"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.