"As one condemned to leap a precipice,
Who sees before his eyes the depths below,
Stops short, and looks about for some kind shrub
To break his dreadful fall."--DRYDEN.
Amanda went to her chamber the moment Lord Mortimer departed: the nuns
were already retired to rest, so that the stillness which reigned
through the house added to the awfulness of her feelings, as she sat
down to peruse a letter which she had been previously informed would fix
her fate.
TO MISS FITZALAN.
To destroy a prospect of felicity, at the very moment its
enveloping glooms are dispersed, is indeed the source of pangs
most dreadful; yet such are the horrors of my destiny, that
nothing but intervening between you, Mortimer and happiness, can
save me from perdition. Appalled at this dreadful assertion, the
letter drops from your trembling hands; but oh! dear Miss
Fitzalan, cast it not utterly aside till you peruse the rest of
the contents, and fix the destiny of the most wretched of
mankind, wretched in thinking he shall interrupt not only your
peace, but the peace of a son so noble, so gracious, so idolized
as Mortimer is by him; but I will not longer torture your
feelings by keeping you in suspense; the preface I have already
given is sufficient, and I will be explicit: gambling, that
bane of fame and fortune, has been my ruin; but whilst I
indulged, so well did I conceal my propensity for it, that even
those I called my friends were ignorant of it. With shame I
confess I was ever foremost to rail against this vice, which was
continually drawing sums in secret from me, that would have
given comfort and affluence to many a child in want. For some
time my good and bad fortune were so equal, that my income
suffered no considerable diminution. About five years ago a Mr.
Freelove, a particular friend of mine, died, and left to my care
his only son, whom, I dare say, you may recollect having seen at
my house last winter. This young man's property was consigned to
my care, to manage as much for his advantage as I could; it
consisted of a large estate and fifty thousand pounds. At the
period Freelove became my ward, I had had a constant run of
ill-luck for many months. The ardor of gaming (unlike every
other passion) is rather increased than diminished by
disappointment. Without being warned, therefore, by ill-success,
I still went on, till all I could touch of my own property was
gone. Did I then retire, ashamed of my folly? No. I could not
bear to do so, without another effort to recover my losses, and
in that effort risked something more precious than I had ever
yet done--namely, my honor, by using the money which lay in my
hands belonging to Freelove; the long period which was to elapse
ere he came of age, emboldened me to this. Ere that period I
trusted I should have retrieved my losses, and be enabled not
only to discharge the principal, but whatever interest it would
have brought, if applied to another purpose. I followed the bent
of my evil genius, sum after sum taken up, and all alike buried
in the accursed vortex which had already swallowed so much from
me! But when I found all was gone, oh, Miss Fitzalan! I still
tremble at the distraction of that moment.
All, as I have said before, that I could touch of my property
was gone; the remainder was so settled I had no power over it,
except joined by my son. Great as was the injury that he would
sustain by mortgaging it, I was confident he never would
hesitate doing so if acquainted with my distress; but to let him
know it was worse than a death of torture could be to me; his
early excellence, the nobleness of his principles, mingled in
the love I felt for him a degree of awe; to confess myself a
villain to such a character, to acknowledge my life had been a
scene of deceit; to be abashed, confounded in the presence of my
son--to meet his piercing eye--to see the blush of shame mantle
his cheeks for his father's crimes--Oh, horrible!--most
horrible! I raved at the idea, and resolved, if driven by
necessity to tell him of my baseness, not to survive the
confession. At this critical juncture the Marquis of Roslin came
from Scotland to reside in London. An intimacy which had been
dormant for years between our families was then revived, and I
soon found that an alliance between them would be pleasing. The
prospect of it raised me from the very depth of despair. But my
transports were of short continuance, for Mortimer not only
showed but expressed the strongest repugnance to such a
connection. Time and daily experience, I trusted, would so
forcibly convince him of the advantages of it, as at last to
conquer this repugnance. Nor did the hope of an alliance taking
place entirely forsake my heart, till informed that his was
already bestowed upon another object. My feelings at this
information I shall not attempt to describe. All hope of saving
myself from dishonor was now cut off; for though dutiful and
attentive to me in the highest degree, I could not flatter
myself that Mortimer would blindly sacrifice his reason and
inclination to my will. The most fatal intentions again took
possession of my mind; but the uncertainties he suffered on your
account kept me in horrible suspense as to their execution.
