"Thy presence only 'tis can make me blest,
Heal my unquiet mind, and tune my soul."--OTWAY.
The fatigue, distress, and agitation of Amanda could no longer be
struggled with; she sunk beneath their violence, and for a week was
confined to her bed by the fever which had seized her in England, and
ever since lurked in her veins. The whole sisterhood, who took it in
turn to attend her, vied with each other in kindness and care to the
poor invalid. Their efforts for her recovery were aided by a skilful
physician from the next town, who called, without being sent for, at the
convent. He said he had known Captain Fitzalan, and that, hearing that
Miss Fitzalan was indisposed, he had come in hopes he might be of
service to the daughter of a man he so much esteemed. He would accept of
no fee, and the prioress, who was a woman of sagacity, suspected, as
well as Amanda, that he came by the direction of Lord Mortimer. Nor were
they mistaken, for, distracted by apprehensions about her, he had taken
this method of lightening his fears, flattering himself, by the
excellent advice he had procured, her recovery would be much expedited,
and, of course, his suspense at least terminated. The doctor did not
withdraw his visits when Amanda was able to rise; he attended her
punctually, and often paid her long visits, which were of infinite
service to her spirits, as he was a man of much information and
cheerfulness. In a few days she was removed from her chamber into a
pleasant room below stairs, which opened into the garden, where, leaning
on the friendly doctor's arm, or one of the nuns', she walked at
different times a few minutes each day. Lord Mortimer, on hearing this,
thought he might now solicit an interview, and accordingly wrote for
that purpose:--
TO MISS FITZALAN.
Lord Mortimer presents his compliments to Miss Fitzalan,
flatters himself she will allow him personally to express the
sincere happiness her restoration to health has afforded him. He
cannot think she will refuse so reasonable a request. He is
almost convinced she would not hesitate a moment in granting it,
could she form an idea of the misery he has experienced on her
account, and the anxiety he feels, and must continue to feel,
till some expressions in the last interview are explained.
Castle Carberry, 10th May.
This letter greatly distressed Amanda. She had hoped the pain of again
rejecting his visits and requests would have been spared her. She
guessed at the expressions he alluded to in his letter; they were those
she had dropped relative to her promise to her father, and from the
impetuous and tender feelings of Lord Mortimer she easily conceived the
agony he would experience when he found this promise inviolable. She
felt more for his distress than her own. Her heart, seasoned in the
school of adversity, could bear its sorrows with calmness; but this was
not his case, and she paid the tribute of tears to a love so fervent, so
faithful, and so hopeless.
She then requested Sister Mary to acquaint his messenger that she
received no visits; that, as she was tolerably recovered, she entreated
his lordship would not take the trouble of continuing his inquiries
about her health, or to send her any more written messages, as she was
unable to answer them. The prioress, who was present when she received
the letter, commended her exceedingly for the fortitude and discretion
she had manifested. Amanda had deemed it necessary to inform her, after
the conversation she heard between her and Lord Mortimer, of the terms
on which they stood with each other; and the prioress, who doubted
whether his lordship was in reality as honorable as he professed
himself, thought Amanda on the sure side in declining his visits.
The next morning the doctor called as usual. He told Amanda he had
brought her an entertaining book, for no such thing could be procured at
St. Catherine's, and, as she had expressed her regret at this, from the
time she had been able to read he had supplied her from his library,
which was extensive and well chosen.
He did not present it to her till he was retiring, and then said, with a
significant smile, she would find it contained something worthy of her
particular attention. Amanda was alone, and immediately opened it. Great
was her astonishment when a letter dropped from it into her lap. She
snatched it up, and, perceiving the direction in Lord Mortimer's hand,
she hesitated whether she should open a letter conveyed in this manner;
but to return it unopened was surely a slight Lord Mortimer merited not,
and she broke the seal with a trembling hand and a palpitating heart:--
Unkind Amanda, to compel me to use stratagems in writing to you,
and destroy the delightful hopes which had sprung in my soul, at
the prospect of being about to receive a reward for my
sufferings. Am I ever to be involved in doubts and perplexity on
your account? Am I ever to see difficulty succeeded by
difficulty, and hope by disappointment?
