"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.