After some months of torture, I began again to revive, by
learning that you and Mortimer were inevitably separated. And
such is the selfish nature of vice; so abandoned is it to all
feelings of humanity, that I rather rejoiced at, than lamented
the supposed disgrace of the daughter of my friend. But the
persevering constancy of Mortimer--rather let me say the
immediate interposition of Providence--soon gave her reason to
triumph over the arts of her enemies, and I was again reduced to
despair. Mortimer, I dare say, from motives of delicacy, has
concealed from you the opposition I gave to his wishes after
your innocence was cleared, and the intentions of Lady Martha
Dormer relative to you were made known. At last I found I must
either seem to acquiesce in these wishes and intentions, or
divulge my real motive for opposing them; or else quarrel with
my son and sister, and appear in their eyes the most selfish of
human beings. I, therefore, to appearance acquiesced, but
resolved in reality to throw myself upon your mercy, believing
that a character so tender, so perfect, so heroic-like as yours
has been, through every scene of distress, would have compassion
on a fallen fellow-creature. Was my situation otherwise than it
now is--were you even portionless--I should rejoice at having
you united to my family, from your own intrinsic merit. Situated
as I now am, the fortune Lady Martha Dormer proposes giving you
can be of no consequence to me. The projected match between you
and Mortimer is yet a secret from the public--of course it has
not lessened his interest with the Roslin family. I have already
been so fortunate as to adjust the unlucky difference which took
place between them, and remove any resentment they entertained
against him; and I am confident the first overture he should
make for a union with Lady Euphrasia would be successful. The
fortune which would immediately be received with her is sixty
thousand pounds, and five thousand a-year. The first would be
given up to me in place of the settlement I should make on Lord
Mortimer; so that you see, my dear Miss Fitzalan, his marriage
with Lady Euphrasia would at once extricate me from all my
difficulties. Freelove in a few months will be of age, and the
smallest delay in settling with him, after he attains that
period, must brand me with dishonor. I stand upon the verge of a
dreadful abyss, and it is in your power only to preserve me from
plunging into it--you who, like an angel of mercy, may bid me
live, and save me from destruction. Yet think not in resigning
Lord Mortimer, if, indeed, such a resignation should take place,
you sacrifice your own interest. No; it shall be my grateful
care to secure to you independence; and I am confident, among
the many men you must meet, sensible of your worth, and
enraptured with your charms, you may yet select one as
calculated to render you happy as Mortimer; while he,
disappointed of the object of his affections, will, I have no
doubt, without longer hesitation, accept the one I shall again
propose to him. But should you determine on giving him up, you
ask how, and by what means, you can break with him after what
has passed, without revealing your real motive for doing so to
him. That is indeed a difficulty; but after going so far, I must
not hesitate in telling you how it can be removed. You must
retire secretly from his knowledge, and leave no clue behind by
which you can be traced. If you comply with the first of my
requests, but stop short here, you will defeat all that your
mercy, your pity, your compassion, would do to save me, since
the consequence of any hesitation must be a full explanation,
and I have already said it, and now repeat it in the most solemn
manner, that I will not survive the divulgement of my
secret--for never, no, never will I live humbled in the eyes of
my son. If, then, you comply, comply not in part. Pardon me,
dear Miss Fitzalan, if you think there is anything arbitrary in
my style. I would have softened, if I could, all I had to say,
but the time, the danger, the necessity, urged me to be
explicit. I have now to you, as to a superior Being, opened my
whole heart. It rests with you whether I shall live to atone
for my follies, or by one desperate action terminate them.
Should you show me mercy, unworthy as I am of it--should you in
compassion to poor Mortimer, comply with a request which can
only save him from the pangs he would feel at a father's
quitting life unbidden, my gratitude, my admiration, my
protection whilst I live, will be yours, and the first act of my
restored life will be to secure you a competence. I shall wait
with trembling anxiety for your appearance tomorrow night. Till
then, believe me
Your sincere, though most unhappy friend,
CHERBURY.
The fatal letter fell from Amanda. A mist overspread her eyes, and she
sunk senseless on her chair; but the privation of her misery was of
short duration, and she recovered as if from a dreadful dream. She felt
cold, trembling, and terrified. She looked round the room with an eye of
apprehension and dismay, bewildered as to the cause of her wretchedness
and terror, till the letter at her feet again struck her sight.
"Was there no way," she asked herself, as she again examined the
contents, "was there no way by which the dreadful sacrifice it doomed
her to could be avoided?" Lady Martha and Lord Mortimer would unite
their efforts to save the honor of their wretched relative; they would
soothe his feelings; they would compassionate his failings; they
would----; but she started in the midst of these ideas--started as from
ideas fraught with guilt and horror, as those fatal words rushed upon
her mind--"I will not survive the divulgement of my secret;" and she
found that to save the father she must resign the son. How unworthy of
such a sacrifice! engaged as she was to Lord Mortimer, she began to
doubt whether she had a right to make it. What a doubt! She shuddered
for having conceived it, and reproached herself for yielding a moment to
the suggestions of tenderness which had given rise to it. She resolved
without a farther struggle to submit to reason and to virtue, convinced
that, if accessory to Lord Cherbury's death, nothing could assuage her
wretchedness, and that the unhappiness Lord Mortimer would suffer at
losing her would be trifling compared to that he would feel if he lost
his father by an act of suicide.
"In my fate," exclaimed she, in the low and broken accent of despair,
"there is no alternative. I submit to it without a farther struggle; I
dare not call upon one being to advise me. I resign him, therefore," she
continued, as if Lord Cherbury was really present to hear her
resignation; "I resign Lord Mortimer, but, oh, my God!" raising her
hands with agony to heaven, "give me fortitude to bear the horrors of my
situation! Oh, Mortimer! dear, invaluable Mortimer! the hand of fate is
against our union, and we must part, never, never more to meet! From
the imputation of ingratitude and guilt I shall not be allowed to
vindicate myself. No, I am completely the victim of Lord Cherbury--the
cruel, perfidious Cherbury, whose treachery, whose seeming acquiescence
in the wishes of his son, has given me joy but to render my misery more
acute!"
