousand times was I on the point of writing to inquire into -that situation, but still checked myself by reflecting that, as I -could not aid you, I should only add to any griefs you might be -oppressed with by acquainting you of mine. The company of -Captain Rushbrook alleviated in some degree the dreariness of -my time. I knew I should sustain an irreparable loss in losing -him, but I should have detested myself if any selfish motives -had prevented my rejoicing at his enlargement. Oh! little did -I think his liberation was leading the way to mine. Early this -morning he returned, and introduced Sir Charles Bingley to -me. Gently, and by degrees, they broke the joyful intelligence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">[Pg 520]</a></span> -they had to communicate. With truth I can aver that the announcement -of a splendid fortune was not so pleasing to my -heart as the mention of my sister’s safety. Of my poor Adela -I know nothing since my confinement; but I shudder to think -of what she may have suffered from being left solely in the -power of such a man as Belgrave, for the good old general died -soon after I left Enniskillen.</p> - -<p>“‘Regret not too bitterly, my dear Oscar,’ said Mrs. Marlowe, -in one of her letters, ‘the good man’s death; rather rejoice -he was removed ere his last hours were embittered by the -knowledge of his darling child’s unhappiness.’</p> - -<p>“Oh! my sister!” continued Oscar, with a heavy sigh, while -tears fell from him, and mingled with those Amanda was shedding, -“in this world we must have still something to wish and -sigh for.”</p> - -<p>Oscar here concluded his narrative with such an expression -of melancholy as gave to Amanda the sad idea of his passion -for Adela being incurable. This was indeed the case; neither -reason, time, nor absence could remove or lessen it, and the acquisition -of liberty or fortune lost half their value by brooding -over her loss.</p> - -<p>When their friends returned to the drawing-room and again -offered their congratulations, Oscar’s dejection would not permit -him to reply to them. When Mr. and Mrs. Rushbrook -spoke of the happiness he might now enjoy, he listened to their -recapitulation of it as to a fulsome tale, to which his heart in -secret gave the lie. An innate sense of piety, however, recalled -him to a proper recollection of the blessings so unexpectedly -declared to be his. He accused himself of ingratitude -to Heaven in yielding to murmurs, after so astonishing a reverse -in his situation. Perfect happiness he had been early taught—and -daily experience confirmed the truth of the remark—was -rarely to be met with; how presumptuous in him, therefore, to -repine at the common lot of humanity: to be independent, to -have the means of returning the obligations Sir Charles Bingley -had conferred upon him; to be able to comfort and provide for -his lovely and long-afflicted sister; and to distribute relief -amongst the children of indigence, were all blessings which -would shortly be his—blessings which demanded his warmest -gratitude, and for which he now raised his heart with thankfulness -to their divine Dispenser. His feelings grew composed: -a kind of soft and serene melancholy stole over his mind. He -still thought of Adela, but not with that kind of distracting -anguish he had so recently experienced; it was with that kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">[Pg 521]</a></span> -of tender regret which a soul of sensibility feels when reflecting -on a departed friend, and to him Adela was as much lost, as if -already shrouded in her native clay. “Yes, my love,” he said, -as if her gentle spirit had already forsaken its earthly mansion, -“in that happy world we shall be reunited, which only can -reward thy goodness and thy sufferings.”</p> - -<p>He could now enter into conversation with his friends about -the measures which should be taken to forward his pretensions. -It was the opinion of Captain Rushbrook and Sir Charles, that -to make known his claim to the Marquis of Roslin was all that -was necessary; a claim which they did not imagine he would or -could dispute, when such proofs of its validity as the testimony -of Lady Dunreath, and the will, could be produced. Was it -disputed, it was then time enough to apply elsewhere for justice.</p> - -<p>Sir Charles knew the Marquis personally, and was also well -acquainted in his neighborhood, and declared he would accompany -Oscar to Scotland. Oscar thanked him for his intention. -The support of a person so well known, and universally esteemed -he was convinced, would essentially serve him. Sir Charles -said, regimental business required his presence in Ireland, -which, however, would occasion no great delay, as he should -have it transacted in a few days; and as his regiment lay near -Donaghadee, they could cross over to Port-Patrick, and, in a -few hours after, reach the Marquis of Roslin’s Castle.</p> - -<p>The day after the next he had fixed for commencing his -journey, and he asked Oscar if it would be agreeable and convenient -to accompany him then. Oscar instantly assured -him it was both. Amanda’s heart fluttered at the idea of a -journey to Ireland. It was probable, she thought, that they -would take Wales in their way; and her soul seemed already -on the wing to accompany them thither, and be left at the -cottage of nurse Edwin, from whence she could again wander -through the shades of Tudor Hall, and take a last, a sad -farewell of them; for she solemnly determined from the -moment she should be apprised of Lord Mortimer’s return -to England to visit them no more. In such a farewell she -believed she should find a melancholy consolation that would -soothe her spirits. She imagined there was no necessity for -accompanying her brother into Scotland, and except told there -was an absolute one, she determined to decline the journey if -she should be asked to undertake it. To go to the very spot -where she would hear particulars of Lord Mortimer’s nuptials, -she felt would be too much for her fortitude, and might betray -to her brother a secret she had resolved carefully to conceal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">[Pg 522]</a></span> -from him, as she well knew the pain he would feel from knowing -that the pangs of a hopeless attachment were entailed upon -her life, and would defeat whatever flattering hopes he entertained -for her. Exclusive of the above-mentioned objections, -she could not bear to go to a place where she might perhaps -witness the pain which Lord Mortimer must unavoidably feel -from having any disgrace befall a family he was so nearly connected -with. Oh, how her heart swelled at the idea that ere -Oscar reached Scotland, the interest of the Marquis of Roslin -and Lord Mortimer would be but one! From her apprehensions -of being asked to undertake a journey so truly repugnant -to her feelings, she was soon relieved by Oscar’s declaring that, -except she wished it, he would not ask her to take so fatiguing -a one, particularly as her presence he could not think at all -necessary.</p> - -<p>Sir Charles Bingley assured him it was not; though in a -low voice he said to her, it was against his own interest he -spoke.</p> - -<p>She would now have mentioned her wish of going to Wales, -had not a certain consciousness checked her. She feared her -countenance would betray her motives for such a wish. While -she hesitated about mentioning it, Sir Charles Bingley told -Captain Rushbrook, that he had applied to a friend of his in -power for a place for him, and had been fortunate enough to -make application at the very time there was one of tolerable -emolument vacant, at ——, about seventy miles distant from -London, whither it would be necessary he should go as soon -as possible. He therefore proposed that he and Mrs. Rushbrook -should begin preparations for their journey the ensuing -morning, and exert themselves to be able to undertake it in the -course of the week.</p> - -<p>They were all rapture and gratitude at this intelligence, -which opened a prospect of support through their own means, -as the bread of independence, however hardly earned, which -here was not the case, must ever be sweet to souls of sensibility.</p> - -<p>Oscar looked with anxiety at his sister, on the mention of -the Rushbrook’s removal from town, as if to say, to whose care -then can I intrust you? Mrs. Rushbrook interpreted his look, -and instantly requested that Miss Fitzalan might accompany -them, declaring her society would render their felicity complete. -This was the moment for Amanda to speak. She took courage, -and mentioned her earnest wish of visiting her faithful nurse, -declaring she could not lose so favorable an opportunity as now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">[Pg 523]</a></span> -offered for the gratification of that wish, by accompanying her -brother into Wales. Emily pleaded, but Amanda, though with -the utmost gratitude and tenderness, as if to soften her refusal, -was steady. Oscar was pleased with his sister’s determination, as -he trusted going into what might be called her native air, joined -to the tender care of nurse Edwin, would recruit her health. -Sir Charles was in raptures at the idea of having her company -so far on their way.</p> - -<p>Everything relative to the proceedings of the whole party -was arranged before dinner, at which Sir Charles presided, -giving pleasure to all around him, by the ineffable sweetness of -his manners. He withdrew at an early hour at night, and his -friends soon after retired to their respective chambers. On -entering the breakfast-room next morning, Amanda found not -only her brother and the Rushbrooks, but Sir Charles Bingley -there. Immediately after breakfast, he drew Oscar aside, and -in the most delicate terms insisted on being his banker at -present, to which Oscar gratefully consented. As soon as this -affair was settled, he put a note into his sister’s hands, to purchase -whatever she should deem necessary; and she went out -with the Rushbrooks, who, according to Sir Charles’s directions, -began preparations for their journey this day. After their return, -Sir Charles found an opportunity of again making an -offer of his hand to Amanda.</p> - -<p>The sincere friendship she had conceived for him made her -determine to terminate his suspense on her account. “Was I -to accept your generous proposal, Sir Charles,” said she, “I -should be unworthy of that esteem which it will be my pride to -retain and my pleasure to return, because beyond esteem I cannot -go myself. It is due to your friendship,” cried she, after -the hesitation of a moment, whilst a rosy blush stole over her -lovely face, and as quickly faded from it, “to declare, that ere -I saw you, the fate of my heart was decided.”</p> - -<p>Sir Charles turned pale. He grasped her hands in a kind -of silent agony to his bosom, then exclaimed: “I will not, Miss -Fitzalan, after your generous confidence, tease you with further -importunity.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524">[Pg 524]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LV" id="CHAPTER_LV">CHAPTER LV.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“———I solitary court</span> -<span class="i0">The inspiring breeze.”—<span class="smcap">Thomson</span>.</span> -</div></div> - -<p>The ensuing morning, Oscar, Amanda, and Sir Charles -began their journey. The Rushbrooks, who regarded Amanda -as the cause of their present happiness, took leave of her with -a tender sorrow that deeply affected her heart. The journey -to Wales was pleasant and expeditious, the weather being fine, -and relays of horses being provided at every stage. On the -evening of the third day they arrived about sunset at the village -which lay contiguous to Edwin’s abode; from whence, as -soon as they had taken some refreshment, Amanda set off, attended -by her brother, for the cottage, having ordered her luggage -to be brought after her. She would not permit the attendance -of Sir Charles, and almost regretted having travelled with -him, as she could not help thinking his passion seemed increased -by her having done so. “How dearly,” cried he, as he handed -her down stairs, “shall I pay for a few short hours of pleasure, -by the unceasing regret their remembrance will entail upon -me.”</p> - -<p>Amanda withdrew her hand, and, bidding him farewell, hurried -on. Oscar proceeded no farther than the lane, which led -to the cottage, with his sister. He had no time to answer the -interrogations which its inhabitants might deem themselves -privileged to make. Neither did he wish his present situation -to be known to any others than those already acquainted with -it. Amanda therefore meant to say she had taken the opportunity -of travelling so far with two particular friends who were -going to Ireland. Oscar promised to write to her immediately -from thence, and from Scotland, as soon as he had seen the -marquis. He gave her a thousand charges concerning her -health, and took a tender farewell. From his too visible dejection, -Amanda, rejoiced she had not revealed her own sorrows -to him. She trusted it would be in her power, by soothing attentions, -by the thousand little nameless offices of friendship, -to alleviate his. To pluck the thorn from his heart which -rankled within it was beyond her hopes. In their dispositions, -as well as fates, there was too great a similitude to expect this.</p> - -<p>Amanda lingered in the walk as he departed. She was now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_525" id="Page_525">[Pg 525]</a></span> -in the very spot that recalled a thousand fond and tender remembrances. -It was here she had given a farewell look to -Tudor Hall; it was here her father had taken a last look at the -spire of the church where his beloved wife was interred; it was -here Lord Mortimer used so often to meet her. Her soul sunk -in the heaviest sadness. Sighs burst from her overcharged -heart, and with difficulty she prevented her tears from falling. All -around was serene and beautiful; but neither the serenity nor -the beauty of the scene could she now enjoy. The plaintive -bleating of the cattle that rambled about the adjacent hills only -heightened her melancholy, and the appearance of autumn, -which was now far advanced, only made her look back to the -happy period when admiring its luxuriance had given her delight. -The parting sunbeams yet glittered on the windows of -Tudor Hall. She paused involuntarily to contemplate it. -Hours could she have continued in the same situation, had not -the idea that she might be observed from the cottage made her -at last hasten to it.</p> - -<p>The door lay open. She entered, and found only the nurse -within, employed at knitting. Her astonishment at the appearance -of Amanda is not to be described. She started, screamed, -surveyed her a minute, as if doubting the evidence of her eyes, -then, running to her, flung her arms about her neck, and clasped -her to her bosom. “Good gracious!” cried she; “well, to pe -sure, who ever would have thought such a thing? Well, to pe -sure, you are as welcome as the flowers in May. Here we have -peen in such a peck of troubles about you. Many and many a -time has my good man said, that if he knew where you were, he -would go to you.” Amanda returned the embraces of her faithful -nurse, and they both sat down together.</p> - -<p>“Ah! I fear,” said the nurse, looking tenderly at her for a -few minutes, “you have been in a sad way since I last saw you. -The poor tear captain, alack! little did I think when he took -you away from us, I should never see him more.” Amanda’s -tears could no longer be suppressed; they gushed in torrents -from her, and deep sobs spoke the bitterness of her feelings. -“Ay,” said the nurse, wiping her eyes with the corner of her -apron, “gentle or simple, sooner or later, we must all go the -same way; so, my tear chilt, don’t take it so much to heart. -Well, to pe sure, long pefore this I thought I should have seen -or heard of your being greatly married; put I pelieve it is true -enough, that men are like the wind—always changing. Any -one that had seen Lord Mortimer after you went away, would -never have thought he could prove fickle. He was in such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_526" id="Page_526">[Pg 526]</a></span> -grief, my very heart and soul pitied him. To pe sure, if I had -known where you were, I should have told him. I comforted -myself, however, by thinking he would certainly find you out, -when, Lort! instead of looking for you, here he’s going to be -married to a great lady, with such a long, hard name—a Scotch -heiress, I think they call her. Ay, golt is everything in these -days. Well, all the harm I wish him is, that she may plague -his life out.”</p> - -<p>This discourse was too painful to Amanda. Her tears had -subsided, and she endeavored to change it, by asking after the -nurse’s family. The nurse, in a hasty manner, said they were -well, and thus proceeded: “Then there is Parson Howel. I -am sure one would have thought him as steady as Penmaenmawr, -but no such thing. I am sure he has changed, for he -does not come to the cottage half so often to ask about you as -he used to do.”</p> - -<p>Amanda, notwithstanding her dejection, smiled at the -nurse’s anger about the curate, and again requested to hear -particulars of her family. The nurse no longer hesitated to -comply with her request. She informed her they were all well, -and then at a little distance at the mill in the valley. She also -added, that Ellen was married to her faithful Chip; had a comfortable -cottage, and a fine little girl she was nursing, and to -whom, from her love to her tear young laty, she would have -given the name of Amanda, but that she feared people would -deem her conceited, to give it so fine a one. The nurse said -she often regretted having left her young lady, and then even -Chip himself could not console her for having done so. Tears -again started in Amanda’s eyes, at hearing of the unabated attachment -of her poor Ellen. She longed to see and congratulate -her on her present happiness. The nurse, in her turn, inquired -of all that had befallen Amanda since their separation, -and shed tears at hearing of her dear child’s sufferings since -that period. She asked about Oscar, and was briefly informed -he was well. The family soon returned from the dance; and it -would be difficult to say whether surprise or joy was most predominant -at seeing Amanda. One of the young men ran over -for Ellen, and returned in a few minutes with her, followed by -her husband, carrying his little child. She looked wild with -delight. She clasped Amanda in her arms, as if she would -never let her depart from them, and wept in the fulness of her -heart. “Now, now,” cried she, “I shall be quite happy; but -oh! why, my dear young laty, did you not come amongst us before? -you know all in our power we would have done to ren<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_527" id="Page_527">[Pg 527]</a></span>der -you happy.” She now recollected herself, and modestly -retired to a little distance. She took her child and brought it -to Amanda, who delighted her extremely by the notice she took -of it and Chip. If Amanda had had less cause for grief, the -attentions of these affectionate cottagers would have soothed -her mind; but at present nothing could diminish her dejection. -Her luggage was by this time arrived. She had brought presents -for all the family, and now distributed them. She tried -to converse about their domestic affairs, but found herself unequal -to the effort, and begged to be shown to her chamber. -The nurse would not suffer her to retire till she had tasted her -new cheese and Welsh ale. When alone within it, she found -fresh objects to remind her of Lord Mortimer, and consequently -to augment her grief. Here lay the book-case he had sent her. -She opened it with trembling impatience; but scarcely a volume -did she examine in which select passages were not marked, -by his hand, for her particular perusal. Oh! what mementoes -were those volumes of the happy hours she had passed at the -cottage! The night waned away, and still she continued weeping -over them. She could with difficulty bring herself to close -the book-case; and when she retired to rest her slumbers were -short and unrefreshing. The next morning as she sat at breakfast, -assiduously attended by the nurse and her daughters (for -Ellen had come over early to inquire after her health), Howel -entered to pay her a visit. The previous intimation she had -received of the alteration in his sentiments rendered his visit -more pleasing than it would otherwise have been to her. His -pleasure was great at seeing her, but it was not the wild and -extravagant delight of a lover, but the soft and placid joy of a -friend. After his departure, which was not soon, she accompanied -Ellen to view her cottage, and was infinitely pleased by -its neatness and romantic situation. It lay on the side of a -hill which commanded a beautiful prospect of Tudor Hall. -Everything she beheld reminded Amanda of Lord Mortimer, -even the balmy air she breathed, on which his voice had so -often floated.</p> - -<p>The sad indulgence of wandering through the shades of -Tudor Hall, which she had so eagerly desired, and fondly anticipated, -she could not longer deny herself. The second evening -after her arrival at the cottage, she turned her solitary -steps to them; their deep embowering glens, their solitude, -their silence, suited the pensive turn of her feelings. Here, undisturbed -and unobserved, she could indulge the sorrows of -her heart; and oh! how did recollection augment those sor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_528" id="Page_528">[Pg 528]</a></span>rows -by retracing the happy hours she had spent within those -shades. A cold, a death-like melancholy pervaded her feelings, -and seemed repelling the movements of life. Her trembling -limbs were unable to support her, and she threw herself on the -ground. For some minutes she could scarcely breathe. Tears -at length relieved her painful oppression, she raised her languid -head, she looked around, and wept with increasing violence at -beholding what might be termed mementoes of former happiness. -She repeated in soft and tremulous accents the name of -Mortimer; but as the beloved name vibrated on her ear, how -did she start at recollecting that she was then calling upon the -husband of Lady Euphrasia. She felt a momentary glow upon -her cheeks. She arose, and sighed deeply. “I will strive to -do right,” she cried; “I will try to wean my soul from remembrances -no longer proper to be indulged.” Yet still she lingered -in the wood. The increasing gloom of evening rendered -it, if possible, more pleasing to her feelings, whilst the breeze -sighed mournfully through the trees, and the droning bat fluttered -upon the air, upon which the wild music of a harp, from -one of the neighboring cottages, softly floated.