"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."