That Lord Mortimer would impute withdrawing herself from him to an
attachment for Belgrave she was convinced, and that her fame as well as
peace should be sacrificed to Lord Cherbury, caused such a whirl of
contending passions in her mind, that reason and reflection for a few
minutes yielded to their violence, and she resolved to vindicate herself
to Lord Mortimer. This resolution, however, was of short continuance. As
her subsiding passions again gave her power to reflect, she was
convinced that by trying to clear herself of an imaginary crime, she
should commit a real one--since to save her own character Lord
Cherbury's must be stigmatized; and the consequence of such an act he
had already declared--so that not only by the world, but by her own
conscience, she should forever be accused of accelerating his death.
"It must, it must be made!" she wildly cried; "the sacrifice must be
made, and Mortimer is lost to me forever." She flung herself on the bed,
and passed the hours till morning in agonies too great for description.
From a kind of stupefaction rather than sleep, into which she had
gradually sunk towards morning, she was roused by a gentle tap at her
chamber door, and the voice of Sister Mary informing her that Lord
Mortimer was below, and impatient for his breakfast.
Amanda started from the bed, and bid her tell his lordship she would
attend him immediately. She then adjusted her dress, tried to calm her
spirits, and, with uplifted hands and eyes, besought Heaven to support
her through the trials of the day.
Weak and trembling she descended to the parlor. The moment she entered
it, Lord Mortimer, shocked and surprised by her altered looks,
exclaimed, "Gracious Heaven! what is the matter?" Then feeling the
feverish heat of her hands, continued, "Why, why, Amanda, had you the
cruelty to conceal your illness? Proper assistance might have prevented
its increasing to such a degree." With unutterable tenderness he folded
his arms about her, and, while her drooping head sunk on his bosom,
declared he would immediately send for the physician who had before
attended her.
"Do not," said Amanda, while tears trickled down her cheeks, "do not,"
continued she, in a broken voice, "for he could do me no good." "No
good!" repeated Lord Mortimer, in a terrified accent. "I mean," cried
she, "he would find it unnecessary to prescribe anything for me, as my
illness only proceeds from the agitation I suffered yesterday. It made
me pass an indifferent night, but quietness to-day will recover me."
Lord Mortimer was with difficulty persuaded to give up his intention;
nor would he relinquish it till she had promised, if not better before
the evening, to inform him, and let the physician be sent for.
They now sat down to breakfast, at which Amanda was unable either to
preside or eat. When over, she told Lord Mortimer she must retire to her
chamber, as rest was essential for her; but between nine and ten in the
evening she would be happy to see him. He tried to persuade her that she
might rest as well upon the sofa in the parlor as in her chamber, and
that he might then be allowed to sit with her; but she could not be
persuaded to this, she said, and begged he would excuse seeing her till
the time she had already mentioned.
He at last retired with great reluctance, but not till she had several
times desired him to do so.
Amanda now repaired to her chamber, but not to indulge in the supineness
of grief, though her heart felt bursting, but to settle upon some plan
for her future conduct. In the first place, she immediately meant to
write to Lord Cherbury, as the best method she could take of acquainting
him with her compliance, and preventing any conversation between them,
which would now have been insupportable to her.
In the next place, she designed acquainting the prioress with the sudden
alteration in her affairs, only concealing the occasion of that
alteration, and, as but one day intervened between the present and the
one fixed for her journey, meant to beseech her to think of some place
to which she might retire from Lord Mortimer.
Yet such was the opinion she knew the prioress entertained of Lord
Mortimer, that she almost dreaded she would impute her resignation of
him to some criminal motive, and abandon her entirely. If this should be
the case (and scarcely could she be surprised if it was), she resolved
without delay to go privately to the neighboring town, and from thence
proceed immediately to Dublin. How she should act there, or what would
become of her, never entered her thoughts; they were wholly engrossed
about the manner in which she should leave St. Catherine's.
But she hoped, much as appearances were against her, she should not be
deserted by the prioress. Providence, she trusted, would be so
compassionate to her misery, as to preserve her this one friend, who
could not only assist but advise her.
As soon as she had settled the line of conduct she should pursue, she
sat down to pen her renunciation of Lord Mortimer, which she did in the
following words:--
TO THE EARL OF CHERBURY.
MY LORD,--To your wishes I resign my happiness; my happiness, I
repeat, for it is due to Lord Mortimer to declare that a union
with such a character as his must have produced the highest
felicity. It is also due to my own to declare, that it was
neither his rank nor his fortune, but his virtues, which
influenced my inclination in his favor.
Happy had it been for us all, my lord, but particularly for me,
had you continued steady in opposing the wishes of your son. My
reverence for paternal authority is too great ever to have
allowed me to act in opposition to it. I should not then, by
your seeming acquiescence to them, have been tempted to think my
trials all over.
But I will not do away any little merit your lordship may
perhaps ascribe to my immediate compliance with your request, by
dwelling upon the sufferings it entails on me. May the
renunciation of my hopes be the means of realizing your
lordship's, and may superior fortune bring superior happiness to
Lord Mortimer!
I thank your lordship for your intentions relative to me; but
whilst I do so, must assure you, both now and forever, I shall
decline having them executed for me.
I shall not disguise the truth. It would not be in your
lordship's power to recompense the sacrifice I have made you;
and, besides, pecuniary obligations can never sit easy upon a
feeling mind, except they are conferred by those we know value
us, and whom we value ourselves. I have the honor to be, your
lordship's obedient servant,
AMANDA FITZALAN.