</p> - -<p>Amanda drew nearer to it. It looked dark and melancholy. -She sighed—she involuntarily exclaimed, “Oh, how soon will -it be enlivened by bridal pomp and festivity!” She now recollected -the uneasiness her long absence might create at the cottage, -and as soon as the idea occurred, hastened to it. She -met Edwin in the lane, who had been dispatched by his wife in -quest of her. The good woman expressed her fears, that such -late rambles would injure the health of Amanda; “it was a sad -thing,” she said, “to see young people giving way to dismal -fancies.”</p> - -<p>Amanda did not confine her rambles entirely to Tudor Hall; -she visited all the spots where she and Mortimer used to ramble -together. She went to the humble spot where her mother -lay interred. Her feelings were now infinitely more painful -than when she had first seen it. It recalled to her mind, in the -most agonizing manner, all the vicissitudes she had experienced -since that period. It recalled to view the calamitous closure -of her father’s life—the sorrows, the distresses of that life, and -she felt overwhelmed with grief. Scarcely could she prevent -herself from falling on the grave, and giving way in tears and -lamentations to that grief. Deprived of the dearest connections -of life, blasted in hopes and expectations—"Oh! well had it -been for me,” she cried, “had this spot at once received the -mother and child; and yet,” she exclaimed, after a minute’s <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_529" id="Page_529">[Pg 529]</a></span> -reflection; “oh! what, my God, am I, that I should dare to -murmur or repine at thy decrees? Oh! pardon the involuntary -expressions of a woe-worn heart, of a heart that feels the purest -gratitude for thy protection through past dangers. Oh! how -presumptuous,” she continued, “to repine at the common lot -of humanity, as the lot of her,” she continued, casting her tearful -eyes upon the grave, where the last flowers of autumn were -now withering, “who reposes in this earthly bed; who, in life’s -meridian, in beauty’s prime, sunk, the sad victim of sorrow, -into the arms of death! Oh, my parents, how calamitous were -your destinies! even your ashes were not permitted to moulder -together, but in a happier region, your kindred spirits are now -united. Blessed spirits, your child will strive to imitate your -example; in patient resignation to the will of Heaven, she will -endeavor to support life. She will strive to live, though not -from an idea of enjoying happiness, but from an humble hope -of being able to dispense it to others.”</p> - -<p>Such were the words of Amanda at the grave of her mother, -from which she turned like a pale and drooping lily, surcharged -with tears. At the end of a week, she heard from Oscar, who -told her in the course of a few days he expected to embark for -Scotland. Amanda had brought materials for drawing with -her, and she felt a passionate desire of taking views of Tudor -Hall; views which, she believed, would yield her a melancholy -pleasure when she should be far and forever distant from the -spots they represented.</p> - -<p>This desire, however, she could not gratify without the assistance -of her nurse, for she meant to take her views from the -library, and she feared if she went there without apprising the -housekeeper, she should be liable to interruption. She, therefore, -requested her nurse to ask permission for her to go there. -The nurse shook her head, as if she suspected Amanda had a -motive for the request she did not divulge. She was, however, -too anxious to gratify her dear child to refuse complying with it, -and accordingly lost no time in asking the desired permission, -which Mrs. Abergwilly readily gave, saying—"Miss Fitzalan -was welcome to go to the library whenever she pleased, and -should not be interrupted.”</p> - -<p>Amanda did not delay availing herself of this permission, -but it was some time after she entered the library, ere she could -compose herself sufficiently for the purpose which had brought -her to it. In vain did nature appear from the windows, displaying -the most beautiful and romantic scenery to her view, as if -to tempt her to take up the pencil. Her eyes were dimmed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_530" id="Page_530">[Pg 530]</a></span> -with tears as she looked upon this scenery, and reflected that -he who had once pointed out its various beauties was lost to her -forever. By degrees, however, her feelings grew composed, -and every morning she repaired to the library, feeling, whilst -engaged with it, a temporary alleviation of sorrow.</p> - -<p>Three weeks passed in this manner, and at the expiration of -that period, she received a letter from Oscar. She trembled in -the most violent agitation as she broke the seal, for she saw by -the post-mark he was in Scotland; but how great was her surprise -and joy at the contents of this letter, which informed her -everything relative to the important affair so lately in agitation, -was settled in the most amicable manner; that the avowal of -his claim occasioned not the smallest litigation; that he was -then in full possession of the fortune bequeathed him by the -earl, and had already received the congratulations of the neighboring -families on his accession, or rather restoration to it. -He had not time, he said, to enumerate the many particulars -which rendered the adjustment of affairs so easy, and hoped the -pleasing intelligence his letter communicated would atone for -his brevity; he added, he was then preparing to set off for -London with Sir Charles Bingley, of whose friendship he spoke -in the highest terms, to settle some affairs relative to his new -possessions, and particularly about the revival of the Dunreath -title, which not from any ostentatious pride, he desired to -obtain, as he was sure she would suppose, but from gratitude -and respect to the wishes of his grandfather, who in his will had -expressed his desire that the honors of his family should be -supported by his heir. When everything was finally settled, he -proceeded to say, he would hasten on the wings of love and -impatience to her, for in her sweet society alone he found any -balm for the sorrows of his heart, sorrows which could not be -eradicated from it, though fortune had been so unexpectedly -propitious; and he hoped, he said, he should find her then gay -as the birds, blooming as the flowerets of spring, and ready -to accompany him to the venerable mansion of their ancestors.</p> - -<p>The joyful intelligence this letter communicated she had not -spirits at present to mention to the inhabitants of this cottage; -the pleasure it afforded was only damped by reflecting on what -Lord Mortimer must feel from a discovery which could not fail -of casting a dark shade of obloquy upon his new connections. -She was now doubly anxious to finish her landscapes, from the -prospect there was of her quitting Wales so soon. Every visit -she now paid the library was paid with the sad idea of its being -the last. As she was preparing for going there one morning,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_531" id="Page_531">[Pg 531]</a></span> -immediately after breakfast, the nurse, who had been out some -time previous to her rising, entered the room with a look of -breathless impatience, which seemed to declare she had something -wonderful to communicate. “Goot lack-a-taisy,” cried -she, as soon as she had recovered her breath, lifting up her -head from the back of the chair on which she had thrown herself, -“goot lack-a-taisy, well, to pe sure there is nothing but -wonderful things happening in this world! Here, old Dame -Abergwilly sent in such a hurry for me this morning; to pe sure -I was surprised, but what was that to the surprise I felt when I -heard what she had sent to me for.” It was now Amanda’s -turn to feel breathless impatience. “Good heavens!” she -exclaimed, “what did she tell you?” “Ay, I knew,” cried the -nurse, “the commotion you would be in when I told you the -news; if you were guessing from this time till this time tomorrow -you would never stumble over what it is.” “I dare -say I should not,” cried Amanda, “so do be brief.” “Why, -you must know,—but Lort, my tear child, I am afraid you made -but a bad breakfast, for you look very pale; inteed I made no -great one myself, for I was in such a hurry-flurry with what -Mrs. Abergwilly told me, that though she made some nice green -tea, and we had a slim cake, I could scarcely touch anything.” -“Well,” said Amanda, tortured with anxiety and impatience, -“what did she tell you?” “Why, my tear child, down came a -special messenger from London last night, to let them know -that Lort Cherbury was tead, and that Lort Mortimer had sold -Tudor Hall; and the steward is ordered to pay all the servants -off, and to discharge them; and to have everything in readiness -against the new lantlort comes down to take possession. Oh! -Lort, there is such weeping and wailing at the Hall; the poor -creatures who had grown old in service, hoped to have finished -their tays in it; it is not that they are in any fear of want—the -young lort has taken care of that, for he has settled something -yearly upon them all—but that they are sorry to quit the family. -Poor Mrs. Abergwilly, nothing can comfort the old soul; she -has neither chick nor child, and she told me she loved the very -chairs and tables, to which, to pe sure, her hand has given -many a polishing rub. She says she thinks she will come and -lodge with me; put if she does, she says I must not put her -into a room from whence she can have a view of Tudor Hall; -for she says she will never be able to look at it when once it -gets a new master. So this, my tear child, is the sum totem of -what I have heard.”</p> - -<p>Amanda was equally astonished and affected by what she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_532" id="Page_532">[Pg 532]</a></span> -heard. She wished to know if the nurse had received any intelligence -of Lord Mortimer’s marriage, but she could not bring -herself to ask the question. Besides, upon reflection, she was -convinced she should have heard it had it been the case. -With Lord Cherbury died all hopes of the restoration of her -fame in the opinion of his son. “Yet why,” she asked herself, -“should I regret this? since thus separated, it is better, perhaps, -he had ceased to esteem me, as undoubtedly it must -lessen his feelings on my account.” Why he should part with -Tudor Hall she could not conceive, except it was to humor -some caprice of Lady Euphrasia’s, who, it was probable, she -imagined, knew that the attachment between Lord Mortimer -and her had there commenced.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” cried Amanda, “she never could have relished its -beauties—beauties which, if Lord Mortimer thinks as I do -would, if reviewed, only have augmented his sorrows—sorrows -which propriety now demands his repelling.” She hastened to -the hall, but was some time there ere she could commence her -employment, so much had she been agitated. The landscape -she was finishing was taken from the little valley which lay beneath -the windows of the music-room. The romantic ruins of -an old castle overhung an eminence at its extremity; and of the -whole scene she had taken a most accurate copy; it wanted -but one charm to please her, and that charm was the figure of -Lord Mortimer, with whom she had often wandered round the -ruins. Her hand was ready in obeying the impulse of her -heart, and she soon beheld, sketched in the most striking manner, -the elegant features of him so ardently beloved. She gazed -with rapture upon them, but it was a short-lived rapture. -She started, as if conscious she had committed a crime, -when she reflected on the situation in which he now stood -with another woman; her trembling hand hastened to atone -for its error, by expunging the dangerous likeness, and -the warm involuntary tear she shed at the moment, aided -her design. “Oh! how unnecessary,” she cried, as she made -this sacrifice to delicacy, “to sketch features which are indelibly -engraven on my heart.” As she spoke, a deep and long-drawn -sigh reached her ear. Alarmed, confounded at the idea -of being overheard, and, of course, the feelings of her heart -discovered, she started with precipitation from her seat, and -looked round her with a kind of wild confusion. But, gracious -Heavens! who can describe the emotions of her soul when the -original of the picture so fondly sketched, so hastily obliterated, -met her eye. Amazed, unable to speak, to move, almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_533" id="Page_533">[Pg 533]</a></span> -to breathe, she stood motionless and aghast, the pale statue of -surprise, as if she neither durst nor could believe the evidence -of her eyes. Well, indeed, might she have doubted them, for -in the pale countenance of Lord Mortimer scarce a vestige of -his former self (except in the benignancy of his looks) remained. -His faded complexion, the disorder of his hair, his mourning -habit, all heightened the sad expression of his features—an expression -which declared that he and happiness were never so -disunited as at the present moment. The first violence of -Amanda’s feelings in a little time abated, she somewhat recovered -the use of her faculties, and hastily snatching up her -drawings, moved with weak and trembling steps to the door. -She had nearly reached it, when the soft, the tremulous voice -of Lord Mortimer arrested her course. “You go, then, Miss -Fitzalan,” cried he, “without one adieu. You go, and we -never more shall meet.” The agonizing manner in which these -words were pronounced, struck a death-like chill upon the -heart of Amanda. She stopped, and turned around involuntarily, -as if to receive that last, that sad adieu, which she was -half reproached for avoiding. Lord Mortimer approached her, -he attempted to speak, but his voice was inarticulate; a gust -of sorrow burst from his eyes, and he hastily covered his face -with a handkerchief, and walked to a window.</p> - -<p>Amanda, unutterably affected, was unable to stand; she -sunk upon a chair, and watched with a bursting heart the emotions -of Lord Mortimer. Oh! with what difficulty at this -moment did she confine herself within the cold, the rigid rules of -propriety; with what difficulty did she prevent herself from -flying to Lord Mortimer; from mingling tears with his, and -lamenting the cruel destiny which had disunited them forever. -Lord Mortimer in a few minutes was sufficiently recovered -again to approach her. “I have long wished for an opportunity -of seeing you,” said he, “but I had not courage to desire -an interview. How little did I imagine this morning, when, -like a sad exile, I came to take a last farewell of a favorite -residence, that I should behold you! Fate, in granting this -interview, has for once befriended me. To express my horror—my -remorse—my anguish—not only for the error a combination -of events led me into concerning you, but for the conduct -that error influenced me to adopt, will, I think, a little lighten -my heart. To receive your pardon will be a sweet, a sad consolation; -yet,” continued he, after a moment’s pause, “why do -I say it will be a consolation? Alas! the sweetness that may -lead you to accord it will only heighten my wretchedness at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_534" id="Page_534">[Pg 534]</a></span> -our eternal separation.” Here he paused. Amanda was unable -to speak. His words seemed to imply he was acquainted -with the injuries she had sustained through his father’s means, -and she waited in trembling expectation for an explanation of -them. “The purity of your character,” exclaimed Lord Mortimer, -“was at length fully revealed to me. Good Heaven! -under what afflicting circumstances? by that being, to whom -you so generously made a sacrifice of what then you might -have considered your happiness.” “Did Lord Cherbury, -then,” said Amanda, with inexpressible eagerness, “did he -then, at last, justify me?” “Yes,” cried Lord Mortimer, “he -proved you were indeed the most excellent, the most injured -of human beings; that you were all which my fond heart had -once believed you to be; but oh! what were the dreadful -emotions of that heart to know his justification came too late -to restore its peace. Once there was a happy period, when, -after a similar error being removed, I had hoped, by a life forever -devoted to you, to have made some reparation, some atonement, -for my involuntary injustice; but alas! no reparation, -no atonement can now be made.”</p> - -<p>Amanda wept. She raised her streaming eyes to heaven, -and again cast them to the earth.</p> - -<p>“You weep,” cried Lord Mortimer, in a tone expressive of -surprise, after surveying her some minutes in silence. “My -love, my Amanda,” continued he, suddenly seizing her hand, -while he surveyed her with a most rapturous fondness, a crimson -glow mantling his cheek and a beam of wonted brilliancy -darting from his eye, “What am I to imagine from those tears? -are you, then, indeed, unaltered?”</p> - -<p>Amanda started. She feared the emotions she betrayed -had convinced Lord Mortimer of the continuance, the unabated -strength of her affection. She felt shocked at her imprudence, -which had alone, she was convinced, tempted Lord Mortimer -to address her in such a manner. “I know not, my lord,” -cried she, “in what sense you ask whether I am unchanged; -but of this be assured, a total alteration must have taken place -in my sentiments, if I could remain a moment longer with a -person who seems at once forgetful of what is due to his own -situation and mine.” “Go, then, madam,” exclaimed Lord -Mortimer, in an accent of displeasure, “and pardon my having -thus detained you—pardon my involuntary offence—excuse my -having disturbed your retirement, and obtruded my sorrows on -you.”</p> - -<p>Amanda had now reached the door. Her heart recoiled at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_535" id="Page_535">[Pg 535]</a></span> -the idea of parting in such a manner from Lord Mortimer, but -prudence bade her hasten as fast as possible from him. Yet -slow and lingering she pursued her way. Ere she had gone -many yards she was overtaken by Lord Mortimer. His pride -was inferior to his tenderness, which drove him to despair at -the idea of parting in displeasure from her. “Oh! my -Amanda,” cried he, seizing her hand, and almost breathless -with emotion, “add not, by your anger, to the bitterness of this -sad hour. Since we must part, oh! let us part in amity, as -friends that regard each other. You have not yet (if, indeed, -it is possible for you to do so) pronounced your forgiveness of -the persecutions you underwent on my account. You have not -granted your pardon for the harshness, the cruelty with which -a dreadful error tempted me to treat you.” “Oh! my lord,” -said Amanda, again yielding to the softness of her soul, while -tears trickled down her cheeks, “why torture me by speaking in -this manner? How can I pronounce forgiveness when I never -was offended? When wretched and deserted, I appeared to -stand upon the great theatre of life, without one hand to offer -me assistance, your ready friendship came to my relief, and -poured the balm of comfort over the sorrows of my heart! -when deprived by deceit and cruelty of your good opinion, -even then your attention and solicitude pursued my wandering -footsteps, and strove to make a path of comfort for me to take! -these, these are the obligations that never can be forgotten, -that demand, that possess, my eternal gratitude, my——.” A -warmer expression rose to her lips, but was again buried in -her heart. She sighed, and after a pause of a minute, thus -went on:—"For your happiness, my warmest, purest prayers -are daily offered up; oh! may it yet be equal to your virtues; -greater I cannot wish it.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer groaned in the excruciating agony of his -soul. “Oh! Amanda,” he said, “where, where can I receive -consolation for your loss? Never, never in the world!” He -took her hands within his, he raised them to Heaven, as if -supplicating its choicest blessings on her head. “For my happiness -you pray; ah! my love, how unavailing is the prayer!”</p> - -<p>Amanda now saw more than ever the necessity of hastening -away. She gently withdrew her hands, and hurried on as -fast as her trembling limbs could carry her. Still Lord -Mortimer attended her. “Yet, Amanda,” cried he, “a little -moment. Tell me,” he continued, again seizing her hand, “do -not these shades remind you of departed hours? Oh! what -blissful ones have we not passed beneath their foliage, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_536" id="Page_536">[Pg 536]</a></span> -foliage which I shall never more behold expanding to the breath -of spring.”</p> - -<p>Amanda trembled. This involuntary but sad declaration -of the loss of a seat so valued by him, overpowered her. Her -respiration grew faint, she could not support herself, and made -a motion to sit down upon the grass, but Lord Mortimer eagerly -caught her to his bosom. She had not strength to resist the -effort, and her head reclined upon his shoulder. But who can -speak her feelings as she felt the beating heart of Mortimer, -which, from its violent palpitations, seemed as if it would burst -his bosom to find a passage to her feet. In a few minutes she -was a little recovered, and, sensible of the impropriety of her -situation, was now resolutely determined to quit Lord Mortimer. -“We must part, my lord,” cried she, disengaging herself -from his arms, notwithstanding a gentle effort he made to retain -her. “We must part, my lord,” she repeated, “and part -forever.” “Tell me, then,” he exclaimed, still impeding her -course, “tell me whether I may hope to live in your remembrance; -whether I may hope not to be obliterated from your -memory by the happiness which will shortly surround you? -Promise I shall at times be thought of with your wonted, -though, alas! unavailing wishes for my happiness, and the -promise will, perhaps, afford me consolation in the solitary -exile I have doomed myself to.” “Oh! my lord,” said Amanda, -unable to repress her feelings, “why do I hear you speak in -this manner? In mentioning exile, do you not declare your intentions -of leaving unfulfilled the claims which situation, family, -and society have upon you? Oh! my lord, you shock—shall -I say more—you disappoint me! Yes, I repeat it, disappoint -the idea I had formed of the virtue and fortitude of him, who, -as a friend, I shall ever regard. To yield thus to sorrow, to -neglect the incumbent duties of life, to abandon a woman to -whom so lately you plighted your solemn vows of love and protection. -Oh! my lord, what will her friends, what will Lady -Euphrasia herself say to such cruel, such unjustifiable conduct?” -“Lady Euphrasia!” repeated Lord Mortimer, recoiling a few -paces. “Lady Euphrasia!” he again exclaimed, in tremulous -accents, regarding Amanda with an expression of mingled horror -and wildness. “Gracious Heaven! is it, can it be possible -you are ignorant of the circumstances which lately happened? -Yes, your words, your looks, declare you are so.”