You must be sensible of the anxiety I shall feel, until your
ambiguous expressions are fully explained, and yet you refuse
this explanation! But you have no pity for my feelings. Would it
not be more generous in you to permit an interview than to keep
me in suspense? To know the worst is some degree of ease;
besides, I should then have an opportunity of perhaps convincing
you that virtue, unlike vice, has its bounds, and that we may
sometimes carry our notions of honor and generosity too far, and
sacrifice our real happiness to chimerical ideas of them. Surely
I shall not be too presumptuous in saying that, if the regard
Amanda once flattered me with is undiminished, she will, by
rejecting a union with me, leave me not the only sufferer.
Oh! do not, my dear and too scrupulous girl, think a moment
longer of persevering in a resolution so prejudicial to your
welfare. Your situation requires particular protection: young,
innocent, and beautiful; already the object of licentious
pursuits; your nearest relations your greatest enemies; your
brother, from his unsettled line of life, unable to be near you.
Oh! my Amanda, from such a situation what evils may accrue?
Avoid them, by taking refuge in his arms, who will be to you a
tender friend and faithful guardian. Before such evils, the
obligation for keeping a promise to reject me, fades away,
particularly when the motives which led to such a promise are
considered. Captain Fitzalan, hurt by the unfortunate letter he
received from my father, extended his resentment to his son, and
called upon you without reflecting on the consequences of such a
measure to give me up. This is the only reason I can conceive
for his desiring such a promise, and had I but arrived while he
could have listened to my arguments, I am firmly convinced,
instead of opposing, he would have sanctioned our union, and
given his beloved girl to a man who, in every instance, would
study to evince his gratitude for such a gift, and to supply his
loss.
Happiness, my dear Amanda, is in long arrears with us. She is
now ready to make up for past deficiencies, if it is not our own
faults; let us not frighten her from performing her good
intentions, but hand in hand receive the lovely and long absent
guest to our bosoms.
You will not, cannot, must not, be inflexible; I shall expect,
as soon as you read this, a summons to St. Catherine's to
receive the ratification of my hopes. In everything respecting
our union I will be guided by you, except delaying it; what we
have both suffered already from deceit makes me doubly anxious
to secure you mine, lest another vile scheme should be formed to
effect our separation.
Oh! Amanda, the faintest prospect of calling you mine gives to
my heart a felicity no language can express. Refuse not being
mine except you bring me an addition of fortune; already rich in
every virtue, I shall, in obtaining you, obtain a treasure which
the wealthiest, the proudest, and the vainest of the sons of men
may envy me the possession of, and which the good, the sensible,
and elegant, must esteem the kindest gift indulgent heaven could
bestow on me. Banish all uneasy doubts and scruples, my Amanda,
from your mind, nor think a promise, which was demanded without
reflecting on the consequences that must attend it, can be
binding. The ingenuous soul of your father would have cancelled
it in a moment, had those consequences been represented to him;
and now, when our own reason convinces us of them, I make no
doubt, if departed souls are permitted to view the transactions
of this world, his spirit would behold our union with
approbation. Yes, my Amanda, I repeat your father's approving
spirit will smile upon an act which gives to his lovely and
beloved orphan a faithful friend and steady protector, in her
adoring
MORTIMER.
Castle Carberry, 11th May.
This letter deeply affected the sensibility, but could not shake the
resolution of Amanda. She would not have answered it, as she considered
any correspondence an infringement on the promises she had given her
father to decline any further intimacy with him; but from the warmth and
agitation displayed in his letter, it was evident to her that, if he did
not receive an immediate answer to it, he would come to St. Catherine's
and insist on seeing her; and she felt assured, that she could much
better deliver her sentiments upon paper than to him; she accordingly
wrote as follows:--
TO LORD MORTIMER.