The tears she had with difficulty restrained while writing, now burst
forth. She rose and walked to the window, to try if the air would remove
the faintness which oppressed her. From it she perceived Lord Mortimer
and the prioress in deep conversation, at a little distance from the
convent. She conjectured she was their subject; for, as Lord Mortimer
retired, the prioress, whom she had not seen that day before, came into
her chamber. After the usual salutations--"Lord Mortimer has been
telling me you were ill," said she. "I trusted a lover's fears had
magnified the danger; but truly, my dear child, I am sorry to say that
this is not the case. Tell me, my dear, what is the matter? Surely now,
more than ever, you should be careful of your health." "Oh, no!" said
Amanda, with a convulsive sob. "Oh, no" wringing her hands, "you are
sadly mistaken." The prioress grew alarmed, her limbs began to tremble,
she was unable to stand, and, dropping on the nearest chair, besought
Amanda, in a voice expressive of her feelings, "to explain the reason of
her distress."
Amanda knelt before her, she took her hands, she pressed them to her
burning forehead and lips, and bedewed them with her tears, while she
exclaimed, "she was wretched." "Wretched!" repeated the prioress. "For
Heaven's sake be explicit--keep me no longer in suspense--you sicken my
very heart by your agitation--it foretells something dreadful!"
"It does indeed," said Amanda. "It foretells that Lord Mortimer and I
shall never be united!"
The prioress started, and surveyed Amanda with A look which seemed to
say, "she believed she had lost her senses;" then, with assumed
composure, begged "she would defer any farther explanation of her
distress till her spirits were in a calmer state." "I will not rise,"
cried Amanda, taking the prioress's hand, which, in her surprise, she
had involuntarily withdrawn. "I will not rise till you say that,
notwithstanding the mysterious situation in which I am involved, you
will continue to be my friend. Oh! such an assurance would assuage the
sorrows of my heart."
The prioress now perceived that it was grief alone which disordered
Amanda; but how she had met with any cause for grief, or what could
occasion it, were matters of astonishment to her. "Surely my dear
child," cried she, "should know me too well to desire such an assurance;
but, however mysterious her situation may appear to others, she will
not, I trust and believe, let it appear so to me. I wait with impatience
for an explanation." "It is one of my greatest sorrows," exclaimed
Amanda, "that I cannot give such an explanation. No, no," she continued
in an agony, "a death-bed confession would not authorize my telling you
the occasion of Lord Mortimer's separation and mine." The prioress now
insisted on her taking a chair, and then begged, as far as she could,
without farther delay, she would let her into her situation.
Amanda immediately complied. "An unexpected obstacle to her union with
Lord Mortimer," she said, "had arisen, an obstacle which, while
compelled to submit to it, she was bound most solemnly to conceal." It
was expedient, therefore, she should retire from Lord Mortimer, without
giving him the smallest intimation of such an intention, lest, if he
suspected it, he should inquire too minutely, and by so doing, plunge
not only her but himself into irremediable distress. To avoid this, it
was necessary all but the prioress should be ignorant of her scheme: and
by her means she hoped she should be put in away of finding such a
place of secrecy and security as she should require. She besought the
prioress, with streaming eyes, not to impute her resignation of Lord
Mortimer to any unworthy motive; to that Heaven, which could alone
console her for his loss, she appealed for her innocence. She besought
her to believe her sincere; to pity, but not condemn her; to continue
her friend now, when her friendship was most needful in this her deep
distress, and she assured her, if it was withdrawn, she believed she
could no longer struggle with her sorrows.
The prioress remained silent for a few minutes, and then addressed her
in a solemn voice. "I own, Miss Fitzalan, your conduct appears so
inexplicable, so astonishing, that nothing but the opinion I have formed
of your character, from seeing the manner in which you have acted since
left to yourself, could prevent my esteem from being diminished; but I
am persuaded you cannot act from a bad motive, therefore, till that
persuasion ceases, my esteem can know no diminution. From this
declaration you maybe convinced that, to the utmost of my power, I will
serve you; yet, ere you finally determine and require such service,
weigh well what you are about; consider in the eyes of the world you are
about acting a dishonorable part, in breaking your engagement with Lord
Mortimer without assigning some reason for doing so. Nothing short of a
point of conscience should influence you to this." "Nothing short of it
has," replied Amanda; "therefore pity, and do not aggravate my feelings,
by pointing out the consequences which will attend the sacrifice I am
compelled to make; only promise (taking the prioress's hand),--only
promise, in this great and sad emergency, to be my friend."
Her looks, her words, her agonies, stopped short all the prioress was
going to say. She thought it would be barbarity any longer to dwell upon
the ill consequences of an action, which she was now convinced some
fatal necessity compelled her to; she therefore gave her all the
consolation now in her power, by assuring her she would immediately
think about some place for her to retire to, and would keep all that had
passed between them a profound secret. She then insisted on Amanda's
lying down, and trying to compose herself; she brought her drops to
take, and drawing the curtains about her, retired from the room. In two
hours she returned. Though she entered the chamber softly, Amanda
immediately drew back the curtain, and appeared much more composed than
when the prioress had left her. The good woman would not let her rise,
but sat down on the bed to tell her what she had contrived for her.
