"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.