MY LORD,--You cannot change my resolution; surely, when I
solemnly declare to you it is unalterable, you will spare me any
further importunity on so painful a subject. In vain, my lord,
would you, by sophistry, cloaked with tenderness for that
purpose, try to influence me. The arguments you have made use
of, I am convinced, you never would have adopted, had you not
been mistaken in regard to those motives which prompted my
father to ask a promise from me of declining any farther
connection with you. It was not from resentment, my lord; no,
his death was then fast approaching, and he, in charity for all
mankind, forgave those who had wounded him by unjust reproach
and accusation; it was a proper respect for his own character,
and not resentment, which influenced his conduct, as he was
convinced if I consented to an alliance with you, Lord Cherbury
would be confirmed in all the suspicions he entertained of his
having entangled you with me, and consequently load his memory
with contempt. Tenderness also for me actuated him; he was
acquainted with the proud heart of Lord Cherbury, and knew that
if, poor and reduced as I was, I entered his family I should be
considered and treated as a mean intruder. So thoroughly am I
convinced that he did not err in this idea, that, whenever
reason is predominant in my mind, I think, even if a promise did
not exist for such a purpose, I should decline your addresses;
for, though I could submit with cheerfulness to many
inconveniences for your sake, I never could support indignities.
We must part, my lord; Providence has appointed different paths
for us to pursue in life: yours smooth and flowery, if by
useless regrets you do not frustrate the intentions of the
benevolent Donor; mine rough and thorny; but both, though so
different, will lead to the same goal, where we shall again meet
to be no more separated.
Let not your lordship deem me either unkind or ungrateful; my
heart disavows the justice of such accusations, and is but too
sensible of your tenderness and generosity. Yes, my lord, I will
confess that no pangs can be more pungent than those which now
rend it, at being obliged to act against its feelings; but the
greater the sacrifice the greater the merit of submitting to it,
and a ray of self-approbation is perhaps the only sunshine of
the soul which will brighten my future days.
Never, my lord, should I enjoy this, if my promise to my father
was violated. There is but one circumstance which could set it
aside, that is, having a fortune, that even Lord Cherbury might
deem equivalent to your own to bring you; for then my father has
often said he would approve our union; but this is amongst the
improbabilities of this life, and we must endeavor to reconcile
ourselves to the destiny which separates us.
I hope your lordship will not attempt to see me again; you must
be sensible that your visits would be highly injurious to me.
Even the holy and solitary asylum which I have found would not
protect me from the malice which has already been so busy with
my peace and fame. Alas! I now need the utmost
vigilance--deprived as I am of those on whom I had claim of
protection, it behooves me to exert the utmost circumspection in
my conduct; he in whom I expected to have found a guardian,
Oscar, my dear unfortunate brother, is gone, I know not whither,
persecuted and afflicted by the perfidious monster who has been
such a source of misery to me! Oh, my lord, when I think what
his sufferings may now be, my heart sinks within me. Oh! had I
been the only sufferer I should not have felt so great a degree
of agony as I now endure; but I will not despair about my dear
Oscar. The Providence which has been so kind to his sister,
which so unexpectedly raised her friends at the moment she
deemed herself deprived of all earthly comfort, may to him have
been equally merciful. I have trespassed a long time upon your
lordship's attention, but I wished to be explicit, to avoid the
necessity of any further correspondence between us. You now know
my resolves; you also know my feelings; in pity to them spare me
any further conflicts. May the tranquil happiness you so truly
deserve soon be yours! Do not, my lord, because disappointed in
one wish, lose your sense of the many valuable blessings with
which you are surrounded, in fulfilling the claims which your
friends, your country, have upon you; show how truly you merit
those blessings, and banish all useless regrets from your heart.
Adieu, my lord!--suffer no uneasiness on my account. If Heaven
prolongs my life, I have no doubt but I shall find a little
comfortable shelter from the world, where, conscious I have
acted according to my principles of right, I shall enjoy the
serenity which ever attends self-approbation--a serenity which
no changes or chances in this life will, I trust, ever wrest
from
AMANDA FITZALAN.
St. Catherine's, May 12th.
She dispatched this by an old man who was employed in the garden at St.