"She had a relation in Scotland," she said, "who, from reduced
circumstances, had kept a school for many years. But as the infirmities
of age came on, she was not able to pay so much attention to her pupils
as their friends thought requisite, and she had only been able to retain
them by promising to get a person to assist her. As she thought her
cousin (the prioress) more in the way of procuring such a one than
herself, she had written to her for that purpose. A clever, well-behaved
young woman, who would be satisfied with a small salary, was what she
wanted. I should not mention such a place to you," said the prioress,
"but that the necessity there is for your immediately retiring from Lord
Mortimer leaves me no time to look out for another. But do not imagine I
wish you to continue there. No, indeed; I should think it a pity such
talents as you possess should be buried in such obscurity. What I think
is, that you can stay there till you grow more composed, and can look
out for a better establishment." "Do not mention my talents," said
Amanda; "my mind is so enervated by grief, that it will be long before I
can make any great exertion, and the place you have mentioned is, from
its obscurity, just such a one as I desire to go to." "There is,
besides, another inducement," said the prioress, "namely, its being but
a few miles from Port-Patrick, to which place a fair wind will bring you
in a few hours from this. I know the master of a little wherry, which is
perpetually going backwards and forwards. He lives in this neighborhood,
and both he and his wife consider themselves under obligations to me,
and will rejoice, I am sure, at an opportunity of obliging me. I shall
therefore send for him this evening, informing him of the time you wish
to go, and desire his care till he leaves you himself at Mrs.
Macpherson's."
Amanda thanked the prioress, who proceeded to say, "that on the
presumption of her going to her cousin's, she had already written a
letter for her to take; but wished to know whether she would be
mentioned by her own or a fictitious name."
Amanda replied, "By a fictitious one," and, after a little
consideration, fixed on that of Frances Donald, which the prioress
accordingly inserted, and then read the letter:--
TO MRS. MACPHERSON.
DEAR COUSIN,--The bearer of this letter, Frances Donald, is the
young person I have procured you for an assistant in your
school. I have known her some time, and can vouch for her
cleverness and discretion. She is well born, and well educated,
and has seen better days: but the wheel of fortune is
continually turning, and she bears her misfortunes with a
patience that to me is the best proof she could give of a real
good disposition. I have told her you give but ten pounds
a-year. Her going proves she is not dissatisfied with the
salary. I am sorry to hear you are troubled with rheumatic
pains, and hope, when you have more time to take care of
yourself, you will grow better. And all the sisters join me in
thanking you for your kind inquiries after them. We do tolerably
well in the little school we keep, and trust our gratitude to
Heaven for its present goodness will obtain a continuance of it.
I beg to hear from you soon; and am, my dear cousin, your
sincere friend and affectionate kinswoman,
ELIZABETH DERMOT.
St. Catherine's.
"I have not said as much as you deserve," said the prioress; "but if the
letter does not meet your approbation, I will make any alteration you
please in it." Amanda assured her it did, and the prioress then said,
"that Lord Mortimer had been again at the convent to inquire after her,
and was told she was better." Amanda said, "she would not see him till
the hour she had appointed for his coming to supper." The prioress
agreed, that as things were changed, she was right in being in his
company as little as possible, and, to prevent her being in his way, she
should have her dinner and tea in her own room. The cloth was
accordingly laid in it, nor would the good-natured prioress depart till
she saw Amanda eat something. Sister Mary, she said, was quite anxious
to come in, and perform the part of an attendant, but was prevented by
her.
The distraction of Amanda's thoughts was now abated, from having
everything adjusted relative to her future conduct, and the company of
the prioress, who returned to her as soon as she had dined, prevented
her losing the little composure she had with such difficulty acquired.
She besought the prioress not to delay writing after her departure, and
to relate faithfully everything which happened in consequence of her
flight. She entreated her not to let a mistaken compassion for her
feelings influence her to conceal anything, as anything like the
appearance of concealment in her letter would only torture her with
anxiety and suspense.
The prioress solemnly promised she would obey her request, and Amanda,
with tears, regretted that she was now unable to recompense the kindness
of the prioress and the sisterhood, as she had lately intended doing by
Lord Mortimer's desire, as well as her own inclination. The prioress
begged her not to indulge any regret on that account, as they considered
themselves already liberally recompensed, and had, besides, quite
sufficient to satisfy their humble desires.
Amanda said she meant to leave a letter on the dressing-table for Lord
Mortimer, with the notes which he had given her enclosed in it. "The
pictures and the ring," said she, with a falling tear, "I cannot part
with;" for the things which she had ordered from the neighboring town,
she told the prioress she would leave money in her hands, also a present
for the woman, who had been engaged to attend her to England, as some
small recompense for her disappointment. She meant only to take some
linen and her mourning to Scotland; the rest of her things, including
her music and books, at some future and better period might be sent
after her.
Amanda was in debt to the sisterhood for three months' board and
lodging, which was ten guineas. Of the two hundred pounds which Lord
Mortimer had given her on leaving Castle Carberry, one hundred and
twenty pounds remained, so that though unable to answer the claims of
gratitude, she thanked Heaven she was able to fulfil those of justice.
This she told the prioress, who instantly declared, "that, in the name
of the whole sisterhood, she would take upon her to refuse anything from
her." Amanda did not contest the point, being secretly determined how to
act. The prioress drank tea with her. When over, Amanda said she would
lie down, in order to try and be composed against Lord Mortimer come.