</p> - -<p>It was now Amanda’s turn to repeat his words. She demanded, -with a wildness of countenance equal to that he just -displayed, what were the circumstances he alluded to?</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_537" id="Page_537">[Pg 537]</a></span></p> - -<p>“First tell me,” cried he, “was the alteration in your manner -produced by your supposing me the husband of Lady Euphrasia?” -“Supposing you her husband?” repeated Amanda, -unable to answer his question in a moment of such torturing -suspense. “And are you not so?” “No,” replied Lord -Mortimer; “I never had the misfortune to offer vows which -my heart could not ratify. Lady Euphrasia made another -choice. She was your enemy; but I know your gentle spirit -will mourn her sad and sudden fate.” He ceased, for Amanda -had no longer power to listen. She sunk, beneath surprise -and joy, into the expanded arms of her beloved Mortimer. It -is ye alone, who, like her, have stood upon the very brink of -despair—who, like her, have been restored, unexpectedly restored -to hope, to happiness, that can form any judgment of -her feelings at the present moment. At the moment when -recovering from her insensibility, the soft accent of Lord Mortimer -saluted her ear, and made her heart, without one censure -from propriety, respond to rapture, as he held her to his bosom. -As he gazed on her with tears of impassioned tenderness, he -repeated his question, whether the alteration in her manner -was produced alone by the supposition of his marriage; but -he repeated it with a sweet, a happy consciousness of having -it answered according to his wishes.</p> - -<p>“These tears, these emotions, oh! Mortimer, what do they -declare?” exclaimed Amanda. “Ah! do they not say my -heart never knew a diminution of tenderness, that it never -could have forgotten you? Yes,” she continued, raising her -eyes, streaming with tears of rapture, to heaven, “I am now -recompensed for all my sufferings. Yes, in this blissful moment, -I meet a full reward for them.” Lord Mortimer now -led her back to the library, to give an explanation of the events -which had produced so great a reverse of situation; but it was -long ere he could sufficiently compose himself to commence -his narrative. Alternately he fell at the feet of Amanda, alternately -he folded her to his bosom, and asked his heart if its -present happiness was real. A thousand times he questioned -her whether she was indeed unaltered—as often implored her -forgiveness for one moment doubting her constancy. Amanda -exerted her spirits to calm her own agitation, that she might be -enabled to soothe him into tranquillity. At length she succeeded, -and he terminated her anxious impatience by giving -her the promised relation.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_538" id="Page_538">[Pg 538]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVI" id="CHAPTER_LVI">CHAPTER LVI.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“By suffering well, our torture we subdue,</span> -<span class="i0">Fly when she frowns, and when she calls pursue.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Overwhelmed with grief and disappointment at the supposed -perfidy of Amanda, Lord Mortimer had returned to -England, acquainting Lord Cherbury and Lady Martha of the -unhappy cause of his returning alone; entreating them, in -pity to his wounded feelings, never to mention the distressing -subject before him. His dejection was unconquerable; all his -schemes of felicity were overthrown, and the destruction of -his hopes was the destruction of his peace. It was not in -these first transports of bitter sorrow that Lord Cherbury ventured -to speak his wishes to his son. He waited till, by slow -degrees, he saw a greater degree of composure in his manner, -though it was a composure attended with no abatement of -melancholy. At first he only hinted those wishes—hints, however, -which Lord Mortimer appeared designedly insensible of. -At last the earl spoke plainer. He mentioned his deep regret -at beholding a son, whom he had ever considered the pride of -his house, and the solace of his days, wasting his youth in -wretchedness, for an ungrateful woman, who had long triumphed -in the infatuation which bound him to her. “It filled his soul -with anguish,” he said, “to behold him lost to himself, his -family, and the world, thus disappointing all the hopes and expectations -which the fair promise of his early youth had given -rise to in the bosom of his friends concerning the meridian of -his day.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was unutterably affected by what his father -said. The earl beheld his emotions, and blessed it as a happy -omen. His pride, as well as sensibility, he continued, were -deeply wounded at the idea of having Lord Mortimer still -considered the slave of a passion which had met so base a -return. “Oh! I let not the world,” added he, with increasing -energy, “triumph in your weakness; try to shake it off, ere the -finger of scorn and ridicule is pointed at you as the dupe of a -deceitful woman’s art.”</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was inexpressibly shocked. His pride had -frequently represented as weakness the regret he felt for -Amanda; and the earl now stimulating that pride, he felt at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_539" id="Page_539">[Pg 539]</a></span> -the moment as if he could make any sacrifice which should -prove his having triumphed over his unfortunate attachment. -But when his father called on him to make such a sacrifice, by -uniting himself to Lady Euphrasia, he shrunk back, and acknowledged -he could not give so fatal a proof of fortitude. -He declared his total repugnance at present to any alliance. -Time, and the efforts of reason, he trusted, would subdue his -ill-placed attachment, and enable him to comply with the wishes -of his friends.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury would not, could not drop the subject next -his heart—a subject so important, so infinitely interesting to -him. He exerted all his eloquence, he entreated, he implored -his son not forever to disappoint his wishes. He mentioned -the compliance he had so recently shown to his, though against -his better judgment, in the useless consent he had given to his -marriage with Miss Fitzalan.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer, persecuted by his arguments, at length -declared that, was the object he pointed out for his alliance -any other than Lady Euphrasia Sutherland, he would not -perhaps be so reluctant to comply with his wishes; but she -was a woman he could never esteem, and must consequently -forever refuse. She had given such specimens of cruelty and -deceit, in the schemes she had entered into with the marchioness -against (he blushed, he faltered, as he pronounced -her name) Miss Fitzalan, that his heart felt unutterable dislike -to her.</p> - -<p>The earl was prepared for this; he had the barbarity to -declare, in the most unhesitating manner, he was sorry to -find him still blinded by the art of that wretched girl. He -bade him reflect on her conduct, and then consider whether -any credence was to be given to her declaration of Belgrave’s -being admitted to the house without her knowledge.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer was startled. Her conduct, indeed, as his -father said, might well make him doubt her veracity. But still -the evidence of the servants; they acknowledged having been -instruments in forwarding the scheme which she said was laid -against her. He mentioned this circumstance. The earl was -also prepared for it; the servants, he declared, had been examined -in his presence, when with shame and contrition they -confessed, that seeing the strong anxiety of Lord Mortimer -for the restoration of Miss Fitzalan’s fame, and tempted by -the large bribes he offered, if they could or would say anything -in her justification, they had at last made the allegation so -pleasing to him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_540" id="Page_540">[Pg 540]</a></span></p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer sighed deeply. “On every side,” cried -he, “I find I have been the dupe of art; but it was only the -deceit of one could agonize my soul.” Still, however, he -was inexorable to all his father could say relative to Lady -Euphrasia.</p> - -<p>Lady Martha was at last called in as an auxiliary; she was -now as strenuous for the connection as ever Lord Cherbury -had been. A longer indulgence of Lord Mortimer’s grief, she -feared, would completely undermine his health, and either -render him a burden to himself, or precipitate him to an early -grave. Whilst he continued single, she knew he would not -consider any vigorous exertions for overcoming that grief -necessary; but if once united, she was convinced, from the -rectitude and sensibility of his disposition, he would struggle -against his feelings, in order to fulfil the incumbent duties he -had imposed upon himself. Thus did she deem a union requisite -to rouse him to exertion; to restore his peace, and in -all probability to save his life. She joined in her brother’s -arguments and entreaties, with tears she joined in them, and -besought Mortimer to accede to their wishes. She called him -the last hope of their house. He had long, she said, been the -pride, the delight of their days; their comfort, their existence -were interwoven in his; if he sunk, they sunk with him.</p> - -<p>The yielding soul of Mortimer could not resist such tenderness, -and he gave a promise of acting as they wished. He -imagined he could not be more wretched; but scarcely had this -promise passed his lips, ere he felt an augmentation of misery. -To enter into new engagements, to resign the sweet though -melancholy privilege of indulging his feelings, to fetter at once -both soul and body, were ideas that filled him with unutterable -anguish. A thousand times was he on the point of retracting -his regretted and reluctant promise, had not honor interposed, -and showed the inability of doing so, without an infringement -on its principles. Thus entangled, Mortimer endeavored to -collect his scattered thoughts, and in order to try and gain some -composure, he altered his former plan of acting, and mingled -as much as possible in society. He strove to fly from himself, -that by so doing he might fly from the corrosive remembrances -which embittered his life. But who shall paint his agonies at -the unexpected sight of Amanda at the Macqueens? The -exertions he had for some time before compelled himself to -make, had a little abated the pain of his feelings; but that pain -returned with redoubled violence at her presence, and every idea -of present composure, or of future tranquillity, vanished. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_541" id="Page_541">[Pg 541]</a></span> -felt with regret, anguish, that she was as dear as ever to his -soul, and his destined union became more hateful than ever to -him. He tried, by recollecting her conduct, to awaken his -resentment; but, alas! softness, in spite of all his efforts to the -contrary, was the predominant feeling of his soul. Her pallid -cheek, her deep dejection, seemed to say she was the child of -sorrow and repentance. To soothe that sorrow, to strengthen -that repentance, oh! how delightful unto him; but either he -durst not do, situated as he then was.</p> - -<p>With the utmost difficulty Lady Martha Dormer prevailed -on him to be present when she demanded the picture from -Amanda. That scene has already been described; also his -parting one with her; but to describe the anguish he endured -after this period is impossible. He beheld Lady Euphrasia -with a degree of horror; his faltering voice refused even to pay -her the accustomed compliments of meeting; he loathed the -society he met at the castle, and, regardless of what would be -thought of him, regardless of health, or the bleakness of the -season, wandered for hours together in the most unfrequented -parts of the domain, the veriest son of wretchedness and -despair.</p> - -<p>The day, the dreaded day, at length arrived which was to complete -his misery. The company were all assembled in the great -hall of the castle, from whence they were to proceed to the -chapel, and every moment expected the appearance of the bride. -The marquis, surprised at her long delay, sent a messenger to -request her immediate presence, who returned in a few minutes -with a letter, which he presented to the marquis, who broke the -seal in visible trepidation, and found it from Lady Euphrasia.</p> - -<p>She had taken a step, she said, which she must depend on -the kind indulgence of her parents to excuse; a step which -nothing but a firm conviction that happiness could not be -experienced in a union with Lord Mortimer, should have -tempted her to. His uniform indifference had at last convinced -her that motives of the most interested nature influenced his -addresses to her; and if her parents inquired into his, or, at -least, Lord Cherbury’s conduct, they would find her assertion -true, and would, consequently, she trusted, excuse her for not -submitting to be sacrificed at the shrine of interest. In selecting -Mr. Freelove for her choice, she had selected a man whose -addresses were not prompted by selfish views, but by a sincere -affection, which he would openly have avowed, had he not been -assured, in the present situation of affairs, it would have met with -opposition. To avoid, therefore, a positive act of disobedience,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_542" id="Page_542">[Pg 542]</a></span> -she had consented to a private union. To Lord Mortimer and -Lord Cherbury, she said, she deemed no apology necessary -for her conduct, as their hearts, at least Lord Cherbury’s, would -at once exculpate her, from his own consciousness of not -having acted either generously or honorably to her.</p> - -<p>The violent transports of passion the marquis experienced -are not to be described. The marchioness hastily perused the -letter, and her feelings were not inferior in violence to his. Its -contents were soon known, and amazement sat on every countenance. -But, oh! what joy did they inspire in the soul of -Lord Mortimer; not a respite, or rather a full pardon to the -condemned wretch, at the very moment when preparing for -death, could have yielded more exquisite delight; but to Lord -Cherbury, what a disappointment! It was, indeed, a death-stroke -to his hopes. The hints in Lady Euphrasia’s letter concerning -him plainly declared her knowledge of his conduct; he -foresaw an immediate demand from Freelove; foresaw the -disgrace he should experience when his inability to discharge -that demand was known. His soul was shaken in its inmost -recesses, and the excruciating anguish of his feelings was indeed -as severe a punishment as he could suffer. Pale, speechless, -aghast, the most horrid ideas took possession of his mind, yet -he sought not to repel them, for anything was preferable to the -shame he saw awaiting him.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer’s indignation was excited by the aspersions -cast upon his father, aspersions he imputed entirely to the -malice of Lady Euphrasia, and which, from the character of -Lord Cherbury, he deemed it unnecessary to attempt refuting. -But alas! what a shock did his noble, his unsuspicious nature -receive, when, in a short time after the perusal of her letter, -one from Freelove was brought him, which fully proved the -truth of her assertions. Freelove, in his little, trifling manner, -expressed his hopes that there would be no difference between -his lordship and him, for whom he expressed the most entire -friendship, on account of the fair lady who had honored him -with her regard; declared her partiality was quite irresistible; -and, moreover, that in love, as in war, every advantage was -allowable; begged to trouble his lordship with his compliments -to Lord Cherbury, and a request that everything might be -prepared to settle matters between them, on his return from his -matrimonial expedition. An immediate compliance with this -request, he was convinced, could not be in the least distressing; -and it was absolutely essential to him, from the eclat with which -he designed Lady Euphrasia Freelove should make her bridal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_543" id="Page_543">[Pg 543]</a></span> -entry into public. As to the report, he said, which he had -heard relative to Lord Cherbury’s losing the fortune which was -intrusted to his care for him at the gaming-table, he quite -disbelieved it.</p> - -<p>The most distressing, the most mortifying sensations took -possession of Lord Mortimer at this part of the letter. It -explained the reasons of Lord Cherbury’s strong anxiety for -an alliance with the Roslin family, which Lord Mortimer, -indeed, had often wondered at, and he at once pitied, condemned, -and blushed for him. He stole a glance at his father, -and his deep, despairing look filled him with horror. He -resolved, the first opportunity, to declare his knowledge of -the fatal secret which oppressed him, and his resolution of -making any sacrifice which could possibly remove or lessen his -inquietude.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury was anxious to fly from the now hated -castle, ere further confusion overtook him. He mentioned his -intention of immediately departing—an intention opposed by -the marquis, but in which he was steady, and also supported by -his son.</p> - -<p>Everything was ready for their departure, when Lord Cherbury, -overwhelmed by the dreadful agitation he experienced, was -seized with a fit of the most violent and alarming nature. He -was carried to a chamber, and recourse was obliged to be had -to a physician, ere the restoration of his senses was effected; -but he was then so weak that the physician declared if not kept -quiet, a return of his disorder might be expected. Lord Mortimer, -tenderly impatient to lighten the burden on his father’s -mind, dismissed the attendants as soon as he possibly could, -and then, in the most delicate terms, declared his knowledge -of his situation.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury at this started up in the most violent paroxysm -of anguish, and vowed he would never survive the discovery -of his being a villain. With difficulty could Lord -Mortimer compose him; but it was long ere he could prevail -on him to hear what he wished to say.</p> - -<p>Few there were, he said, who at some period of their lives, -he believed, were not led into actions which, upon reflection, -they had reason to regret. He thought not, he meant not, to -speak slightly of human nature, he only wished to prove that, -liable as we all are to frailty—a frailty intended no doubt to -check the arrogance of pride and presumption, we should not -suffer the remembrance of error, when once sincerely repented -of, to plunge us into despair, particularly when, as far as in our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_544" id="Page_544">[Pg 544]</a></span> -power, we meant to atone for it. Thus did Lord Mortimer -attempt to calm the dreadful conflicts of his father’s mind, who -still continued to inveigh against himself.</p> - -<p>The sale of Tudor Hall, Lord Mortimer proceeded, and -mortgages upon Lord Cherbury’s estates, would enable his -father to discharge his debt to Mr. Freelove. He knew, he -said, it was tenderness to him which had prevented him ere -this from adopting such a plan; but he besought him to let no -further consideration on his account make him delay fulfilling -immediately the claims of honor and justice. He besought -him to believe his tranquillity was more precious to him than -anything in life; that the restoration of his peace was far -more estimable to him than the possession of the most brilliant -fortune—"a possession which,” continued Lord Mortimer -deeply sighing, “I am well convinced will not alone yield happiness. -I have long,” said he, “looked with an eye of cool -indifference on the pomps, the pageantries of life. Disappointed -in my tenderest hopes and expectations, wealth, merely on my -own account, has been long valueless to me. Its loss, I make -no doubt—nay, I am convinced—I shall have reason to consider -as a blessing. It will compel me to make those exertions -which its possession would have rendered unnecessary, and by -so doing, in all probability, remove from my heart that sadness -which has so long clung about it, and enervated all its powers. -A profession lies open to receive me, which, had I been permitted -at a much earlier period, I should have embraced; for -a military life was always my passion. At the post of danger, -I may perhaps have the happiness of performing services for -my country, which, while loitering supinely in the shade of -prosperity, I never could have done. Thus, my dear father,” -he continued, “you see how erroneous we are in opinions we -often form of things, since what we often consider as the bitterest -evil leads to the most supreme good. We will, as soon -as possible, hasten everything to be prepared for Freelove, and -thus I make no doubt, disappoint the little malice of his soul.</p> - -<p>“My aunt, my sister, are unacquainted with your uneasiness, -nor shall an intimation of it from me ever transpire to them. -Of fortune, sufficient will remain to allow, though not the splendors, -the comforts and elegancies of life. As for me, the -deprivation of what is considered, and falsely termed, my -accustomed indulgences, will be the most salutary and efficacious -thing that could possibly happen to me. In short, I -believe that the realization of my plan will render me happy, -since, with truth I can assure you, its anticipation has already<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_545" id="Page_545">[Pg 545]</a></span> -given more pleasure to my soul than I thought it would ever -have again enjoyed.”</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury, overcome by the tenderness, the virtue of -his son, by the sacrifice he so willingly offered, so strenuously -insisted on making, of his paternal fortune, could not for some -minutes speak. At length the struggling emotions of his soul -found utterance.