Catherine's; but her spirits were so much affected by writing it, she
was obliged to go up and lie on the bed. She considered herself as
having taken a final adieu of Lord Mortimer, and the idea was too
painful to be supported with fortitude. Tender and fervent as his
attachment was now to her, she believed the hurry and bustle of the
world, in which he must be engaged, would soon eradicate it. A transfer
of his affections, to one equal to himself in rank and fortune, was a
probable event, and of course a total expulsion of her from his memory
would follow. A deadly coldness stole upon her heart at the idea of
being forgotten by him, and produced a flood of tears. She then began to
accuse herself of inconsistency. She had often thought, if Lord Mortimer
was restored to happiness, she should feel more tranquil. And now, when
the means of effecting this restoration occurred, she trembled and
lamented as if it would increase her misery. "I am selfish," said she to
herself, "in desiring the prolongation of an affection which must ever
be hopeless. I am weak in regretting the probability of its transfer, as
I can never return it."
To conquer those feelings, she found she must banish Lord Mortimer from
her thoughts. Except she succeeded in some degree in this, she felt she
never should be able to exert the fortitude her present situation
demanded. She now saw a probability of her existence being prolonged,
and the bread of idleness or dependence could never be sweet to Amanda
Fitzalan.
She had lain about an hour on the bed, and was about rising and
returning to the parlor, when Sister Mary entered the chamber, and
delivered her a letter. Ere Amanda looked at the superscription, her
agitated heart foretold her whom it came from. She was not mistaken in
her conjecture; but as she held it in her hand, she hesitated whether
she should open it or not. "Yet," said she to herself, "it can be no
great harm. He cannot, after what I have declared, suppose my resolution
to be shaken. He writes to assure me of his perfect acquiescence to it."
Sister Mary left her at the instant her deliberations ended, by opening
the letter.
TO MISS FITZALAN.
Inexorable Amanda! but I will spare both you and myself the pain
of farther importunity. All I now request is, that for three
months longer at least, you will continue at St. Catherine's; or
that, if you find a much longer residence there unpleasant, you
will, on quitting it, leave directions where to be found. Ere
half the above-mentioned period be elapsed, I trust I shall be
able satisfactorily to account for such a request. I am quitting
Castle Carberry immediately. I shall leave it with a degree of
tranquillity that would perhaps surprise you, after what has so
lately passed, if in this one instance you will oblige your ever
faithful
MORTIMER.
This laconic letter astonished Amanda. By its style it was evident Lord
Mortimer had recovered his cheerfulness--recovered it not from a
determination of giving her up, but from a hope of their again meeting,
as they could both wish. A sudden transport rushed upon her heart at
such an idea, but quickly died away when she reflected it was almost
beyond the possibility of things to bring about a pleasing interview
between them. She knew Lord Mortimer had a sanguine temper, and though
it might mislead him, she resolved it should not mislead her. She could
not form the most distant surmise of what he had now in agitation; but
whatever it was, she firmly believed it would end in disappointment. To
refuse every request of his was painful; but propriety demanded she
should not accede to the last, for one step, she wisely considered, from
the line of prudence she had marked out for herself to take, might
plunge her in difficulties from which she would find it impossible to
extricate herself. With an unsteady hand she returned the following
answer:--
TO LORD MORTIMER.
MY LORD,--I cannot comply with your request. You may, if you
please, repeat inexorable Amanda. I had rather incur the
imputation of obstinacy than imprudence, and think it much
better to meet your accusation, than deserve my own. How long I
may reside at St. Catherine's is to myself unknown. When I quit
it, I certainly will not promise to leave any directions where
you may find me.
The obstacles which have rendered our separation necessary, are,
I am convinced, beyond your lordship's power to conquer. Except
they were removed, any farther interviews between us would be
foolish and imprudent in the extreme. I rejoice to hear you are
leaving the castle. I also rejoice, but am not surprised, to
hear of your tranquillity. From your good sense I expected you
would make exertions against useless regrets, and those
exertions I knew would be attended with success; but, as some
return for the sincere pleasure I feel for your restoration to
tranquillity, seek not to disturb again that of
AMANDA FITZALAN.