The prioress accordingly withdrew, saying, "she should not be disturbed
till then."
By this means Amanda was enabled to be in readiness for delivering her
letter to Lord Cherbury at the proper hour. Her heart beat with
apprehension as it approached. She dreaded Lord Mortimer again
surprising her amongst the ruins, or some of the nuns following her to
them. At last the clock gave the signal for keeping her appointment. She
arose, trembling, from the bed, and opened the door. She listened, and
no noise announced any one's being near. The moments were precious. She
glided through the gallery, and had the good fortune to find the
hall-door open. She hastened to the ruins, and found Lord Cherbury
already waiting there. She presented him the letter in silence. He
received it in the same manner; but when he saw her turning away to
depart, he snatched her hand, and, in a voice that denoted the most
violent agitation, exclaimed: "Tell me, tell me, Miss Fitzalan, is this
letter propitious?" "It is," replied she, in a faltering voice. "Then
may Heaven eternally bless you," cried he, falling at her feet, and
wrapping his arms about her. His posture shocked Amanda, and his
detention terrified her.
"Let me go, my lord," said she. "In pity to me, in mercy to yourself,
let me go; for one moment longer and we may be discovered."
Lord Cherbury started up--"From whom," cried he, "can I hear about
you?" "From the prioress of St. Catherine's," replied Amanda, in a
trembling voice; "she only will know the secret of my retreat."
He again snatched her hand and kissed it with vehemence. "Farewell, thou
angel of a woman!" he exclaimed, and disappeared amongst the ruins.
Amanda hurried back, dreading every moment to meet Lord Mortimer; but
she neither met him nor any other person. She had scarcely gained her
chamber ere the prioress came to inform her his lordship was in the
parlor. She instantly repaired to it. The air had a little changed the
deadly hue of her complexion, so that from her looks he supposed her
better, and her words strengthened the supposition. She talked with him,
forced herself to eat some supper, and checked the tears from falling,
which sprang to her eyes, whenever he mentioned the happiness they must
experience when united, the pleasure they should enjoy at Thornbury, and
the delight Lady Martha and Lady Araminta would experience whenever they
met.
Amanda desired him not to come to breakfast the next morning, nor to the
convent till after dinner, as she should be so busy preparing for her
journey she would have no time to devote to him. He wanted to convince
her he should not retard her preparations by coming, but she would not
allow this.
Amanda passed another wretched night. She breakfasted in the morning
with the nuns, who expressed their regret at losing her--a regret,
however, mitigated by the hope of shortly seeing her again, as Lord
Mortimer had promised to bring her to Castle Carberry as soon as she had
visited his friends in England. This was a trying moment for Amanda. She
could scarcely conceal her emotions, or keep herself from weeping aloud,
at the mention of a promise never to be fulfilled. She swallowed her
breakfast in haste, and withdrew to her chamber on pretence of settling
her things. Here she was immediately followed by the nuns, entreating
they might severally be employed in assisting her. She thanked them with
her usual sweetness, but assured them no assistance was necessary, as
she had but few things to pack, never having unlocked the chests which
had come from Castle Carberry. They retired on receiving this assurance,
and Amanda, fearful of another interruption, instantly sat down to write
her farewell letter to Lord Mortimer.
TO LORD MORTIMER.
MY LORD,--A destiny, which neither of us can control, forbids
our union. In vain were obstacles encountered and apparently
overcome; one has arisen to oppose it which we never could have
thought of, and, yielding to it, as I am compelled by dire
necessity to do, I find myself separated from you, without the
remotest hope of our ever meeting again--without being allowed
to justify my conduct, or offer one excuse which might, in some
degree, palliate the abominable ingratitude and deceit I may
appear guilty of; appear, I say, for in reality my heart is a
stranger to either, and is now agonized at the sacrifice it is
compelled to make; but I will not hurt your lordship's feelings
by dwelling on my own sufferings. Already have I caused you too
much pain, but never again shall I cross your path to disturb
your peace, and shade your prospect of felicity; no, my lord,
removed to a tedious distance, the name I love no more will sink
upon my ear, the delusive form of happiness no more will mock
me.
Had everything turned out according to my wishes, perhaps
happiness, so great, so unexpected, might have produced a
dangerous revolution in my sentiments, and withdrawn my thoughts
too much from heaven to earth: if so, oh! blessed be the power
that snatched from my lips the cup of joy, though at the very
moment I was tasting the delightful beverage.
I cannot bid you pity me, though I know myself deserving of
compassion; I cannot bid you forbear condemning me, though I
know myself undeserving of censure. In this letter I enclose the
notes I received from your lordship; the picture and the ring I
have retained; they will soon be my only vestiges of former
happiness. Farewell, Lord Mortimer, dear and invaluable friend,
farewell forever. May that peace, that happiness you so truly
deserve to possess, be yours, and may they never again meet with
such interruptions as they have received from the unfortunate
AMANDA M. FITZALAN.
This letter was blistered with her tears; she laid it in a drawer till
evening, and then proceeded to pack whatever she meant to take with her
in a little trunk. In the midst of this business the prioress came in to
inform her she had seen the master of the wherry, and settled everything
with him. He not only promised to be secret, but to sail the following
morning at four o'clock, and conduct her himself to Mrs. Macpherson's.
About three he was to come to the convent for her; he had also promised
to provide everything necessary on board for her.