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Virtue,” he exclaimed, while tears of love, of gratitude, -of contrition, flowed from his eyes, and fell upon the -hand of his son, clasped within his—"Oh! Virtue, I cannot -say, like Brutus, thou art but a shade; no, here, in this invaluable -son, thou art personified—this son, whom I so cruelly -deceived, so bitterly distressed! Oh! gracious powers, would -not that heroic, that heaven-born disposition, which now leads -him to sign away his paternal fortune for my sake have also -led him to a still greater resignation, the sacrifice of his -Amanda, had I entrusted him with my wretched situation. Oh! -had I confided in him, what an act of baseness should I have -avoided! What pangs, what tortures, should I have prevented -his experiencing! But, to save my own guilty confusion, I -drew wretchedness upon his head. I wrung every fibre of his -heart with agony, by making him believe its dearest, its most -valuable object unworthy of its regards.”</p> - -<p>Mortimer started; he gasped—he repeated, in faltering -accents, these last words. His soul seemed as if it would -burst its mortal bounds, and soar to another region to hear an -avowal of his Amanda’s purity.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Mortimer,” cried the earl, in the deep, desponding -tone of anguish, “how shall I dare to lift my eyes to thine after -the avowal of the injustice I have done one of the most amiable -and loveliest of human beings?” “Oh! tell me,” cried -Mortimer, in breathless, trembling agitation, “tell me if, indeed, -she is all my fond heart once believed her to be? In mercy, -in pity, delay not to inform me.”</p> - -<p>Slowly, in consequence of his weakness, but with all the -willingness of a contrite spirit, anxious to do justice to the -injured, did Lord Cherbury reveal all that had passed between -him and Amanda. “Poor Fitzalan,” cried he, as he finished -his relation, “poor, unhappy friend! From thy cold grave, -couldst thou have known the transactions of this world, how -must thy good and feeling spirit have reproached me for my -barbarity to thy orphan in robbing her of the only stipend thy -adverse fortune had power to leave her—a pure and spotless -fame?”</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_546" id="Page_546">[Pg 546]</a></span></p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer groaned with anguish. Every reproachful -word he had uttered to Amanda darted upon his remembrance, -and were like so many daggers to his heart. It was his father -that oppressed her. This knowledge aggravated his feelings, -but stifled his reproaches; it was a father contrite, perhaps at -that very moment stretched upon a death-bed, therefore he -forgave him. He cast his eyes around, as if in that moment -he had hoped to behold her, have an opportunity of falling -prostrate at her feet and imploring her forgiveness. He cast -his eyes around, as if imagining he should see her, and be -allowed to fold her to his beating heart, and ask her soft voice -to pronounce his pardon.</p> - -<p>“Oh! thou lovely mourner,” he exclaimed to himself, -while a gush of sorrow burst from his eyes. “Oh! thou lovely -mourner, when I censured, reviled, upbraided you, even at that -very period your heart was suffering the most excruciating -anguish. Yes, Amanda, he who would willingly have laid down -life to yield thee peace, even he was led to aggravate thy woes. -With what gentleness, what unexampled patience didst thou -bear my reproaches! No sudden ray of indignation for purity -so insulted, innocence so arraigned, flashed from thy eyes; the -beams of meekness and resignation alone stole from underneath -their tearful lids.</p> - -<p>“No sweet hope of being able to atone, no delightful idea -of being able to make reparation for my injustice, now alleviates -the poignancy of my feelings; since fate interposed -between us in the hour of prosperity, I cannot, in the bleak -and chilling period of adversity, seek to unite your destiny -with mine. Now almost the child of want myself, a soldier -of fortune, obliged by the sword to earn my bread, I cannot -think of leading you into difficulties and dangers greater -than you ever before experienced. Oh! my Amanda, may the -calm shade of security be forever thine; thy Mortimer, thy -ever-faithful, ever-adoring Mortimer, will not, from any selfish -consideration, seek to lead thee from it. If thy loss be agonizing, -oh! how much more agonizing to possess but to see thee -in danger or distress. I will go, then, into new scenes of life -with only thy dear, thy sweet, and worshipped idea to cheer -and support me—an idea I shall lose but with life, and which -to know I may cherish, indulge, adore, without a reproach -from reason for weakness in so doing, is a sweet and soothing -consolation.”</p> - -<p>The indulgence of feelings such as his language expressed, -he was obliged to forego, in order to fulfil the wish he felt of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_547" id="Page_547">[Pg 547]</a></span> -alleviating the situation of his father; but his attention was -unable to lighten the anguish which oppressed the mind of -Lord Cherbury; remorse for his past conduct, mortification at -being lessened in the estimation of his son, sorrow for the -injury he was compelled to do him, to be extricated from the -power of Freelove, all preyed upon his mind, and produced the -most violent agitations, and an alarming repetition of fits.</p> - -<p>Things remained in this situation for a few days, during -which time no intelligence had been received of Euphrasia, -when one morning, as Lord Mortimer was sitting for a few -minutes with the marquis and marchioness, a servant entered -the apartment, and informed his lord that a gentleman had -just arrived at the castle, who requested to be introduced to -his presence. The marquis and marchioness instantly concluded -this was some person sent as an intercessor from Lady -Euphrasia, and they instantly admitted him, in order to have -an opportunity of assuring her ladyship, through his means, it -must be some time (if indeed at all) ere they could possibly -forgive her disrespect and disobedience. Lord Mortimer would -have retired, but was requested to stay, and complied, prompted -indeed by curiosity to hear what kind of apology or message -Lady Euphrasia had sent. A man of a most pleasing appearance -entered, and was received with the most frigid politeness. -He looked embarrassed, agitated, even distressed. He -attempted several times to speak, but the words still died away -undistinguished. At length the marchioness, yielding to the -natural impetuosity of her soul, hastily desired he would reveal -what had procured them the honor of his visit.</p> - -<p>“A circumstance of the most unhappy nature, madam,” he -replied in a hesitating voice. “I came with the hope, the expectation -of being able to break it by degrees, so as not totally -to overpower; but I find myself unequal to the distressing task.” -“I fancy, sir,” cried the marchioness, “both the marquis and -I are already aware of the circumstance you allude to.” “Alas! -madam,” said the stranger, fixing his eyes with a mournful earnestness -on her face, “I cannot think so. If you were, it would -not be in human, in parent nature to appear as you now do.” -He stopped, he turned pale, he trembled, his emotions became -contagious.</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” said the marquis, in a voice scarcely articulate, -“I beseech you, without delay, the meaning of your words.”</p> - -<p>The stranger essayed to speak, but could not; words indeed -were scarcely necessary to declare that he had something shocking -to reveal. His auditors, like old Northumberland, might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_548" id="Page_548">[Pg 548]</a></span> -have said, “The paleness on thy cheek is apter than thy tongue -to tell thy errand.” “Something dreadful has happened to my -child,” said the marchioness, forgetting in that agonizing moment -all displeasure. “Alas! madam,” cried the stranger, -while a trickling tear denoted his sensibility for the sorrows he -was about giving rise to. “Alas! madam, your fears are too -well founded; to torture you with longer suspense would be -barbarity. Something dreadful has happened, indeed—Lady -Euphrasia in this world will never more be sensible of your -kindness.” A wild, a piercing, agonizing shriek burst from the -lips of the marchioness, as she dropped senseless from her seat. -The marquis was sinking from his, had not Lord Mortimer, who -sat by him, timely started up, and, though trembling himself with -horror, caught him in his arms. The servants were summoned, -the still insensible marchioness was carried to her chamber; the -wretched marquis, reviving in a few minutes—if that could be -called reviving, which was only a keener perception of misery—demanded, -in a tone of anguish, the whole particulars of the -sad event. Yet scarcely had the stranger begun to comply with -his request, ere, with all the wild inconsistency of grief, he bade -him forbear, and, shuddering, declared he could not listen to -the dreadful particulars. But it were needless, as well as impossible, -to describe the feelings of the wretched parents, who -in one moment beheld their hopes, their wishes, their expectations -finally destroyed. Oh! what an awful lesson did they inculcate -of the instability of human happiness, of the insufficiency -of rank or riches to retain it. This was one of the events which -Providence, in its infinite wisdom, makes use of to arrest the -thoughtless in their career of dissipation, and check the arrogance -of pride and vanity. When we behold the proud, the -wealthy, the illustrious, suddenly surprised by calamity, and sinking -beneath its stroke, we naturally reflect on the frail tenure -of earthly possessions, and, from the reflection, consider how -we may best attain that happiness which cannot change. The -human heart is in general so formed as to require something -great and striking to interest and affect it. Thus a similar misfortune -happening to a person in a conspicuous, and to one in -an obscure situation, would not, in all probability, equally affect -or call home the wandering thoughts to sadness and reflection. -The humble floweret, trampled to the dust, is passed with an -eye of careless indifference; but the proud oak torn from the -earth, and levelled by the storm, is viewed with wonder and -affright. The horrors of the blow which overwhelmed the -marquis and marchioness, were augmented by the secret whis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_549" id="Page_549">[Pg 549]</a></span>pers -of conscience, that seemed to say it was a blow of retribution -from a Being all righteous and all just, whose most sacred -laws they had violated, in oppressing the widow and defrauding -the orphan. Oh! what an augmentation of misery is it to think -it merited! Remorse, like the vengeance of Heaven, seemed -now awakened to sleep no more. No longer could they palliate -their conduct, no longer avoid retrospection—a retrospection -which heightened the gloomy horrors of the future. In Lady -Euphrasia, all the hopes and affections of the marquis and marchioness -were centred. She alone had ever made them feel -the tenderness of humanity, yet she was not less the darling of -their love than the idol of their pride. In her they beheld the -being who was to support the honors of their house, and transmit -their names to posterity. In her they beheld the being -who gave them an opportunity of gratifying the malevolent, as -well as the tender and ambitious passions of their souls. The -next heir to the marquis’s title and fortune had irreconcilably -disobliged him. As a means, therefore, of disappointing him, -if on no other account, Lady Euphrasia would have been regarded -by them. Though she had disappointed and displeased -them by her recent act of disobedience, and though they had -deemed it essential to their consequence to display that displeasure, -yet they secretly resolved not long to withhold forgiveness -from her, and also to take immediate steps for ennobling -Freelove.</p> - -<p>For Lady Euphrasia they felt indeed a tenderness her heart -for them was totally a stranger to. It seemed, indeed, as if, -cold and indifferent to all mankind, their affections were stronger -for being confined in one channel. In the step she had taken, -Lady Euphrasia only considered the gratification of her revenge. -Freelove, as the ward of Lord Cherbury, in honor to him, had -been invited to the nuptials. He accepted the invitation, but, -instead of accompanying, promised to follow the bridal party to -the castle. A day or two ere he intended setting out, by some -accidental chance, he got into company with the very person to -whom Lord Cherbury had lost so much, and on whose account -he had committed an action which had entailed the most excruciating -remorse upon him. This person was acquainted with -the whole transaction. He had promised to keep his knowledge -a secret, but the promises of the worthless are of little avail. A -slight expression, which, in a moment of anxiety, had involuntarily -dropped from Lord Cherbury, had stung him to the soul, -because he knew too well its justice, and inspired him with the -most inveterate hatred and rancorous desire of revenge. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_550" id="Page_550">[Pg 550]</a></span> -unexpectedly meeting Freelove afforded him an opportunity of -gratifying both these propensities, and he scrupled not to avail -himself of it. Freelove was astonished, and, when the first -violence of astonishment was over, delighted.</p> - -<p>To triumph over the proud soul of Lord Cherbury and his -son, was indeed an idea which afforded rapture. Both he had -ever disliked, the latter particularly. He disliked him from the -superiority which he saw in every respect he possessed over -himself. A stranger to noble emulation, he sought not, by -study or imitation, to aspire to any of those graces or perfections -he beheld in Lord Mortimer. He sought alone to depreciate -them, and, when he found that impossible, beheld him with -greater envy and malignity than ever. To wound Lord Mortimer -through the bosom of his father, to overwhelm him with confusion, -by publicly displaying the error of that father, were ideas -of the most exquisite delight—ideas which the wealth of worlds -would scarcely have tempted him to forego,—so sweet is any -triumph, however accidental or imaginary, over a noble object, -to an envious mind, which ever hates that excellence it cannot -reach. No fear of self-interest being injured checked his pleasure. -The fortune of Lord Cherbury he knew sufficient to answer -for his violated trust. Thus had he another source of -triumph in the prospect of having those so long considered as -the proud rivals of his wealth and splendor, cast into the shade. -His pleasure, however, from this idea, was short lived, when he -reflected that Lord Mortimer’s union with Lady Euphrasia would -totally exempt him from feeling any inconvenience from his -father’s conduct. But could not this union be prevented? -Freelove asked himself. He still wanted a short period of being -of age, consequently had no right, at present, to demand a -settlement of his affairs from Lord Cherbury. He might, however, -privately inform Lady Euphrasia of the affair so recently -communicated to him. No sooner did he conceive this scheme, -than he glowed with impatience to put it into execution. He -hastened to the marquis’s, whither, indeed, the extravagant and -foppish preparations he had made for the projected nuptials -had before prevented his going, and took the first opportunity -which offered of revealing to Lady Euphrasia, as if from the -purest friendship, the conduct of Lord Cherbury, and the -derangement of his affairs.</p> - -<p>Lady Euphrasia was at once surprised and incensed. The -reason for a union between her and his son being so ardently -desired by Lord Cherbury, was now fully explained, and she beheld -herself as an object addressed merely from a view of re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_551" id="Page_551">[Pg 551]</a></span>pairing -a ruined fortune; but this view she resolved to disappoint. -Such was the implacable nature of her disposition, that -had this disappointment occasioned the destruction of her own -peace, it would not have made her relinquish it. But this was -not the case. In sacrificing all ideas of a union with Lord -Mortimer to her offended pride she sacrificed no wish or inclination -of her soul. Lord Mortimer, though the object of her -admiration, had never been the object of her love. She was, -indeed, incapable of feeling that passion. Her admiration had, -however, long since given place to resentment, at the cool -indifference with which he regarded her. She would have -opposed a marriage with him, but for fear that he might, thus -freed, attach himself to Amanda. The moment, however, she -knew a union with her was necessary for the establishment of -his fortune, fear, with every consideration which could oppose -it, vanished before the idea of disappointing his views, and retaliating -upon him that uneasiness he had, from wounded pride, -made her experience by his cold and unalterable behavior -to her.</p> - -<p>She at first determined to acquaint the marquis of what she -had heard, but a little reflection made her drop this determination. -He had always professed a warm regard for Lord Cherbury, -and she feared that regard would still lead him to insist -on the nuptials taking place. She was not long in concerting -a scheme to render such a measure impracticable, and Freelove -she resolved to make an instrument for forwarding, or rather -executing her revenge. She hesitated not to say she had always -disliked Lord Mortimer; that, in short, there was but one -being she could ever think, ever hope to be happy with. Her -broken sentences, her looks, her affected confusion, all revealed -to Freelove that he was that object. The rapture this discovery -inspired he could not conceal. The flattering expressions of -Lady Euphrasia were repaid by the most extravagant compliments, -the warmest professions, the strongest assurances of -never-dying love. This soon led to what she desired, and, in -a short space, an elopement was agreed to, and everything -relative to it settled. Freelove’s own servants and equipage -were at the Castle, and consequently but little difficulty attended -the arrangement of their plan. In Lady Euphrasia’s eyes -Freelove had no other value than what he now merely derived -from being an instrument in gratifying the haughty and revengeful -passions of her nature. She regarded him, indeed, with -sovereign contempt; his fortune, however, she knew would give -him consequence in the world, and she was convinced she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_552" id="Page_552">[Pg 552]</a></span> -should find him quite that easy, convenient husband which a -woman of fashion finds so necessary; in short, she looked forward -to being the uncontrolled mistress of her own actions, and -without a doubt but that she should meet many objects as -deserving of her admiration, and infinitely more grateful for it, -than ever Lord Mortimer had been.</p> - -<p>Flushed with such a pleasing prospect, she quitted the -Castle—that castle she was destined never more to see. At -the moment, the very moment, she smiled with joy and expectation, -the shaft, the unerring shaft, was raised against her -breast.</p> - -<p>The marriage ceremony over, they hastened to the vicinity -of the Castle, in order to send an apologizing letter, as usual -on such occasions. The night was dark and dreary, the road -rugged and dangerous; the postilions ventured to say it would -be better to halt for the night, but this was opposed by Lady -Euphrasia. They were within a few miles of the destined termination -of their journey, and, pursuant to her commands, they -proceeded. In a few minutes after this, the horses, startled by -a sudden light which gleamed across the path, began plunging -in the most alarming manner. A frightful precipice lay on one -side, and the horses, in spite of all the efforts of the postilions, -continued to approach it. Freelove, in this dreadful moment, -lost all consideration but for himself; he burst open the chariot -door, and leaped into the road. His companion was unable to -follow his example; she had fainted at the first intimation of -danger. The postilions with difficulty dismounted. The other -servants came to their assistance, and endeavored to restrain -the horses; every effort was useless, they broke from their hold, -and plunged down the precipice. The servants had heard the -chariot-door open; they therefore concluded, for it was too dark -to see, that both their master and Lady Euphrasia were safe. -But who can describe their horror, when a loud shriek from him -declared her situation? Some of them immediately hastened, -as fast as their trembling limbs could carry them, to the house -adjoining the road, from whence the fatal light had gleamed -which caused the sad catastrophe. They revealed it in a few -words, and implored immediate assistance. The master of the -house was a man of the greatest humanity. He was inexpressibly -shocked at what he had heard, and joined himself in -giving the assistance that was desired. With lanterns they -proceeded down a winding path cut in the precipice, and soon -discovered the objects of their search. The horses were already -dead—the chariot was shattered to pieces. They took up some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_553" id="Page_553">[Pg 553]</a></span> -of the fragments, and discovered beneath them the lifeless body -of the unfortunate Lady Euphrasia. The stranger burst into -tears at the sight of so much horror; and, in a voice scarcely -audible, gave orders for her being conveyed to his house. But -when a better light gave a more perfect view of the mangled -remains, all acknowledged that, since so fatal an accident had -befallen her, Heaven was merciful in taking a life whose continuance -would have made her endure the most excruciating -tortures.</p> - -<p>Freelove was now inquired for. He had fainted on the road, -but in a few minutes after he was brought in, recovered his -senses, and the first use he made of them was to inquire whether -he was dead or alive. Upon receiving the comfortable assurance -of the latter, he congratulated himself, in a manner so -warm, upon his escape, as plainly proved self was his whole -and sole consideration. No great preparations, on account of -his feelings, were requisite to inform him of the fate of Lady -Euphrasia. He shook his head on hearing it; said it was what -he already guessed, from the devilish plunge of the horses; -declared it was a most unfortunate affair, and expressed a kind -of terror at what the marquis might say to it, as if he could -have been accused of being accessory to it.</p> - -<p>Mr. Murray, the gentleman whose house had received him, -offered to undertake the distressing task of breaking the affair -to Lady Euphrasia’s family, an offer Freelove gladly accepted, -declaring he felt himself too much disordered in mind and body -to be able to give any directions relative to what was necessary -to be done.