St. Catherine's, May 12th.
Scarcely had she sealed this letter when she was called to dinner; but
though she obeyed the summons she could not eat. The exertions her
writing to Lord Mortimer required, and the agitation his letter had
thrown her into, quite exhausted her strength and spirits. The nuns
withdrew soon after dinner, and left her alone with the prioress. In a
few minutes after their departure, the old gardener returned from Castle
Carberry, where he had been delivering her letter. After informing her
he had put it safely into his lordship's hands, he added, with a look
which seemed to indicate a fear lest she should be distressed, that he
had received neither letter nor message from him, though he waited a
long time in expectation of receiving either one or the other; but he
supposed, he said, his lordship was in too great a hurry just then to
give any answer, as a chaise and four was waiting to carry him to
Dublin.
Amanda burst into tears as the man retired from the room. She saw she
had written to Lord Mortimer for the last time, and she could not
suppress this tribute of regret. She was firmly convinced, indeed, she
should behold him no more. The idea of visiting her she was sure, nay,
she hoped, he would relinquish, when he found, which she supposed would
soon be the case, the schemes or hopes which now buoyed up his spirits
impossible to be realized.
The prioress sympathized in her sorrow; though not from her own
experience, yet from the experience of others, she knew how dangerous
and bewitching a creature man is, and how difficult it is to remove the
chains which he twines around the female heart. To remove those which
lay so heavy upon the delicate and susceptible heart of her young
friend, without leaving a corrosive wound, was her sincere wish, and by
strengthening her resolution, she hoped success would crown their
endeavors.
Two hours were elapsed since her messenger's return from the castle,
when Sister Mary entered the room with a large packet, which she put
into Amanda's hands, saying, it was given her by Lord Mortimer's
servant, who rode off the moment he delivered it.
Sister Mary made no scruple of saying, she should like to know what such
a weighty packet contained. The prioress chide her in a laughing manner
for her curiosity, and drew her into the garden, to give Amanda an
opportunity of examining the contents.
She was surprised, on breaking the seal, to perceive a very handsome
pocket-book in a blank cover, and found unsealed, a letter to this
effect:--
TO MISS FITZALAN.
I have put it out of your power to return this, by departing
long ere you receive it. Surely, if you have the laudable pride
you profess, you will not hesitate to use the contents of the
pocket-book, as the only means of avoiding a weight of
obligations from strangers. Though discarded as a lover, surely
I may be esteemed as a friend, and with such a title I will be
contented till I can lay claim to a tenderer one. You start at
this last expression, and I have no doubt you will call me a
romantic visionary, for entertaining hopes which you have so
positively assured me can never be realized; but ere I resign
them, I must have something more powerful than this assurance,
my sweet Amanda, to convince me of their fallacy. I was
inexpressibly shocked this morning to learn by your letter, that
your brother had met with misfortune. My blood boils with
indignation against the monster who has, to use your emphatical
expression, been such a source of misery to you both. I shall
make it my particular care to try and discover the place to
which Mr. Fitzalan is gone, and in what situation. By means of
the agents, or some of the officers belonging to the regiment, I
flatter myself with being able to gain some intelligence of him.
I need not add, that, to the utmost extent of my power I will
serve him. My success in this affair, as well as in that which
concerns a much dearer being, you may be convinced you shall
soon hear. Adieu, my Amanda; I cannot say, like Hamlet, "Go, get
you to a nunnery;" but I can say, "Stay there, I charge you."
Seriously, I could wish, except you find your present situation
very unpleasant and inconvenient, not to change it for a short
time. I think, for a temporary abode, you could not find a more
eligible one; and, as I shall be all impatience when I return to
Ireland to see you, a search after you would be truly
insupportable. You have already refused to inform me of your
determination relative to this matter; surely I may venture to
request it may be as I wish, when I assure you, that, except I
can see you in a manner pleasing to both, I never will force
into your presence him, who, let things turn out as they may,
must ever continue Your faithful
MORTIMER.