Matters being thus arranged, Amanda told the prioress, to avoid
suspicion, she would leave the money she intended for the woman who had
been engaged to accompany her to England on her dressing-table, with a
few lines purporting who it was for. The prioress approved of her doing
so, as it would prevent any one from suspecting she was privy to her
departure. She was obliged to leave her directly, and Amanda took the
opportunity of putting up fifteen guineas in a paper--five for the
woman, and ten for the nuns. She wished to do more for them, but feared
to obey the dictates of generosity, while her own prospect of provision
was so uncertain. She wrote as follows to the prioress:--
TO MRS. DERMOT.
DEAR MADAM,--Was my situation otherwise than it now is, be
assured I never should have offered the trifle you will find in
this paper as any way adequate to the discharge of my debt; to
you and your amiable companions, I regret my inability (more
than I express) of proving my gratitude to you and them for all
your kindness--never will they be obliterated from my
remembrance; and He who has promised to regard those that
befriend the orphan, will reward you for them. I have also left
five guineas for the woman you were so good as to engage to
attend me to England. I trust she will think them a sufficient
recompense for any trouble or disappointment I may have
occasioned her.
Farewell, dear Mrs. Dermot, dear and amiable inhabitants of St.
Catherine's farewell. As Amanda will never forget you in hers,
so let her never be forgotten in your orisons, and never cease
to believe her.
Grateful, sincere, and affectionate,
A. M. FITZALAN.
By this time she was summoned to dinner. Her spirits were sunk in the
lowest dejection at the idea of leaving the amiable women who had been
so kind to her, and above all at the idea of the last sad evening she
was to pass with Lord Mortimer.
His lordship came early to the convent. The dejected looks of Amanda
immediately struck him, and renewed all his apprehensions about her
health. She answered his tender inquiries by saying she was fatigued.
"Perhaps," said he, "you would like to rest one day, and not commence
your journey to-morrow!"
"No, no," cried Amanda, "it shall not be deferred. To-morrow," continued
she, with a smile of anguish, "I will commence it."
Lord Mortimer thanked her for a resolution, he imagined, dictated by an
ardent desire to please him; but at the same time again expressed his
fears that she was ill.
Amanda perceived that if she did not exert herself her dejection would
lead him to inquiries she would find it difficult to evade; but as to
exert herself was impossible, in order to withdraw his attention in some
degree from herself, she proposed that, as this was the last evening
they would be at the convent, they should invite the nuns to drink tea
with them. Lord Mortimer immediately acquiesced in the proposal, and the
invitation being sent was accepted.
But the conversation of the whole party was of a melancholy kind. Amanda
was so much beloved among them, that the prospect of losing her filled
them with a regret which even the idea of seeing her soon again could
not banish. About nine, which was their hour for prayers, they rose to
retire, and would have taken leave of Lord Mortimer, had he not informed
them, that on Miss Fitzalan's account, he would not commence the
journey next day till ten o'clock, at which time he would again have the
pleasure of seeing them.
When they withdrew he endeavored to cheer Amanda, and besought her to
exert her spirits. Of his own accord, he said, he would leave her early,
that she might get as much rest as possible against the ensuing day. He
accordingly rose to depart. What an agonizing moment for Amanda; to
hear, to behold the man, so tenderly beloved, for the last time; to
think that ere that hour the next night she should be far, far away from
him, considered as a treacherous and ungrateful creature, despised,
perhaps execrated, as a source of perpetual disquiet and sorrow to him!
Her heart swelled at those ideas with feelings she thought would burst
it: and when he folded her to his bosom, and bid her be cheerful against
the next morning, she involuntarily returned the pressure, by straining
him to her heart in convulsive agitation, whilst a shower of tears burst
from her. Lord Mortimer, shocked and surprised at these tears and
emotions, reseated her, for her agitation was contagious, and he
trembled so much he could not support her; then throwing himself at her
feet, "My Amanda! my beloved girl!" cried he, "what is the matter? Is
any wish of your heart yet unfulfilled? If so, let no mistaken notion of
delicacy influence you to conceal it--on your happiness you know mine
depends; tell me, therefore, I entreat, I conjure you, tell me, is there
anything I can do to restore you to cheerfulness?" "Oh, no!" said
Amanda, "all that a mortal could do to serve me you have already done,
and my gratitude, the fervent sense I have of the obligations I lie
under to you, I cannot fully express. May Heaven," raising her streaming
eyes,--"may Heaven recompense your goodness by bestowing the choicest of
its blessings on you!" "That," said Lord Mortimer, half smiling, "it has
already done in giving you to me, for you are the choicest blessing it
could bestow; but tell me, what has dejected you in this manner!
something more than fatigue, I am sure."
Amanda assured him "he was mistaken;" and, fearful of his further
inquiries, told him, "she only waited for his departure to retire to
rest, which she was convinced would do her good."
Lord Mortimer instantly rose from his kneeling posture: "Farewell, then,
my dear Amanda," cried he, "farewell, and be well and cheerful against
the morning."
She pressed his hand between hers, and laying her cold wet cheek upon
it: "Farewell," said she; "when we next meet I shall, I trust, be well
and cheerful; for in heaven alone (thought she at that moment) we shall
ever meet again."