</p> - -<p>How Mr. Murray executed his task is already known; but -it was long ere the emotions of the marquis would suffer him -to say he wished the remains of Lady Euphrasia to be brought -to the Castle, that all the honors due to her birth should be -paid them. This was accordingly done; and the Castle, so -lately ornamented for her nuptials, was hung with black, and -all the pageantries of death.</p> - -<p>The marquis and marchioness confined themselves, in the -deepest anguish, to their apartments; their domestics, filled -with terror and amazement, glided about like pale spectres, and -all was a scene of solemnity and sadness. Every moment Lord -Mortimer could spare from his father he devoted to the marquis. -Lady Euphrasia had ever been an object of indifference, nay, -of dislike to him; but the manner of her death, notwithstanding, -shocked him to the soul: his dislike was forgotten; he thought -of her only with pity and compassion, and the tears he mingled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_554" id="Page_554">[Pg 554]</a></span> -with the marquis were the tears of unfeigned sympathy and -regret.</p> - -<p>Lady Martha and Lady Araminta were equally attentive to -the marchioness; the time not spent with Lord Cherbury was -devoted to her. They used not unavailing arguments to -conquer a grief which nature, as her rightful tribute, demands; -but they soothed that grief by showing they sincerely mourned -its source.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury had but short intervals of reason; those -intervals were employed by Lord Mortimer in trying to compose -his mind; and by him in blessing his son for those endeavors, -and congratulating himself on the prospect of approaching -dissolution. His words unutterably affected Lord Mortimer; -he had reason to believe they were dictated by a prophetic -spirit; and the dismal peal which rung from morning till night -for Lady Euphrasia sounded in his ear as the knell of his -expiring father.</p> - -<p>Things were in this situation in the Castle when Oscar and -his friend Sir Charles Bingley arrived at it, and, without sending -in their names, requested immediate permission to the -marquis’s presence, upon business of importance. Their -request was complied with, from an idea that they came from -Freelove, to whom the marquis and marchioness, from respect -and affection to the memory of their daughter, had determined -to pay every attention.</p> - -<p>The marquis knew, and was personally known to Sir -Charles; he was infinitely surprised by his appearance, but how -much was that surprise increased when Sir Charles, taking -Oscar by the hand, presented him to the marquis as the son of -Lady Fitzalan, the rightful heir of the Earl of Dunreath! The -marquis was confounded; he trembled at these words; and his -confusion, had such a testimony been wanting, would have been -sufficient to prove his guilt. He at last, though with a faltering -voice, desired to know by what means Sir Charles could justify -or support his assertion.</p> - -<p>Sir Charles, for Oscar was too much agitated to speak, as -briefly as possible related all the particulars which had led to -the discovery of the earl’s will; and his friend, he added, with -the generosity of a noble mind, wished as much as possible to -spare the feelings and save the honor of those with whom he -was connected; a wish, which nothing but a hesitation in complying -with his just and well-supported claim could destroy.</p> - -<p>The marquis’s agitation increased; already was he stripped -Of happiness, and he now saw himself on the point of being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_555" id="Page_555">[Pg 555]</a></span> -stripped of honor. An hour before he had imagined his -wretchedness could not be augmented; he was now convinced -human misery cannot be complete without the loss of reputation. -In the idea of being esteemed, of being thought undeserving -our misfortunes, there is a sweet, a secret balm, which meliorates -the greatest sorrow. Of riches, in his own right, the marquis -ever possessed more than sufficient for all his expenses: those -expenses would now, comparatively speaking, be reduced within -very narrow bounds; for the vain pride which had led him -to delight in pomp and ostentation died with Lady Euphrasia. -Since, therefore, of his fortune such a superabundance would -remain, it was unnecessary as well as unjust to detain what he -had no pretensions to; but he feared tamely acquiescing to -this unexpected claim, would be to acknowledge himself a -villain. ’Tis true, indeed, that his newly-felt remorse had inspired -him with a wish of making reparation for his past injustice, -but false shame starting up, hitherto opposed it; and -even now, when an opportunity offered of accomplishing his -wish, still continued to oppose it, lest the scorn and contempt -he dreaded should at length be his portion for his long injustice.</p> - -<p>Irresolute how to act, he sat for some time silent and embarrassed, -till at last, recollecting his manner was probably -betraying what he wished to conceal, namely, the knowledge -of the will, he said, with some sternness, “That, till he inspected -into the affair so recently laid before him, he could -not, nor was it to be expected he should, say how he would -act; an inspection which, under present melancholy circumstances, -he could not possibly make for some time. Had Mr. -Fitzalan,” he added, “possessed in reality that generosity -Sir Charles’s partiality ascribed to him, he would not, at a -period so distressing, have appeared to make such a claim. -To delicacy and sensibility the privileges of grief were ever -held sacred. Those privileges they had both violated. They -had intruded on his sorrows; they had even insulted him by -appearing on such a business before him, ere the last rites were -paid to his lamented child.” Sir Charles and Oscar were inexpressibly -shocked. Both were totally ignorant of the recent -event.</p> - -<p>Oscar, as he recovered from the surprise the marquis’s -words had given him, declared, in the impassioned language -of a noble mind, hurt by being thought destitute of sensibility, -“That the marquis had arraigned him unjustly. Had he -known of his sorrows,” he said, “nothing should have tempted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_556" id="Page_556">[Pg 556]</a></span> -him to intrude upon them. He mourned, he respected them; -he besought him to believe him sincere in what he uttered.” -A tear, an involuntary tear, as he spoke, starting into his eye, -and trickling down his cheek, denoted his sincerity. The -marquis’s heart smote him as he beheld this tear; it reproached -him more than the keenest words could have done, and operated -more in Oscar’s favor than any arguments, however eloquent. -“Had this young man,” thought he, “been really illiberal -when I reproached him for want of sensibility, how well might -he have retaliated upon me my more flagrant want of justice -and humanity; but no, he sees I am a son of sorrow, and he -will not break the reed which Heaven has already smitten.” -Tears gushed from his eyes. He involuntarily extended his -hand to Oscar. “I see,” said he, “I see, indeed, I have unjustly -arraigned you; but I will endeavor to atone for my error. -At present, rest satisfied with an assurance, that whatever is -equitable shall be done; and that, let events turn out as they -may, I shall ever feel myself your friend.” Oscar again expressed -his regret for having waited on him at such a period, -and requested he would dismiss for the present the subject -they had been talking of from his mind. The marquis, still -more pleased with his manner, desired his direction, and assured -him he should hear from him sooner than he expected.</p> - -<p>As soon as they retired, his agitation decreased, and, of -course, he was better qualified to consider how he should act. -That restitution his conscience prompted, but his false ideas -of shame had prevented, he now found he should be compelled -to make; how to make it, therefore, so as to avoid total disgrace, -was what he considered. At last he adopted a scheme, -which the sensibility of Oscar, he flattered himself, would enable -him to accomplish. This was to declare, that by the -Earl of Dunreath’s will, Mr. Fitzalan was heir to his estates, in -case of the death of Lady Euphrasia; that in consequence, -therefore, of this event, he had come to take possession of them; -that Lady Dunreath (whose residence at Dunreath Abbey he -could not now hope to conceal) was but lately returned from a -convent in France, where for many years she had resided. To -Oscar he intended saying, from her ill conduct he and the -marchioness had been tempted to sequester her from the -world, in order to save her from open shame and derision; and -that her declaration of a will they had always believed the -mere fabrication of her brain, in order, as he supposed, to give -them uneasiness. This scheme once formed, his heart felt a -little relieved of the heavy burden of fear and inquietude. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_557" id="Page_557">[Pg 557]</a></span> -repaired to the marchioness’s apartment, and broke the affair -gently to her, adding, at the same time, that, sensible as they -must now be of the vanities and pursuits of human life, it was -time for them to endeavor to make their peace with Heaven. -Affliction had taught penitence to the marchioness, as well as -her husband. She approved of his scheme, and thought, with -him, that the sooner their intention of making restitution was -known the greater would be the probability of its being accomplished. -Oscar, therefore, the next day received a letter from -the marquis, specifying at once his wishes. With those wishes -Oscar generously complied. His noble soul was superior to a -triumph over a fallen enemy; and he had always wished rather -to save from, than expose the marquis to disgrace. He hastened -as soon as possible to the castle, agreeably to a request contained -in the letter, to assure the marquis his conduct throughout -the whole affair would be regulated according to his desire.</p> - -<p>Perhaps, at this moment, public contempt could not have -humbled the marquis more than such generosity, when he drew -a comparison between himself and the person he had so long -injured. The striking contrast wounded his very soul, and he -groaned at the degradation he suffered in his own eyes. He -told Oscar, as soon as the last sad duties were performed to his -daughter, he would settle everything with him, and then perhaps -be able to introduce him to the marchioness. He desired he -might take up his residence in the Castle, and expressed a wish -that he would attend the funeral of Lady Euphrasia as one of -the chief mourners. Oscar declined the former, but promised, -with a faltering voice, to comply with the latter request. He -then retired, and the marquis, who had been roused from the -indulgence of his grief by a wish of preserving his character, -again relapsed into its wretchedness. He desired Oscar to -make no secret of his now being heir to the Earl of Dunreath, -and said he would mention it himself in his family. Through -this medium, therefore, did this surprising intelligence reach -Lord Mortimer, and his heart dilated with sudden joy at the -idea of his Amanda and her brother at last enjoying independence -and prosperity.</p> - -<p>In a few hours after this the sufferings of Lord Cherbury were -terminated. His last faltering accents pronounced blessings on -his son. Oh! how sweet were those blessings! How different -were the feelings of Lord Mortimer from the callous sons of -dissipation, who seem to watch with impatience the last struggles -of a parent, that they may have more extensive means of -gratifying their inordinate desires. The feelings of Lord Mor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_558" id="Page_558">[Pg 558]</a></span>timer -were soothed by reflecting he had done everything in -his power for restoring the tranquillity of his father, and his -regret was lessened by the conviction that Lord Cherbury, -after the discovery of his conduct, could never more in this -life have experienced happiness. He therefore, with tender -piety, resigned him to his God; humbly trusting that his penitence -had atoned for his frailties, and insured him felicity.</p> - -<p>He now bade adieu to the Castle and its wretched owners, -and accompanied Lady Martha and his sister to Thornbury, -at which the burying-place of the family lay. Here he continued -till the remains of his father arrived, and were interred. -He then proceeded to London to put into execution the plan he -had projected for his father. He immediately advertised the -Tudor estate. A step of this kind could not be concealed -from Lady Martha; but the mortgages on the other estates -he resolved carefully to guard from her knowledge, lest -suspicions prejudicial to the memory of his father should -arise in her mind. But, during this period, the idea of -Amanda was not absent from his soul. Neither grief nor -business could banish it a moment; and, again, a thousand -fond and flattering hopes concerning her had revived, when a -sudden blow dispersed them all, and plunged him, if possible, -into greater wretchedness than he had ever before experienced. -He heard it confidently reported that the Earl of Dunreath’s -sister (for Oscar by this time had claimed, and been allowed to -take the title of his grandfather) was to be married to Sir -Charles Bingley. The friendship which he knew subsisted -between the earl and Sir Charles rendered this too probable. -But if a doubt concerning it still lingered in his mind, it was -destroyed when Sir Charles waited on him to treat about the -purchase of Tudor Hall; it instantly occurred to him that this -purchase was made by the desire of Amanda. Unable to command -his feelings, he referred Sir Charles to his agent, and -abruptly retired. He called her cruel and ungrateful. After -all his sufferings on her account, did he deserve so soon to be -banished from her remembrance—so soon supplanted in her -affections by another—by one, too, who never had, who -never would have, an opportunity of giving such proofs as -he had done of constancy and love. She is lost, then he sighed; -she is lost forever! Oh! what avails the vindication of -her fame? Is it not an augmentation of my misery? Oh! -my father, of what a treasure did you despoil me! But let me -not disturb the sacred ashes of the dead—rest, rest in peace, -thou venerable author of my being! and may the involuntary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_559" id="Page_559">[Pg 559]</a></span> -expression of heart-rending anguish be forgiven! Amanda, -then, he continued, after a pause, will indeed be mistress of -Tudor Hall; but never will a sigh for him who once was its -owner heave her bosom. She will wander beneath those shades -where so often she has heard my vows of unalterable love—vows -which, alas! my heart has too fully observed—and listen -to similar ones from Sir Charles: well, this is the last stroke -fate can level at my peace.</p> - -<p>Lord Mortimer (or, as in future we must style him, Lord -Cherbury) had indeed imagined that the affections of Amanda, -like his own, were unalterable; he had therefore indulged the -rapturous idea, that, by again seeking an union with her, she -should promote the happiness of both. It is true he knew she -would possess a fortune infinitely superior to what he had now -a right to expect; but after the proofs he had given of disinterested -attachment, not only she, but the world, he was convinced, -would acquit him of any selfish motives in the renewal -of his addresses. His hopes destroyed—his prospect blasted -by what he had heard, he resolved, as soon as affairs were -settled, to go abroad. The death of his father had rendered -his entering the army unnecessary, and his spirits were too -much broken, his health too much impaired, for him voluntarily -now to embrace that destiny.</p> - -<p>On the purchase of Tudor Hall being completed by Sir -Charles, it was necessary for Lord Cherbury to see his steward. -He preferred going to sending for him, prompted indeed by a -melancholy wish of paying a last visit to Tudor Hall, endeared -to his heart by a thousand fond remembrances. On his arrival -he took up his abode at the steward’s for a day or two. After -a strict injunction to him of concealing his being there, it was -after a ramble through every spot about the demesne which he -had ever trodden with Amanda, that he repaired to the library -and discovered her. He was ignorant of her being in the -country. Oh! then, how great was her surprise—how exquisite -his emotions, at seeing her in such unexpected circumstances!</p> - -<p>I shall not attempt to go over the scene I have already -tried to describe; suffice it to say, that the desire she betrayed -of hastening from him he imputed to the alteration of her -sentiments with respect to him and Sir Charles. When -undeceived in this respect, his rapture was as great as ever -it had before been at the idea of her love, and, like Amanda, -he declared his suffering was now amply rewarded.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_560" id="Page_560">[Pg 560]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVII" id="CHAPTER_LVII">CHAPTER LVII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“No, never from this hour to part,</span> -<span class="i1">We’ll live and love so true;</span> -<span class="i0">The sigh that rends thy constant heart,</span> -<span class="i1">Shall break thy lover’s too.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>“But, my love,” cried Lord Cherbury, as he wiped away the -tears which pity and horror at the fate of Lady Euphrasia had -caused Amanda to shed, “will your brother, think you, sanction -our happiness? Will he, who might aspire so high for a sister -thus at once possessed of beauty and fortune, bestow her on -one whose title may now almost be considered an empty one?” -“Oh! do not wrong his noble nature by such a doubt,” exclaimed -Amanda. “Yes, with pride, with pleasure, with delight, -will he bestow his sister upon the esteemed, the beloved of her -heart; upon him, who, unwarped by narrow prejudice or selfish -interest, sought her in the low shade of obscurity, to lay, -all friendless and forlorn as she was, his fortune at her feet. -Could he indeed be ungrateful to such kindness, could he -attempt to influence me to another choice, my heart would at -once repulse the effort, and avow its fixed determination; but -he is incapable of such conduct; my Oscar is all that is generous -and feeling: need I say more, than that a spirit congenial -to yours animates his breast.”</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury clasped her to his heart. “Dearest, loveliest -of human beings,” he exclaimed, “shall I at length call you -mine? After all my sorrows, my difficulties, shall I indeed -receive so precious a reward? Oh! wonder not, my Amanda, if I -doubt the reality of so sudden a reverse of situation; I feel as -if under the influence of a happy dream; but, good Heaven! -a dream from which I never wish to be awakened.”</p> - -<p>Amanda now recollected that if she stayed much longer -from the cottage she would have some one coming in quest of -her. She informed Lord Cherbury of this, and rose to depart; -but he would not suffer her to depart alone, neither did she -desire it. The nurse and her daughter Betsey were in the -cottage at her return to it. To describe the surprise of the -former at the appearance of Lord Cherbury is impossible—a -surprise mingled with indignation, at the idea of his falsehood -to her darling child; but when undeceived in that respect, -her transports were of the most extravagant nature.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_561" id="Page_561">[Pg 561]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, she thanked Heaven,” she said, “she should now see -her dear child hold up her head again, and look as handsome -as ever. Ay, she had always doubted,” she said, “that -his lortship was not one of the false-hearted men she had -so often heard her old grandmother talk of.” “My good -nurse,” said Lord Cherbury, smiling, “you will then give me -your dear child with all your heart?” “Ay, that I will, my -lort,” she replied, “and this very moment too, if I could.” -“Well,” cried Amanda, “his lordship will be satisfied at present -with getting his dinner from you.” She then desired the things -to be brought to the little arbor, already described at the beginning -of this book, and proceeded to it with Lord Cherbury. -The mention of dinner threw nurse and her daughter into -universal commotion.</p> - -<p>“Good lack! how unfortunate it was she had nothing hot -or nice to lay pefore his lortship! How could she think he -could dine upon cold lamb and salad! Well, this was all Miss -Amanda’s fault, who would never let her do as she wished.” -With the utmost difficulty she was persuaded he could dine -upon these things. The cloth was laid upon the flowery turf, -beneath the spreading branches of the arbor. The delicacies -of the dairy were added to their repast, and Betsey provided a -dessert of new filberts.</p> - -<p>Never had Lord Cherbury partaken of so delicious a meal—never -had he and Amanda experienced such happiness. The -pleasure, the tenderness of their souls, beamed in expressive -glances from their eyes, and they were now more convinced -than ever that the humble scenes of life were best calculated -for the promotion of felicity. Lord Cherbury felt more reconciled -than he had been before to the diminution of his fortune; -he yet retained sufficient for the comforts, and many of the -elegancies of life. The splendor he lost was insignificant in -his eyes; his present situation proved happiness could be enjoyed -without it, and he knew it was equally disregarded by -Amanda. He asked himself,</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“———What was the world to them—</span> -<span class="i0">Its pomps, its pleasures, and its nonsense all,</span> -<span class="i0">Who in each other clasp, whatever fair</span> -<span class="i0">High fancy forms, or lavish hearts can wish?”