"Gracious Heaven!" said Amanda to herself, "what can he mean? What
scheme can he have in agitation which will remove the obstacles to our
union? He here seems to speak of a certainty of success. Oh, grant,
merciful Power!" she continued, raising her meek eyes to heaven, while a
rosy blush stole upon her cheeks, "grant that indeed he may be
successful. He talks of returning to Ireland; still," proceeded she,
reading over the letter, "of requiring something more powerful than my
assurance to convince him of the fallacy of his hopes. Surely, Lord
Mortimer would not be so cruel as to raise expectations in my bosom
without those in his own were well founded. No, dear Mortimer, I will
not call you a romantic visionary, but the most amiable, the most
generous of men, who for poor Amanda encounters difficulties and
sacrifices every splendid expectation." She rejoiced at the intention he
had declared of seeking out Oscar. She looked forward either to a speedy
interview, or speedy intelligence of this beloved brother, as she knew
Lord Mortimer would seek him with the persevering spirit of benevolence,
and leave no means untried to restore him to her.
She now examined the contents of the pocket-book. It contained a number
of small bills, to the amount of two hundred pounds,--a large present,
but one so delicately presented, that even her ideas of propriety could
scarcely raise a scruple against her accepting it. They did, however,
suggest one. Uncertain how matters would yet terminate between her and
Lord Mortimer, she was unwilling to receive pecuniary obligations from
him. But when she reflected on his noble and feeling heart, she knew she
should severely wound it by returning his present; she therefore
resolved on keeping it, making a kind of compromise with her feelings
about the matter, by determining that, except entitled to receive them,
she would never more accept favors of this nature from his lordship. The
present one, indeed, was a most seasonable relief, and removed from her
heart a load of anxiety which had weighed on it. After paying her
father's funeral expenses, the people with whom he lodged, and the
apothecary who had attended him, she found herself mistress of but
twenty guineas in the whole world, and more than half of this she
considered as already due to the benevolent sisters of St. Catherine's,
who were ill able to afford any additional expense.
She had resolved to force them to accept, what indeed she deemed a poor
return for their kindness to her, and she then intended to retire to
some obscure hovel in the neighborhood, as better suited to the state of
her finances, and continue there till her health was sufficiently
restored to enable her to make exertions for her livelihood. But she
shuddered at the idea of leaving St. Catherine's and residing amongst a
set of boors. She felt sensations something similar to those we may
suppose a person would feel who was about being committed to a
tempestuous ocean without any means of security.
Lord Mortimer had prevented the necessity which had prompted her to
think of a removal, and she now resolved to reside, at least for the
time he had mentioned, in the convent, during which she supposed her
uncertainties relative to him would be over, and that, if it was not her
fate to be his, she should, by the perfect re-establishment of her
health, be enabled to use her abilities in the manner her situation
required. Tears of heartfelt gratitude and sensibility flowed down her
cheeks for him who had lightened her mind of the care which had so
oppressed it.
She at length recollected the prioress had retired into the garden from
complaisance to her, and yet continued in it, waiting no doubt to be
summoned back to her. She hastily wiped away her tears, and folding up
the precious letter which was bedewed with them, repaired to the garden,
resolving not to communicate its contents, as the divulgement of
expectations (considering how liable all human ones are to be
disappointed) she ever considered a piece of folly.
She found the prioress and Sister Mary seated under a broken and
ivy-covered arch. "Jesu! my dear," said the latter, "I thought you would
never come to us. Our good mother has been keeping me here in spite of
my teeth, though I told her the sweet cakes I made for tea would be
burned by this time, and that, supposing you were reading a letter from
Lord Mortimer, there could be no harm in my seeing you." Amanda relieved
the impatient Mary, and she took her seat. The prioress cast her
piercing eyes upon her. She perceived she had been weeping, and that joy
rather than sorrow caused her tears. She was too delicate to inquire
into its source; but she took Amanda's hand, and gave it a pressure,
which seemed to say, "I see, my dear child, you have met with something
which pleases you, and my heart sympathizes as much in your happiness as
in your grief."