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>All nature looked gay and smiling around him. He inhaled the -balmy breath of opening flowers, and through the verdant canopy -be sat beneath, he saw the bright azure of the heavens, and felt -the benignant influence of the sun, whose potent beams heightened -to glowing luxuriance the beauties of the surrounding land<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_562" id="Page_562">[Pg 562]</a></span>scape. -He expressed his feelings to Amanda; he heard her -declare the similarity of hers; heard her with all the sweet -enthusiasm of a refined and animated mind, expatiate on the -lovely scene around them. Oh! what tender remembrances -did it awaken, and what delightful plans of felicity did they -sketch! Lord Cherbury would hear from Amanda all she had -suffered since their separation; and could his love and esteem -have been increased, her patient endurance of the sorrows she related -would have increased them. They did not leave the garden -till a dusky hue had overspread the landscape. Oh! with what -emotions did Amanda watch the setting sun, whose rising beams -she had beheld with eyes obscured by tears of sorrow! As they -sat at tea in the room, she could not avoid noticing the alteration -in the nurse’s dress who attended. She had put on all her -holiday finery; and, to evince her wish of amusing her guests, -had sent for the blind harper, whom she stationed outside the -cottage. His music drew a number of the neighboring cottagers -about him, and they would soon have led up a dance in the -vale, had not the nurse prevented them, lest they should disturb -her guests. Lord Cherbury, however, insisted on their being -gratified, and, sending for his servant, ordered him to provide -refreshments for them, and to reward the harper. He would -not leave Amanda till he had her permission to come early -next morning, as soon as he could hope to see her. Accordingly -the first voice she heard on rising was his chatting to the nurse. -We may believe she did not spend many minutes at her toilet. -The neat simplicity of her dress never required she should do -so, and in a very short time she joined him. They walked out -till breakfast was ready.</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“Together trod the morning dews, and gathered</span> -<span class="i0">In their prime fresh blooming sweets.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>Amanda, in hourly expectation of her brother’s arrival, -wished, ere he came, to inform the inhabitants of the cottage -of the alteration of his fortune. This, with the assistance of -Lord Cherbury, she took an opportunity of doing in the course -of the day to the nurse. Had she been sole relator, she feared -she should have been overwhelmed with questions. Joy and -wonder were excited in an extreme degree by this relation, and -nothing but the nurse’s hurry and impatience to communicate -it to her family, could have prevented her from asking again -and again a repetition of it.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury now, as on the foregoing day, dined with -Amanda. Her expectations relative to the speedy arrival of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_563" id="Page_563">[Pg 563]</a></span> -her brother were not disappointed. While sitting after dinner -with Lord Cherbury in the garden, the nurse, half breathless, -came running to tell them that a superb coach and four, which -to be sure must be my Lort Dunreath’s, was coming down the -road.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury colored with emotion. Amanda did not -wish he and her brother should meet, till she had explained -everything relative to him. By her desire he retired to the -valley, to which a winding path from the garden descended, -whilst she hurried to the cottage to receive and welcome her -beloved brother. Their meeting was at once tender and affecting. -The faithful Edwins surrounded Oscar with delight and -rapture, pouring forth, in their simple style, congratulations on -his happy fortune, and their wishes for his long enjoying it. -He thanked them with a starting tear of sensibility. He assured -them that their attentions to his dear sister, his lamented -parents, his infant years, entitled them to a lasting gratitude. -As soon as he and Amanda could disengage themselves from -the good creatures, without wounding their feelings, they retired -to her room, where Oscar related, as we have already done, all -that passed between him and the Marquis of Roslin.</p> - -<p>As soon as the funeral of Lady Euphrasia was over, the -marquis settled everything with him, and put him into formal -possession of Dunreath Abbey. By the marquis’s desire, he -then waited upon Lady Dunreath, to inform her she was at -liberty, and to request she would not contradict the assertion -of having been abroad. Mrs. Bruce had previously informed -her of the revolution of affairs. “I own,” continued Oscar, -“from the cruelty to my mother, and the depravity of her conduct, -I was strongly prejudiced against her, attributing, I -acknowledge, her doing justice to us, in some degree, to her -resentment against the marquis; but the moment I entered -her apartment this prejudice vanished, giving place to the softer -emotions of pity and tenderness, while a thorough conviction -of her sincere repentance broke upon my soul. Though prepared -to see a form reduced by affliction and confinement, I was -not by any means prepared to see a form so emaciated, so -death-like—a faint motion of her head, as I entered, alone -proved her existence. Had the world been given me to do so, -I think I could not have broken a silence so awful. At length -she spoke, and in language that pierced my heart, implored my -forgiveness for the sufferings she had caused me to endure. -Repeatedly I assured her of it; but this rather heightened than -diminished her agitation, and tears and sobs spoke the anguish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_564" id="Page_564">[Pg 564]</a></span> -of her soul. ‘I have lived,’ she cried, ‘to justify the ways of -Providence to men, and prove that, however calamity may -oppress the virtuous, they or their descendants shall at last -flourish. I have lived to see my contrite wish accomplished, -and the last summons will now be a welcome release.’ She -expressed an ardent desire to see her daughter. ‘The pitying -tears of a mother,’ she exclaimed, ‘may be as balm to her -wounded heart. Oh! my prophetic words, how often have I -prayed that the punishment I then denounced against her might -be averted!’</p> - -<p>“I signified her desire,” continued Oscar, “to the marquis. -I found the marchioness at first reluctant to it, from a secret -dread, I suppose, of seeing an object so injured; but she at -last consented, and I was requested to bring Lady Dunreath -from the Abbey, and conduct her to the marchioness’s room. -I will not attempt to describe the scene which passed between -affection on the one hand, and penitence on the other. The -marchioness indeed seemed truly penitent: remorse and horror -were visible in her countenance, as she gazed upon her injured -parent. I begged Lady Dunreath, if agreeable to her, still to -consider the Abbey as her residence. This, however, she -declined, and it was determined she should continue with her -daughter. Her last moments may, perhaps, be soothed by -closing in the presence of her child; but till then, I think, her -wretchedness must be aggravated by beholding that of the -marquis and his wife. Theirs is that situation where comfort -can neither be offered nor suggested—hopeless and incurable -is their sorrow—for, to use the beautiful and emphatic words of -a late celebrated writer, ‘The gates of death are shut upon their -prospects.’”</p> - -<p>Amanda now, after a little hesitation, proceeded to inform -Oscar of her real situation, and entreated him to believe that -she never would have had a concealment from him, but for the -fear of giving him uneasiness. He folded her to his bosom as -she ceased speaking, declaring he rejoiced and congratulated -her on having found an object so well qualified to make her -happy.</p> - -<p>“But where is this dear creature?” cried Oscar, with some -gayety; “am I to search for him, like a favorite sylph, in your -bouquet; or, with more probability of success, seek him amongst -the shades of the garden? Come,” said he, “your looks confess -our search will not be troublesome.” He led her to the garden. -Lord Cherbury, who had lingered near it, saw them approaching. -Amanda motioned him to meet them. He sprang forward, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_565" id="Page_565">[Pg 565]</a></span> -was instantly introduced by her to Lord Dunreath. The reception -he met was the most flattering proof he could receive of -his Amanda’s affections; for what but the most animated expressions -in his favor could have made Lord Dunreath, at the -first introduction, address him with all the fervency of friendship? -Extremes of joy and sorrow are difficult to describe. I shall, -therefore, as perfectly conscious of my inability to do justice to -the scene which followed this introduction, pass it over in -silence. Lord Dunreath had ordered his equipage and attendants -to the village inn, where he himself intended to lodge. -But this was prevented by Lord Cherbury, who informed him -he could be accommodated at his steward’s. It was here, when -they had retired for the night, that, Lord Cherbury having intimated -his wishes for an immediate union with Amanda, all -the necessary preliminaries were talked over and adjusted; and -it was agreed that the marriage should take place at the cottage, -from whence they should immediately proceed to Lady Martha’s, -and that to procure a license, they should both depart the next -morning. At breakfast, therefore, Amanda was apprised of -their plan, and though the glow of modesty overspread her face, -she did not with affectation object to it.</p> - -<p>With greater expedition than Amanda expected, the travellers -returned from the journey they had been obliged to take, -and at their earnest and united request, without any affectation -of modesty, though with its real feelings, Amanda consented -that the marriage should take place the day but one after their -return. Howel was sent for, and informed of the hour his services -would be required. His mild eyes evinced to Amanda -his sincere joy at the termination of her sorrows.</p> - -<p>On the destined morning, Lord Dunreath and his friend -went over to the cottage, and in a few minutes were joined by -Amanda, the perfect model of innocence and beauty. She -looked, indeed, the child of sweet simplicity, arrayed with the -unstudied elegance of a village maid; she had no ornaments -but those which could never decay, namely, modesty and -meekness.</p> - -<p>Language was inadequate to express the feelings of Lord -Cherbury. His fine eyes alone could do them justice—alone -reveal what might be the sacred triumph of his soul at gaining -such a woman. A soft shade of melancholy stole over the fine -features of Lord Dunreath, as he witnessed the happiness of -Lord Cherbury; for as his happiness, so might his own have -been, but for the blackest perfidy.</p> - -<p>As Lord Cherbury took the trembling hand of Amanda, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_566" id="Page_566">[Pg 566]</a></span> -lead her from the cottage, she gave a farewell sigh to a place -where, it might be said, her happiness had commenced and was -completed. They walked to the church, followed by the nurse -and her family. Some kind hand had strewed Lady Malvina’s -grave with the gayest flowers, and when Amanda reached it she -paused involuntarily for a moment, to invoke the spirits of her -parents to bless her union.</p> - -<p>Howel was already in the church, waiting to receive them, -and the ceremony was begun without delay. With the truest -pleasure did Lord Dunreath give his lovely sister to Lord Cherbury, -and with the liveliest transport did he receive her as the -choicest gift Heaven could bestow. Tears of sweet sensibility -fell from Amanda, as Lord Cherbury folded her to his bosom -as his own Amanda. Nor was he less affected; joy of the -most rapturous kind agitated his whole soul at the completion -of an event so earnestly desired, but so long despaired of. He -wiped away her tears, and, when she had received the congratulations -of her brother, presented her to the rest of the little -group. Their delight, particularly the nurse’s, was almost too -great for expression.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said, sobbing, “thank Cot her wish was fulfilled. -It had been her prayer, night, noon, and morn, to see the taughter -of her tear, tear Captain Fitzalan greatly married.” Poor Ellen -wept—"Well, now she should be happy,” she said, “since she -knew her tear young laty was so.” Amanda, affected by the -artless testimonies of affection she received, could only smile -upon the faithful creatures.</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury, seeing her unable to speak, took her hand, -and said—"Lord Cherbury never would forget the obligations -conferred upon Miss Fitzalan.” Bridal favors and presents -had already been distributed among the Edwins. Howel was -handsomely complimented on the occasion, and received some -valuable presents from Lord Cherbury, as proofs of his sincere -friendship; also money to distribute among the indigent -villagers. His lordship then handed Amanda into his coach, -already prepared for its journey to Thornbury, and the little -bridal party were followed by the most ardent blessings. After -proceeding a quarter of a mile, they reached Tudor Hall.</p> - -<p>“I wish, my lord,” cried Oscar, as they were driving round -the wood, “you would permit me to stop and view the Hall, -and also accompany me to it.” Lord Cherbury looked a little -embarrassed. He felt a strong reluctance to visit it, when no -longer his, yet he could not think of refusing the earl. Amanda -knew his feelings, and wished her brother had not made such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_567" id="Page_567">[Pg 567]</a></span> -a request. No opposition, however, being shown to it, they -stopped at the great gate which opened into the avenue, and -alighted. This was a long, beautiful walk, cut through the -wood, and in a direct line with the house. On either side were -little grassy banks, now covered with a profusion of gay flowers, -and a thick row of trees, which, waving their old fantastic -branches on high, formed a most delightful shade. Honey-suckles -twined around many of the trunks, forming in some -places luxuriant canopies, and with a variety of aromatic shrubs -quite perfumed the air. It was yet an early hour; the dew, therefore, -still sparkled upon the grass, and everything looked in the -highest verdure. Through vistas in the wood, a fine clear river -was seen, along whose sides beautiful green slopes were stretched, -scattered over with flocks, that spread their swelling treasures -to the sun. The birds sung sweetly in the embowering recesses -of the woods, and so calm, so lovely did the place appear, that -Lord Cherbury could not refrain a sigh for its loss. “How -delighted,” cried he, casting his fine eyes around, “should I have -been still to have cherished those old trees, beneath whose -shades some of my happiest hours were passed.” They entered -the hall, whose folding door they found open. It was large -and gothic; a row of arched windows were on either side, whose -recesses were filled with myrtles, roses, and geraniums, which -emitted a delicious perfume, and, contrasted with the white walls, -gave an appearance of the greatest gayety to the place.</p> - -<p>Oscar led the way to a spacious parlor at the end of the -hall. But how impossible to describe the surprise and pleasure -of Lord and Lady Cherbury, on entering it, at beholding Lady -Martha and Lady Araminta Dormer! Lord Cherbury stood -transfixed like a statue. The caresses of his aunt and his -sister, which were shared between him and his bride, restored -him to animation; but while he returned them, he cast his eyes -upon Oscar, and demanded an explanation of the scene. “I -shall give no explanation, my lord,” cried Oscar, “till you -welcome your friends to your house.”</p> - -<p>“My house!” repeated Lord Cherbury, staring at him. -Lord Dunreath approached. Never had he appeared so engaging. -The benignant expression his countenance assumed -was such as we may suppose an angel sent from heaven, on -benevolent purposes to man, would wear.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, my dear Cherbury,” said he, “for suffering -you to feel any uneasiness which I could remove. I only did -so from an idea of increasing your pleasure hereafter. In -Scotland I was informed of your predilection for my sister by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_568" id="Page_568">[Pg 568]</a></span> -Lady Greystock, whom, I fancy, you have both some reason to -remember, in consequence of which, on seeing Tudor Hall -advertised, I begged Sir Charles Bingley to purchase it for me, -in his own name, from a presentiment I had, that the event I -now rejoice at would take place; and from my wish of having -a nuptial present for my sister worthy of her acceptance. Let -me,” continued he, taking a hand of each and joining them -together, “let me, in this respected mansion, and in the dear -presence of those you love, again wish you a continuance of -every blessing. May this seat, as heretofore, be the scene of -domestic happiness; may it ever be a pleasing abode to the -prosperous, and an asylum of comfort to the afflicted.”</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury’s heart was too full for words. He turned -aside to wipe away his starting tears. At last, though in a -broken voice, he said, “I cannot speak my feelings.” “Pain -me not,” cried Oscar, “by attempting to do so. From this -moment forget that Tudor Hall was ever out of your possession; -or, if you must remember it, think it restored to you -with an encumbrance, which half the fashionable men in England -would give an estate to get rid of, and this will conquer -your too refined feelings.”</p> - -<p>Lord Cherbury smiled as he looked at the lovely encumbrance -which Oscar alluded to. “And what shall I say to my -brother?” cried Amanda, throwing herself into his arms. -"Why, that you will compose your spirits, and endeavor to -give a proper welcome to your friends.” He presented her to -Lady Martha and Lady Araminta, who again embraced and -congratulated her. He then led her to the head of the breakfast -table, which was elegantly laid out. The timid bride was -assisted in doing the honors by her brother and Lord Cherbury. -Lady Martha beheld the youthful pair with the -truest delight. Never had she before seen two, from equal -merit and loveliness, so justly formed to make each other -happy; never had she seen either to such advantage. The -beautiful coloring of health and modesty tinged the soft cheeks -of Amanda, and her eyes, through their long lashes, emitted -mild beams of pleasure; its brightest glow mantled the cheeks -of Lord Cherbury, and his eyes were again illumined with all -their wonted radiancy.</p> - -<p>Oscar was requested to tell particularly how he had arranged -his plan; which he accordingly did. He had written to -the ladies at Thornbury, informing them of his scheme, and requesting -their presence, and on the preceding night they had -arrived at the Hall. Lord Dunreath also added, that from a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_569" id="Page_569">[Pg 569]</a></span> -certainty of its being agreeable to Lord Cherbury, he had -directed the steward to reinstate the old servants in their former -stations, and also to invite the tenants to a nuptial feast. Lord -Cherbury assured him he had done what was truly grateful to -his feelings. A ramble about the garden and shrubberies was -proposed, and agreed to, after breakfast. In the hall and -avenue the servants and tenants were already assembled. Lord -Cherbury went among them all, and the grateful joy they expressed -at having him again for a master and a landlord deeply -affected his feelings. He thanked them for their regard, and -received their congratulations on his present happiness with -that sweetness and affability which ever distinguished his manners. -The ramble was delightful. When the sun had attained -its meridian, they sought the cool shade, and retired to little -romantic arbors, over-canopied with woodbines, where, as if by -the hand of enchantment, they found refreshments laid out. -They did not return to the house till they received a summons -to dinner, and had then the pleasure of seeing the tenants seated -at long tables in the wood, enjoying with unbounded mirth the -profusion with which they were covered, and Lord Cherbury -begged Amanda to observe her nurse seated at the head of one -of these tables, with an air of the greatest self-importance. -The pride and vanity of this good woman (and she always possessed -a large share of both) had been considerably increased -from the time her cottage was honored with such noble guests. -When she received an invitation from the steward to accompany -the rest of the tenants to the Hall to celebrate its restoration -to Lord Cherbury, her joy and exultation knew no bounds; she -took care to walk with the wives of some of the most respectable -tenants, describing to them all that had passed at the ceremony, -and how the earl had first fallen in love with his bride -at her cottage, and what trials they had undergone, no doubt, to -prove their constancy. “Cot pless their hearts,” she said to -her eager auditors; “she could tell them of such tangers and -tifficulties, and tribulations, as would surprise the very souls -in their poties. Well, well, it is now her tear child’s turn to -hold up her head with the highest in the land, and to pe sure -she might now say, without telling a lie, that her tear latyship -would now make somepoty of herself, and, please Cot, she -hoped and pelieved, she would not tisgrace or tisparage a petter -situation.” When she came near the countess, she took care -to press forward for a gracious look; but this was not all; -she had always envied the consequence of Mrs. Abergwilly in -having so great a house as the Hall entirely under her manage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_570" id="Page_570">[Pg 570]</a></span>ment, -and she now determined, upon the strength of her favor -with Lady Cherbury, to having something to say to it, and, of -course, increase her consequence among her neighbors. There -was nothing on earth she so much delighted in as bustle, and -the present scene was quite adapted to her taste, for all within -and without the house was joyous confusion. The first specimen -she gave of her intention was, in helping to distribute refreshments -among the tenants; she then proceeded to the -dinner-parlor, to give her opinion, and assistance, and direction -about laying out the table. Mrs. Abergwilly, like the generality -of those accustomed to absolute power, could not tamely -submit to any innovation on it. She curbed her resentment, -however, and civilly told Mrs. Edwin she wanted no assistance; -“thank Cot,” she said, “she was not come to this time of tay -without peing able give proper tirections about laying out a -table.” Mrs. Edwin said, “To be sure Mrs. Abergwilly might -have a very pretty taste, but then another person might have -as good a one.” The day was intensely hot; she pinned back -her gown, which was a rich silk that had belonged to Lady -Malvina, and, without further ceremony, began altering the -dishes, saying, she knew the taste of her tear laty, the countess, -better that any one else, and that she would take an early opportunity -of going through the apartments, and telling Mrs. -Abergwilly how to arrange the furniture.</p> - -<p>The Welsh blood of the housekeeper could bear no more, -and she began abusing Mrs. Edwin, though in terms scarcely -articulate, to which she replied with interest. In the midst of -this fracas, old Edwin entered. “For the love of Cot,” he -asked, “and the mercy of Heaven, could they choose no other -time or tay than the present to pegin to fight, and scold, and -abuse each other like a couple of Welsh witches? What would -the noble earl and the countess say? Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! -he felt himself blushing all over for their misdemeanors.” His -remonstrance had an immediate effect; they were both ashamed -of their conduct; their rage abated; they became friends, and -Mrs. Edwin resigned the direction of the dinner-table to Mrs. -Abergwilly, satisfied with being allowed to preside among the -tenants.</p> - -<p>The bridal party found Howel in the dining parlor, and his -company increased their pleasure. After dinner the rustics -commenced dancing in the avenue, to the strains of the harp, -and afforded a delightful scene of innocent gayety to their -benevolent entertainers, who smiled to see</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_571" id="Page_571">[Pg 571]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“The dancing pair that simply sought renown</span> -<span class="i0">By holding out to tire each other down:</span> -<span class="i0">The bashful virgin’s side-long looks of love,</span> -<span class="i0">The matron’s glance that would those looks reprove.”</span> -</div></div> - -<p>After tea the party went out amongst them, and the gentlemen, -for a short time, mingled in the dance. Long it could not -detain Lord Cherbury from his Amanda. Oh! with what ecstasy -did he listen to the soft accents of her voice, while his fond -heart assured him she was now his! The remembrance of past -difficulties but increased his present felicity. In the course of -the week all the neighboring families came to pay their congratulations -at Tudor Hall; invitations were given and received, -and it again became the seat of pleasure and hospitality; but -Amanda did not suffer the possession of happiness to obliterate -one grateful remembrance from her mind. She was not one of -those selfish beings, who, on being what is termed settled for -life, immediately contract themselves within the narrow sphere -of their own enjoyments; still was her heart as sensible as ever -to the glow of friendship and compassion. She wrote to all the -friends she had ever received kindness from, in terms of the -warmest gratitude, and her letters were accompanied by presents -sufficiently valuable to prove her sincerity. She sent an invitation -to Emily Rushbrook, which was immediately accepted. -And now a discovery took place which infinitely surprised and -pleased Amanda, namely, that Howel was the young clergyman -Emily was attached to. He had gone to London on a visit to -the gentleman who patronized him. Her youth, her simplicity, -above all, her distress, affected his heart; and in the hope of -mitigating that distress (which he was shocked to see had been -aggravated by the ladies she came to), he had followed her. -To soothe the wretched, to relieve the distressed, was not considered -more a duty than a pleasure by Howel. And the little -favors he conferred upon the Rushbrooks afforded, if possible, -more pleasure to him than they did to them; so sweet are the -feelings of benevolence and virtue. But compassion was not -long the sole motive of his interest in their affairs—the amiable -manners, the gentle conversation of Emily, completely subdued -his unfortunate passion for Amanda, and, in stealing her image -from his heart she implanted her own in its place. He described, -in a romantic manner, the little rural cottage he invited -her to share; he anticipated the happy period when it should -become an asylum to her parents; when he, like a second -father, should assist their children through the devious paths -of life. These fond hopes and expectations vanished the mo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_572" id="Page_572">[Pg 572]</a></span>ment -he received Mrs. Connel’s letter. He could not think of -sacrificing the interest of Rushbrook to the consideration of his -own happiness, and therefore generously, but with the most -agonizing conflicts, resigned his Emily to a more prosperous -rival. His joy at finding her disengaged, still his own unaltered -Emily, can better be conceived than described. He pointed -out the little sheltered cottage which again he hoped she would -share, and blessed, with her, the hand that had opened her -father’s prison gates. Lord and Lady Cherbury were delighted -to think they could contribute to the felicity of two such amiable -beings; and the latter wrote to Captain and Mrs. Rushbrook -on the subject, who immediately replied to her letter, declaring -that their fondest wish would be gratified in bestowing their -daughter on Howel. They were accordingly invited to the Hall, -and in the same spot where a month before he ratified the vows -of Lord Cherbury and Amanda, did Howel plight his own to -Emily, who from the hand of Lady Cherbury received a nuptial -present sufficient to procure every enjoyment her humble and -unassuming spirit aspired to. Her parents, after passing a few -days in her cottage, departed, rejoicing at the happiness of their -beloved child, and truly grateful to those who had contributed -to it.</p> - -<p>And now did the grateful children of Fitzalan amply reward -the Edwins for their past kindnesses to their parents and themselves. -An annual stipend was settled on Edwin by Lord Dunreath, -and the possessions of Ellen were enlarged by Amanda. -Now was realized every scheme of domestic happiness she had -ever formed; but even that happiness could not alleviate her -feelings on Oscar’s account, whose faded cheek, whose languid -eye, whose total abstraction in the midst of company, evidently -proved the state of his heart; and the tear of regret, which had -so often fallen for her own sorrows, was now shed for his. He -had written to Mrs. Marlowe a particular account of everything -which had befallen him since their separation. She answered -his letter immediately, and, after congratulating him in the -warmest terms on the change in his situation, informed him that -Adela was then at one of Belgrave’s seats in England, and that -he was gone to the continent. Her style was melancholy, and -she concluded her letter in these words: “No longer, my dear -Oscar, is my fireside enlivened by gayety or friendship; sad and -solitary I sit within my cottage till my heart sickens at the remembrance -of past scenes, and if I wander from it, the objects -without, if possible, add to the bitterness of that remembrance. -The closed windows, the grass-grown paths, the dejected ser<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_573" id="Page_573">[Pg 573]</a></span>vants -of Woodlawn, all recall to my mind those hours when it -was the mansion of hospitality and pleasure. I often linger by -the grave of the general; my tears fall upon it, and I think of -that period when, like him, I shall drop into it. But my last -hours will not close like his; no tender child will bend over my -pillow, to catch my last sigh; to soothe my last pang. In vain -my closing eyes will look for the pious drops of nature, or of -friendship. Unfriended I shall die, with the sad consciousness -of doing so through my own means; but I shall not be quite -unmourned. You, and my Adela, the sweet daughter of my -care, will regret the being whose affection, whose sympathy for -you both, can only be obliterated with life.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVIII" id="CHAPTER_LVIII">CHAPTER LVIII.</a></h2> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<span class="i0">“The modest virtues mingled in her eyes,</span> -<span class="i0">Still on the ground dejected, darting all</span> -<span class="i0">Their humid beams into the opening flowers.</span> -<span class="i0">Or when she thought—</span> -<span class="i0">Of what her faithless fortune promised once,</span> -<span class="i0">They, like the dewy star</span> -<span class="i0">Of evening, shone in tears.”—<span class="smcap">Thomson.</span></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Adela, on the death of her father, was taken by Belgrave -to England, though the only pleasure he experienced in removing -her was derived from the idea of wounding her feelings, -by separating her from Mrs. Marlowe, whom he knew she was -tenderly attached to. From his connections in London, she -was compelled to mix in society—compelled, I say, for the natural -gayety of her soul was quite gone, and that solitude, which -permitted her to brood over the remembrance of past days, -was the only happiness she was capable of enjoying. When -the terrors of Belgrave drove him from the kingdom, he had -her removed to Woodhouse, to which, it may be remembered, -he had once brought Amanda, and from which the imperious -woman who then ruled was removed; but the principal domestic -was equally harsh and insolent in her manner, and to her care -the unfortunate Adela was consigned, with strict orders that she -should not be allowed to receive any company, or correspond -with any being. Accustomed from her earliest youth to the -greatest tenderness, this severity plunged her in the deepest -despondency, and life was a burden she would gladly have -resigned. Her melancholy, or rather her patient sweetness, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_574" id="Page_574">[Pg 574]</a></span> -least softened the flinty nature of her governante, and she was -permitted to extend her walks beyond the gardens, to which -they had hitherto been confined; but she availed herself of this -permission only to visit the church-yard belonging to the hamlet, -whose old yew-trees she had often seen waving from the windows. -Beneath their solemn gloom she loved to sit, while evening -closed around her; and in a spot sequestered from every human -eye, weep over the recollection of that father she had lost, that -friend she was separated from. She remained in the church-yard -one night beyond her usual hour. The soft beams of the moon -alone prevented her from being involved in darkness, and the -plaintive breathings of a flute from the hamlet just stole upon -her ear. Lost in sadness, her head resting upon her hand, she -forgot the progress of time, when suddenly she beheld a form -rising from a neighboring grave. She started up, screamed, but -had no power to move. The form advanced to her. It was -the figure of a venerable man, who gently exclaimed, “Be not -afraid!” His voice dissipated the involuntary fears of Adela: -but still she trembled so much she could not move. “I -thought,” cried he, gazing on her, “this place had been alone -the haunt of wretchedness and me.” “If sacred to sorrow,” -exclaimed Adela, “I well may claim the privilege of entering it.” -She spoke involuntarily, and her words seemed to affect the -stranger deeply. “So young,” said he; “it is melancholy, -indeed; but still the sorrows of youth are more bearable than -those of age, because, like age it has not outlived the fond ties, -the sweet connections of life.” “Alas!” cried Adela unable to -repress her feelings, “I am separated from all I regarded.” The -stranger leaned pensively against a tree for a few minutes, and -then again addressed her: “’Tis a late hour,” said he; “suffer -me to conduct you home, and also permit me to ask if I -may see you here to-morrow night? Your youth, your manner, -your dejection, all interest me deeply. The sorrows of youth -are often increased by imagination. You will say that nothing -can exceed its pains; ’tis true, but it is a weakness to yield to -them—a weakness which, from a sensible mind, will be eradicated -the moment it hears of the real calamities of life. Such -a relation I can give you if you meet me to-morrow night in this -sad, this solitary spot—a spot I have visited every closing evening, -without ever before meeting a being in it.”</p> - -<p>His venerable looks, his gentle, his pathetic manner, affected -Adela inexpressibly. She gazed on him with emotions somewhat -similar to those with which she used to contemplate the -mild features of her father. “I will meet you,” cried she, “but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_575" id="Page_575">[Pg 575]</a></span> -my sorrows are not imaginary.” She refused to let him attend -her home; and in this incident there was something affecting -and romantic, which soothed and engrossed the mind. She -was punctual the next evening to the appointed hour. The -stranger was already in the church-yard. He seated her at the -head of the grave from which she had seen him rise the preceeding -night, and which was only distinguished from the others by -a few flowering shrubs planted round it, and began his promised -narrative. He had not proceeded far ere Adela began to -tremble with emotion—as he continued it increased. At last, -suddenly catching his hand with wildness, she exclaimed, “She -lives—the wife so bitterly lamented still lives, a solitary mourner -for your sake. Oh, never! never did she injure you as you -suppose. Oh, dear, inestimable Mrs. Marlowe, what happiness -to the child of your care, to think that through her means you -will regain the being you have so tenderly regretted—regain -him with a heart open to receive you.” The deep convulsive -sobs of her companion now pierced her ear. For many minutes -he was unable to speak—at last, raising his eyes, “Oh, Providence! -I thank Thee,” he exclaimed; “again shall my arms -fold to my heart its best beloved object. Oh, my Fanny, how -have I injured thee! Learn from me,” he continued, turning -to Adela, “oh! learn from me never to yield to rashness. Had -I allowed myself time to inquire into the particulars of my -wife’s conduct; had I resisted, instead of obeying, the violence -of passion, what years of lingering misery should I have saved -us both! But tell me where I shall find my solitary mourner, -as you call her?” Adela gave him the desired information, -and also told him her own situation. “The wife of Belgrave!” -he repeated; “then I wonder not,” continued he, as if involuntarily, -“at your sorrows.” It was, indeed, to Howel, the unfortunate -father of Juliana, the regretted husband of Mrs. Marlowe, -that Adela had been addressing herself. He checked -himself, however, and told her that the being, by whose grave -they sat, had been hurried, through the villany of Belgrave, to -that grave. Adela told him of the prohibition against her writing; -but at the same time assured him, ere the following night, she -would find an opportunity of writing a letter, which he should -bring to Mrs. Marlowe, who by its contents would be prepared -for his appearance, as it was to be sent in to her. But Adela -was prevented from putting her intention into execution by an -event as solemn as unexpected.</p> - -<p>The ensuing morning she was disturbed from her sleep by a -violent noise in the house, as of people running backwards and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_576" id="Page_576">[Pg 576]</a></span> -forwards in confusion and distress. She was hurrying on her -clothes to go and inquire into the occasion of it, when a servant -rushed into the room, and in a hasty manner told her that -Colonel Belgrave was dead. Struck with horror and amazement, -Adela stood petrified, gazing on her. The maid repeated -her words, and added that he had died abroad, and his -remains were brought over to Woodhouse for interment, attended -by a French gentleman, who looked like a priest. The various -emotions which assailed the heart of Adela at this moment were -too much for her weak frame, and she would have fallen to the -floor but for the maid. It was some time ere she recovered her -sensibility, and when she did regain it, she was still so agitated -as to be unable to give those directions, which the domestics, who -now looked up to her in a light very different from they had -hitherto done, demanded from her. All she could desire was -that the steward should pay every respect and attention to the -gentleman who had attended the remains of his master, and have -every honor that was due shown to those remains. To suppose -she regretted Belgrave would be unnatural; but she felt horror, -mingled with a degree of pity, for his untimely fate at the -idea of his dying abroad, without one connection, one friend -near him. His last moments were indeed more wretched than -she could conceive. Overwhelmed with terror and grief, he -had quitted England—terror at the supposition of a crime -which in reality he had not committed, and grief for the fate of -Amanda. He sought to lose his horrors in inebriety; but this, -joined to the agitations of his mind, brought on a violent fever -by the time he had landed at Calais, in the paroxysms of which, -had the attendants understood his language, they would have -been shocked at the crimes he revealed. His senses were restored -a short time before he died: but what excruciating -anguish, as well as horror, did he suffer from their restoration! -He knew from his own feelings, as well as from the looks of his -attendants, that his last moments were approaching: and the -recollection of past actions made him shudder at those moments. -Oh, Howel! now were you amply avenged for all the pangs he -made you suffer. Now did the pale image of your shrouded -Juliana seem to stand beside his bed reproaching his barbarity. -Every treacherous action now rose to view, and, trembling, he -groaned with terror at the spectres which a guilty conscience -raised around him. Death would have been a release, could -he have considered it an annihilation of all existence; but that -future world he had always derided, that world was opening in -all its awful horrors to his view. Already he saw himself be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_577" id="Page_577">[Pg 577]</a></span>fore -its sacred Judge, surrounded by the accusing spirits of -those he had injured. He desired a clergyman to be brought -to him. A priest was sent for. Their faiths were different, but -still, as a man of God, Belgrave applied to him for an alleviation -of his tortures. The priest was superstitious, and ere he -tried to comfort he wished to convert; but scarcely had he -commenced the attempt ere the wretched being before him -clasped his hands together, in a strong convulsion, and expired. -The English servant who attended Belgrave informed the people -of the hotel of his rank and fortune, and the priest offered -to accompany his remains to England. He was, by the direction -of Adela, who had not resolution to see him, amply rewarded -for his attention: and in two days after their arrival at -Woodhouse, the remains of Belgrave were consigned to their -kindred earth. From a sequestered corner of the church-yard -Howel witnessed his interment. When all had departed, he -approached the grave of his daughter—"He is gone!” he exclaimed; -“my Juliana, your betrayer is gone; at the tribunal -of his God he now answers for his cruelty to you. But, oh! -may he find mercy from that God; may He pardon him, as in -this solemn moment I have done—my enmity lives not beyond -the grave.”</p> - -<p>Adela now sent for Howel; and, after their first emotions -had subsided, informed him she meant immediately to return -to Ireland. The expectation of her doing so had alone prevented -his going before. They accordingly commenced their -journey the ensuing day, and in less than a week reached the -dear and destined spot so interesting to both. They had previously -settled on the manner in which the discovery should be -revealed to Mrs. Marlowe, and Adela went alone into her cottage. -Sad and solitary, as Mrs. Marlowe said in her letter to -Oscar, did Adela find her in her parlor; but it was a sadness -which vanished the moment she beheld her. With all the tenderness -of a mother she clasped Adela to her breast, and, in -the sudden transports of joy and surprise, for many minutes -did not notice her dress; but when she did observe it, what -powerful emotions did it excite in her breast! Adela, scarcely -less agitated than she was, could not for many minutes relate -all that had happened. At last the idea of the state in which -she had left Howel made her endeavor to compose herself. -Mrs. Marlowe wept while she related her sufferings; but when -she mentioned Howel, surprise suspended her tears—a surprise, -increased when she began the story; but when she came to -that part where she herself had betrayed such emotion while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_578" id="Page_578">[Pg 578]</a></span> -listening to Howel, Mrs. Marlowe started and turned pale. -“Your feelings are similar to mine,” said Adela; “at this period -I became agitated. Yes,” she continued, “it was at this period -I laid my trembling hand on his, and exclaimed, she lives!” -“Merciful Heaven!” cried Mrs. Marlowe, “what do you -mean?” “Oh, let me now,” cried Adela, clasping her arms -round her, “repeat to you the same expression. He lives! -that husband, so beloved and regretted, lives!” “Oh, bring -him to me!” said Mrs. Marlowe, in a faint voice; “let me behold -him while I have reason myself to enjoy the blessing.” -Adela flew from the room. Howel was near the door. He -approached, he entered the room, he tottered forward, and in -one moment was at the feet and in the arms of his wife, who, -transfixed to the chair, could only open her arms to receive -him. The mingled pain and pleasure of such a reunion, cannot -be described. Both, with tears of grateful transport, blessed -the Power which had given such comfort to their closing days. -“But, my children,” exclaimed Mrs. Marlowe, suddenly, “ah! -when shall I behold my children? Why did not they accompany -you? Ah! did they deem me then unworthy of bestowing -a mother’s blessing?” Howel trembled and turned pale. “I -see,” said Mrs. Marlowe, interpreting his emotion, “I am a -wife, but not a mother.” Howel, recovering his fortitude, took -her hand and pressed it to his bosom. “Yes,” he replied, -“you are a mother; one dear, one amiable child remains, -Heaven be praised!” He paused, and a tear fell to the memory -of Juliana. “But Heaven,” he resumed, “has taken the -other to its eternal rest. Inquire not concerning her at present, -I entreat; soon will I conduct you to the grave; there will I -relate her fate, and together will we mourn it. Then shall the -tears that never yet bedewed her grave, the precious tears of a -mother, embalm her sacred dust.” Mrs. Marlowe wept, but -she complied with her husband’s request. She inquired, in a -broken voice, about her son, and the knowledge of his happiness -gradually cheered her mind.