Amanda returned the affectionate pressure with one equally tender and a
starting tear. They were soon called by Sister Mary to partake of her
hot cakes, which she had made indeed in hopes of tempting Amanda to eat
after her bad dinner. The whole community were assembled at tea when the
doctor entered the parlor. Amanda blushed and looked grave at his first
entrance; but he soon rallied her out of her gravity. And when the
prioress and the nuns, according to custom, had withdrawn to evening
vespers, he said, with a significant smile, "he feared she had not
attended as much as he wished she should to the contents of the book he
had last brought her." She saw by his manner he was acquainted with her
situation relative to Lord Mortimer, and therefore replied by saying,
"that perhaps, if he knew the motives which influenced her conduct, he
would not think her wrong in disregarding what he had just mentioned."
She also said, "she detested all kinds of stratagem, and was really
displeased with him for practising one upon her." "In a good cause," he
said, "he should never hesitate using one. Lord Mortimer was the finest
young fellow he had ever seen, and had won his favor, and the best
wishes of his heart, from the first moment that he beheld him. He made
me contrive," continued the doctor, "a story to gain admission to your
ladyship, and when I found him so dreadfully anxious about you, I gave
you credit (as I had then no opportunity of judging for myself) for all
the virtues and graces he ascribed to you, and which I have since
perceived you to possess. You smile, and look as if you would call me a
flatterer; seriously, I assure you I am not one. I really think you
worthy of Lord Mortimer, and I assure you that is as great a compliment
as could be paid any woman. His mind was troubled with grief; he
revealed his troubles and perplexities to me, and after hearing them, no
good Christian ever prayed more devoutly for another than I prayed for
your recovery, that all your sorrows, like a novel, might terminate in
marriage." "You are obliging in your wishes," said Amanda, smiling.
"Faith, I am sincere in them," exclaimed he, "and do not know when I
have been so disconcerted as at things not turning out smoothly between
you and his lordship; but I will not despair. In all my troubles, and
Heaven has given me my share, I ever looked to the bright side of
things, and shall always do so for my friends. I yet expect to see you
settled at Castle Carberry, and to be appointed myself physician-general
to your ladyship's household." The mention of an event yet so uncertain
greatly agitated Amanda; she blushed and turned pale alternately, and
convinced her good-natured but loquacious friend, he had touched a chord
which could not bear vibration. He hastily changed the discourse, and as
soon as he saw her composed, rose to take his leave. Amanda detained him
for a minute, to try and prevail on him to take a ten-guinea note; but
he was inflexible, and said with some archness, "till the disorder which
preyed upon Lord Mortimer's heart was in some degree alleviated, he
would receive no recompense for his visits, which he assured Amanda,
from time to time, he would continue to pay her, adding, a certain
person had enjoined him now and then to take a peep within the holy
walls of St. Catherine's."
The next morning Amanda set about a temporary arrangement of her
affairs. She presented thirty guineas to the sisterhood, which, with
much difficulty, she forced them to accept, though, in reality, it was
much required by them. But when she came to speak of paying for a
continuance, they positively declared they would agree to no such thing,
as she had already so liberally rewarded them for any expense they had
incurred on her account. She told them that if they would not agree to
be paid for lodging and board, she would certainly leave them, though
such a step was contrary to her inclinations; she assured them also she
was at present well able to pay.
At last it was settled she should give them at the rate of forty pounds
a-year--a salary they thought extremely ample, considering the plain
manner in which they lived. She then had all the things which belonged
to her father and herself brought to the convent, and had the former,
with whatever she did not immediately want, nailed up in a large chest,
that on a short notice they might be removed. Her harp and guitar she
had, in her distress, proposed sending back to the person in Dublin from
whom they were purchased, to sell for her; but she now determined to
keep those presents of her beloved father, except again urged by
necessity to part with them. She had a variety of materials for painting
and working, and proposed employing herself in executing pieces in each
way, not only as a means of amusing her time, but as a resource on an
evil day; thus wisely making use of the present sunshine, lest another
storm should arise which she should not be so well able to struggle
against.