</p> - -<p>Adela consented to stay that night in the cottage; but the -next day she determined on going to Woodlawn. To think -she should again wander through it, again linger in the walks -she had trodden with those she loved, gave to her mind a melancholy -pleasure. The next morning, attended by her friend, -she repaired to it, and was inexpressibly affected by reviewing -scenes endeared by the tender remembrance of happier hours. -The house, from its closed windows, appeared quite neglected -and melancholy, as if pleasure had forsaken it with the poor de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_579" id="Page_579">[Pg 579]</a></span>parted -general. Standard, his favorite horse, grazed in the -lawn; and beside him, as if a secret sympathy endeared them -to each other, stood the dog that had always attended the -general in his walks. It instantly recollected Adela, and running -to her licked her hand, and evinced the utmost joy. She -patted him on the head, while her tears burst forth at the idea -of him who had been his master. The transports of the old -domestics, particularly of the gray-headed butler, at her unexpected -return, increased her tears. But when she entered the -parlor, in which her father usually sat, she was quite overcome, -and motioning with her hand for her friends not to mind her, -she retired to the garden. There was a little romantic root-house -at the termination of it, where she and Oscar had passed -many happy hours together. Thither she repaired, and his idea, -thus revived in her mind, did not lessen its dejection. While -she sat within it indulging her sorrow, her eye caught some -lines inscribed on one of its windows. She hastily arose, and -examining them, instantly recollected the hand of Oscar. They -were as follows:—</p> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Adieu, sweet girl, a last adieu!</span> -<span class="i1">We part to meet no more;</span> -<span class="i0">Adieu to peace, to hope, to you,</span> -<span class="i1">And to my native shore.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“If fortune had propitious smiled,</span> -<span class="i1">My love had made me blest;</span> -<span class="i0">But she, like me, is Sorrow’s child,</span> -<span class="i1">By sadness dire opprest.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I go to India’s sultry clime,</span> -<span class="i1">Oh! never to return;</span> -<span class="i0">Beneath some lone embowering lime</span> -<span class="i1">Will be thy soldier’s urn.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“No kindred spirit there shall weep,</span> -<span class="i1">Or, pensive musing stray;</span> -<span class="i0">My image thou alone wilt keep,</span> -<span class="i1">And Grief’s soft tribute pay.”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Oscar, previous to his going to England, with the expectation -of being sent to the West Indies, had paid a secret visit to, -Woodlawn, to review and bid adieu to every well-known and -beloved spot, and had, one morning at early day, inscribed -these lines on a window in the root-house, prompted by a tender -melancholy he could not resist.</p> - -<p>“His love is then unfortunate,” said Adela, pensively, leaning -her head upon her hand. “Oh, Oscar! how sad a simil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_580" id="Page_580">[Pg 580]</a></span>tude -is there between your fate and mine!” She returned to -the house. Mr. and Mrs. Howel (for so we shall in future call -Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe, that name being only assumed while -her husband had a prospect of inheriting his uncle’s fortune) -had consented to stay some time with her. Oscar’s lines ran -in her head the whole day; and in the evening she again stole -out to read them.</p> - -<p>She had been absent some time, when Mrs. Howel came -out to her. Adela blushed and started at being caught at the -window. “’Tis a long time, my dear Adela,” said Mrs. Howel, -“since we had a ramble in this delightful garden together. -Indulge me in taking one, and let us talk of past times.” -"Past times,” cried Adela, with a faint smile, “are not always -the pleasantest to talk about.” “There are some, at least one -friend,” cried Mrs. Howel, “whom you have not yet inquired -after.” Adela’s heart suddenly palpitated; she guessed who -that one friend was. “Oscar Fitzalan, surely,” continued Mrs. -Howel, “merits an inquiry. I have good news to tell you of -him; therefore, without chiding you for any seeming neglect, I -will reveal it.” She accordingly related his late reverse of situation. -Adela heard her with deep attention. “Since fortune, -then, is propitious at last,” cried she, “his love will no longer -be unfortunate.” “’Tis time, indeed,” said Mrs. Howel, looking -at her with pleasure, “that love, so pure, so constant as -his, should be rewarded. Oh! Adela,” she continued, suddenly -taking her hand, “sweet daughter of my care, how great is my -happiness at this moment, to think of that about to be your -portion.” “My happiness!” exclaimed Adela in a dejected -voice. “Yes,” replied Mrs. Howel, “in your union with a man -every way worthy of possessing you; a man who, from the first -moment he beheld you, has never ceased to love—in short, with -Oscar Fitzalan himself.” “Impossible!” cried Adela, trembling -with emotion as she spoke. “Did not—how humiliating -is the remembrance—did not Oscar Fitzalan reject me, when -the too generous and romantic spirit of my beloved father -offered my hand to his acceptance?” “For once,” said Mrs. -Howel, “I must disturb the sacred ashes of the dead to prevent -the innocent from being unhappy. Oh! Adela, you were -cruelly deceived: and the moment which gave you to Belgrave, -rendered Oscar the most wretched of mankind. My heart was -the repository of all his griefs, and how many are the bitter -tears I have shed over them! Be composed,” continued she, -seeing Adela’s agitation, “and a few moments will explain -everything to you.” She then led her back to the root-house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_581" id="Page_581">[Pg 581]</a></span> -and in a most explicit manner informed her of Belgrave’s -treachery. Adela burst into tears as she concluded. She wept -on Mrs. Howel’s bosom, and acknowledged she had removed a -weight of uneasiness from her mind. “Poor Oscar!” she continued, -“how much would the knowledge of his misery have -aggravated mine!” “He acted nobly,” said Mrs. Howel, “in -concealing it; and amply will he be rewarded for such conduct.” -She then proceeded to inform Adela that she soon expected -a visit from him. There was something in her look and -manner which instantly excited the suspicion of Adela, who, -blushing, starting, trembling, exclaimed—"He is already -come!” Mrs. Howel smiled, and a tear fell from her upon -the soft hand of Adela. “He is already come,” she repeated, -“and he waits, oh! how impatiently, to behold his Adela.”</p> - -<p>We may believe his patience was not put to a much longer -test. But when Adela in reality beheld him as she entered the -parlor where she had left Mr. Howel, and where he waited for -the reappearance of her friend, she sunk beneath her emotion, -upon that faithful bosom which had so long suffered the most -excruciating pangs on her account; and it was many minutes -ere she was sensible of the soft voice of Oscar. Oh! who shall -paint his transports, after all his sufferings, to be thus rewarded! -But in the midst of his happiness, the idea of the poor general, -who had so generously planned it, struck upon his heart with a -pang of sorrow. “Oh, my Adela!” he cried, clasping her -to his heart, as if doubly endeared by the remembrance, “is -Oscar at last permitted to pour forth the fulness of his soul -before you, to reveal its tenderness, to indulge the hope of -calling you his—a hope which affords the delightful prospect -of being able to contribute to your felicity?” “Yes, most -generous of friends!” he exclaimed, raising his eyes to a picture -of the general, “I will endeavor to evince my gratitude -to you by my conduct to your child.” Oh! how did the tear -he shed to the memory of her father interest the heart of -Adela! her own fell with it, and she felt that the presence of -that being to whom they were consecrated was alone wanting -to complete their happiness. It was long ere she was sufficiently -composed to inquire the reason of Oscar’s sudden appearance, -and still longer ere he could inform her. Mrs. Marlowe’s -melancholy letter, he at last said, had brought him over, -with the hope of being able to cheer her solitude, and also, -he acknowledged, his own dejection, by mutual sympathy; -from her cottage he had been directed to Woodlawn, and at -Woodlawn received particulars, not only of her happiness, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_582" id="Page_582">[Pg 582]</a></span> -his own. Adela, who had never yet deviated from propriety, -would not now infringe it, and resolutely determined, till the -expiration of her mourning, not to bestow her hand on Oscar; -but permitted him to hope, that in the intervening space, most -of his time might be devoted to her. It was necessary, however, -to sanction that hope by having proper society. She -could not flatter herself with much longer retaining Mr. and -Mrs. Howel, as the latter particularly was impatient to behold -her son. Oscar therefore requested, and obtained permission -from Adela, to write in her name to Lord and Lady Cherbury, -and entreat their company at Woodlawn, promising she would -then accompany them to Castle Carberry, and from thence to -Dunreath Abbey, a tour which, previous to Oscar’s leaving -Wales, had been agreed on. The invitation was accepted, and -in a few days Oscar beheld the two beings most valued by him -in the world introduced to each other. Tears of rapture started -to his eyes, as he saw his Adela folded to the bosom of his -lovely sister, who called her the sweet restorer of her brother’s -happiness! Lord Cherbury was already acquainted with her, -and, next to his Amanda, considered her the loveliest of human -beings; and Lady Martha and Lady Araminta, who were also -invited to Woodlawn, regarded her in the same light. A few -days after their arrival Mrs. Howel prepared for her departure. -Adela, who considered her as a second mother, could not -behold those preparations without tears of real regret. “Oh, -my Adela!” she exclaimed, “these tears flatter, yet distress -me. I am pleased to think the child of my care regards me -with such affection, but I am hurt to think she should consider -my loss such an affliction. Oh, my child! may the endearments -of the friends who surround you steal from you all painful remembrances! -nature calls me from you; I sigh to behold my -child; I sigh,” she continued, with eyes suffused in tears, “to -behold the precious earth which holds another.”</p> - -<p>About three weeks after her departure the whole party proceeded -to Castle Carberry. Amanda could not re-enter it without -emotions of the most painful nature. She recollected the -moment in which she had quitted it, oppressed with sorrow and -sickness, and to attend the closing period of a father’s life. -She wept, sighed to think, that the happiness he had prayed -for he could not behold. Lord Cherbury saw her emotions, and -soothed them with the softest tenderness; it was due to that -tenderness to conquer her dejection, and in future the remembrance -of her father was only attended with a pleasing melancholy. -She did not delay visiting the convent. The good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_583" id="Page_583">[Pg 583]</a></span> -natured nuns crowded around her, and cried, laughed, and -wished her joy, almost in the same moment; particularly Sister -Mary. The prioress’s pleasure was of a less violent, but -more affecting nature. An almost constant scene of gayety was -kept up at the Castle, a gayety, however, which did not prevent -Lord and Lady Cherbury from inspecting into the situation of -their poor tenants, whose wants they relieved, whose grievances -they redressed, and whose hearts they cheered, by a promise -of spending some months in every year at the Castle. After -continuing at it six weeks, they crossed over to Port-Patrick, -and from thence proceeded to Dunreath Abbey, which had -been completely repaired, and furnished in a style equally -modern and elegant; and here it was determined they should -remain till the solemnization of Lord Dunreath’s nuptials. The -time which intervened till the period appointed for them was -agreeably diversified by parties amongst the neighboring -families, and excursions about the country; but no hours were -happier than those which the inhabitants of the Abbey passed -when free from company, so truly were they united to each -other by affection. Lord Dunreath, soon after his return, -waited upon the Marquis of Roslin, and, by his sister’s desire, -signified to him that if a visit from her would be agreeable to -the marquis she would pay it. This, however, was declined; -and about the same period Lady Dunreath died. Mrs. Bruce, -whom from long habit she was attached to, then retired to -another part of Scotland, ashamed to remain where her conduct -was known—a conduct which deeply affected her niece, -whom Amanda visited immediately after her arrival, and found -settled in a neat house near the town she had lodged in. She -received Lady Cherbury with every demonstration of real pleasure, -and both she and her little girls spent some time with her -at the Abbey.</p> - -<p>The happy period for completing the felicity of Oscar at -last arrived. In the chapel where his parents were united, he -received from the hand of Lord Cherbury the lovely object of -his long-tried affections. The ceremony was only witnessed by -his own particular friends; but at dinner all the neighboring -families were assembled, and the tenants were entertained in -the great hall, where dancing commenced at an early and was -continued till a late hour.</p> - -<p>And now having (to use the words of Adam) brought our -story to the sum of earthly bliss, we shall conclude, first giving -a brief account of the characters connected with it.</p> - -<p>Lady Greystock, as one of the most distinguished, we shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_584" id="Page_584">[Pg 584]</a></span> -first mention. After the death of Lady Euphrasia, she found -her company no longer desired at the marquis’s, and accordingly -repaired to Bath. Here she had not been long ere she -became acquainted with a set of female Puritans, who soon -wrought a total change (I will not say a reformation) in her -ladyship’s sentiments; and to give a convincing proof of -this change, she was prevailed on to give her hand to one of -their spruce young preachers, who shortly taught her, what indeed -she had long wanted to learn, the doctrine of repentance; -for most sincerely did she repent putting herself into his power. -Vexation, disappointment, and grief, brought on a lingering -illness, from which she never recovered. When convinced she -was dying, she sent for Rushbrook, and made a full confession -of her treachery and injustice to him, in consequence of which -he took immediate possession of his uncle’s fortune; and thus, -in the evening of his life, enjoyed a full recompense for the -trials of its early period. Lady Greystock died with some -degree of satisfaction at the idea of disappointing her husband -of the fortune she was convinced he had married her for.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Howel, after visiting her son, retired to her husband’s -cottage, where their days glide on in a kind of pleasing melancholy. -The happiness of that son, and his Emily, is as perfect -as happiness can be in this sublunary state.</p> - -<p>Sir Charles Bingley, after studiously avoiding Lord and -Lady Cherbury for above two years, at last, by chance, was -thrown in their way, and then had the pleasure of finding he -was not so agitated by the sight of Amanda as he had dreaded. -He did not refuse the invitations of Lord Cherbury. The -domestic happiness he saw him enjoying, rendered his own unconnected -and wandering life more unpleasant than ever to -him. Lady Araminta Dormer was almost constantly in his -company. No longer fascinated by Amanda, he could now see -and admire her perfections. He soon made known his admiration. -The declaration was not ungraciously received, and he -offered his hand, and was accepted—an acceptance which put -him in possession of happiness fully equal to Lord Cherbury’s.</p> - -<p>The Marquis and Marchioness of Roslin pass their days -in gloomy retirement, regretful of the past and hopeless of the -future. Freelove flutters about every public place, boasts of -having carried off a Scotch heiress, and thinks, from that circumstance, -he may now lay siege to any female heart with a -certainty of being successful.</p> - -<p>To return once more to the sweet descendants of the Dunreath -family. The goodness of heart, the simplicity of manners<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_585" id="Page_585">[Pg 585]</a></span> -which ever distinguished them, they still retain. From having -been children of sorrow themselves, they feel for all who come -under that denomination, and their charity is at once bestowed -as a tribute from gratitude to Heaven, and from humanity to -want; from gratitude to that Being who watched their unsheltered -youth, who guarded them through innumerable perils, -who placed them on the summit of prosperity, from whence, by -dispensing his gifts around, they trust to be translated to a still -greater height of happiness. Lady Dunreath’s wish is fulfilled. -To use her words, their past sorrows are only remembered to -teach them pity for the woes of others. Their virtues have -added to the renown of their ancestors, and entailed peace -upon their own souls. Their children, by all connected with -them, are considered as blessings. Gratitude has already consecrated -their names, and their example inspires others with -emulation to pursue their courses.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The End</span></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="transnote"><p class="title">TRANSCRIBER NOTES:</p> - -<p>Printing errors have been corrected as noted below. Punctuation errors have been corrected without note.</p> - -<p>The Table of Contents has been added as an aid to the reader.</p> - -<p>Page 47: persued => perused (to her great surprise, perused the following lines).</p> - -<p>Page 67: assurdly => assuredly ("Most assuredly, my lord,")</p> - -<p>Page 83: iradiated => irradiated (it irradiated the gloomy morning of care,).</p> - -<p>Page 112: siezed => seized (an universal tremor seized her;).</p> - -<p>Page 163: pelieved => believed (They were all, for her part, she believed, alike;).</p> - -<p>Page 195: window => widow (A good jointure devolved to his widow,).</p> - -<p>Page 204: desirious => desirous (which she was desirous of concealing).</p> - -<p>Page 209: malignaney => malignancy (and Lady Euphrasia regarded her with peculiar malignancy).</p> - -<p>Page 219: predeilction => predilection (without any longer appearing anxious to conceal his predilection for her.)</p> - -<p>Page 219: suid => said ("Ah, you young people," said Lady Greystock).</p> - -<p>Page 222: suspicionof => suspicion of (and confusion of her face gave at least a suspicion of the language).</p> - -<p>Page 253: re-remove => remove (in hopes the amusement would remove her dejection.)</p> - -<p>Page 263: Fitzallan => Fitzalan ("I do declare, Miss Fitzalan,").</p> - -<p>Page 274: not => nor (Neither the world nor I am so credulous as you imagine.)</p> - -<p>Page 298: rerevive => revive (and called upon her to revive, that heart whispered me it was cruelty to wish she should).</p> - -<p>Page 309: to to => to (however, to his lordship).</p> - -<p>Page 310: flutered => fluttered (and the birds, as they fluttered from spray to spray).</p> - -<p>Page 323: villanous => villainous (when he found they not only resisted but resented his villainous designs.)</p> - -<p>Page 325: of of => of (attentions of Lord Mortimer).</p> - -<p>Page 327: far => for (she related the incident, and took much merit to herself for acting so prudently.)</p> - -<p>Page 341: tittle => title (surely I may be esteemed as a friend, and with such a title I will be contented).</p> - -<p>Page 357: t��te-��-t��te => tete-��-tete for consistency (to be indulged in a <i>tete-��-tete</i> in Lady Martha's dressing-room.)</p> - -<p>Page 358: everwhelm => overwhelm (thrown back upon her, perhaps, to overwhelm me also by its weight.)</p> - -<p>Page 362: he => be (because I know I should not be pardoned by a certain person).</p> - -<p>Page 378: perfidous => perfidious (the creuel, perfidious Cherbury).</p> - -<p>Page 387: thev => they (and may they never again meet with such interruptions as they have received).</p> - -<p>Page 395: replyed => replied (She replied she would attend her directly).</p> - -<p>Page 402: be => he (as if there was something on his mind he wanted courage to say.)</p> - -<p>Page 404: assseveration => asseveration (She was well convinced he would believe no asseveration of her innocence.)</p> - -<p>Page 415: stoped => stopped (She suddenly stopped before one.)</p> - -<p>Page 441: own => renown (May your virtues add to the renown of your ancestors).</p> - -<p>Page 467: biassed => biased (it was probable she might be biased.)</p> - -<p>Page 497: as => at (Amanda soon found herself at the end of her little journey.)</p> - -<p>Page 513: ...he has languished many months." "Oh, my brother!" exclaimed Amanda, while for tears gushed from her. => ...he has languished for many months." "Oh, my brother!" exclaimed Amanda, while tears gushed from her.</p> - -<p>Page 546: delighful => delightful (no delightful idea of being able to make reparation for my injustice).</p> - -<p>Page 557: to to => to (He desired Oscar to make no secret of his now being heir).</p> - -<p>Page 558: not = nor (Neither grief nor business could banish it a moment).</p> - -<p>Page 558: augumentation => augmentation (Is it not an augmentation of my misery?)</p> - -<p>Page 569: toubt => doubt (and what trials they had undergone, no doubt, to prove their constancy).</p> - -<p>Page 574: behold => beheld (when suddenly she beheld a form rising from a neighboring grave.)</p> - -<p>Page 583: proceeeded => proceeded (they crossed over to Port-Patrick, and from thence proceeded to Dunreath Abbey).</p> - -<p>Page 584: aud => and (rendered his own unconnected and wandering life more unpleasant than ever to him.)</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Children of the Abbey, by Regina Maria Roche - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN OF THE ABBEY *** - -***** This file should be named 60174-h.htm or 60174-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/1/7/60174/ - -Produced by David T. 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