On the spot in which he left her Amanda stood motionless, till she heard
the hall-door close after him; all composure then forsook her, and, in
an agony of tears and sobs, she threw herself on the seat he had
occupied. The good prioress, guessing what her feelings at this moment
must be, was at hand, and came in with drops and water, which she forced
her to take, and mingled the tears of sympathy with hers.
Her soothing attentions in a little time had the effect she desired.
They revived in some degree her unhappy young friend, who exclaimed,
"that the severest trial she could ever possibly experience was now
over." "And will, I trust and believe," replied the prioress, "even in
this life be yet rewarded."
It was agreed that Amanda should put on her habit, and be prepared
against the man came for her. The prioress promised, as soon as the
house was at rest, to follow her to her chamber. Amanda accordingly went
to her apartment and put on her travelling dress. She was soon followed
by the prioress, who brought in bread, wine, and cold chicken; but the
full heart of Amanda would not allow her to partake of them, and her
tears, in spite of her efforts to restrain them, again burst forth. "She
was sure," she said, "the prioress would immediately let her know if any
intelligence arrived of her brother, and she again besought her to write
as soon as possible after her departure, and to be minute."
She left the letters--one for Lord Mortimer and the other for the
prioress--on the table, and then with a kind of melancholy impatience
waited for the man, who was punctual to the appointed hour of three, and
announced his arrival by a tap at the window. She instantly rose and
embraced the prioress in silence, who, almost as much affected as
herself, had only power to say, "God bless you, my dear child, and make
you as happy as you deserve to be."
Amanda shook her head mournfully, as if to say she expected no
happiness, and then, softly stepping along the gallery, opened the
hall-door, where she found the man waiting. Her little trunk was already
lying in the hall. She pointed it out to him, and as soon as he had
taken it they departed.
Never did any being feel more forlorn than Amanda now did. What she
suffered when quitting the marchioness's was comparatively happiness to
what she now endured. She then looked forward to the protection,
comfort, and support of a tender parent; now she had nothing in view
which could in the least cheer or alleviate her feelings. She cast her
mournful eyes around, and the objects she beheld heightened, if
possible, her anguish. She beheld the old trees which shaded the grave
of her father waving in the morning breeze, and oh! how fervently at
that moment did she wish that by his side she was laid beneath their
shelter!
She turned from them with a heart-rending sigh, which reached the ear of
the man who trudged before her. He instantly turned, and seeing her pale
and trembling, told her he had an arm at her service, which she gladly
accepted, being scarcely able to support herself. A small boat was
waiting for them about half a mile above Castle Carberry. It conveyed
them in a few moments to the vessel, which the master previously told
her would be under weigh directly. She was pleased to find his wife on
board, who conducted Amanda to the cabin, where she found breakfast laid
out with neatness for her. She took some tea and a little bread, being
almost exhausted with fatigue. Her companion, imputing her dejection to
fears of crossing the sea, assured her the passage would be very short,
and bid her observe how plainly they could see the Scottish hills, now
partially gilded by the beams of the rising sun; but, beautiful as they
appeared, Amanda's eyes were turned from them to a more interesting
object,--Castle Carberry. She asked the woman if she thought the castle
could be seen from the opposite coast? and she replied in the negative.
"I am sorry for it," said Amanda, mournfully. She continued at the
window for the melancholy pleasure of contemplating it, till compelled
by sickness to lie down on the bed. The woman attended her with the most
assiduous care, and about four o'clock in the afternoon informed her
they had reached Port-Patrick. Amanda arose, and sending for the master,
told him, as she did not wish to go to an inn, she would thank him to
hire a chaise to carry her directly to Mrs. Macpherson's. He said she
should be obeyed; and Amanda having settled with him for her passage, he
went on shore for that purpose, and soon returned to inform her a
carriage was ready. Amanda, having thanked his wife for her kind
attention, stepped into the boat, and entered the chaise the moment she
landed. Her companion told her he was well acquainted with Mrs.
Macpherson, having frequently carried packets from Mrs. Dermot to her.
She lived about five miles from Port-Patrick, he said, and near the
sea-coast. They accordingly soon reached her habitation. It was a
small, low house, of a grayish color, situated in a field almost covered
with thistles, and divided from the road by a rugged-looking wall. The
sea lay at a little distance from it. The coast hereabouts was extremely
rocky, and the prospect on every side wild and dreary in the extreme.
Amanda's companion, by her desire, went first into the house to prepare
Mrs. Macpherson for her reception. He returned in a few minutes, and
telling her she was happy at her arrival, conducted her into the house.
From a narrow passage, they turned into a small, gloomy-looking parlor,
with a clay floor. Mrs. Macpherson was sitting in an old-fashioned
arm-chair--her face was sharp and meagre--her stature low, and, like
Otway's ancient Beldame, doubled with age; her gown was gray stuff, and,
though she was so low, it was not long enough to reach her ankle; her
black-silk apron was curtailed in the same manner, and over a little
mob-cap she wore a handkerchief tied under the chin. She just nodded to
Amanda on her entrance, and, putting on a pair of large spectacles,
surveyed her without speaking. Amanda presented Mrs. Dermot's
introductory letter, and then, though unbidden, seated herself on the
window-seat till she had perused it. Her trunk, in the mean time, was
brought in, and she paid for the carriage, requesting at the same time
the master of the vessel to wait till she had heard what Mrs. Macpherson
would say. At length the old lady broke silence, and her voice was quite
as sharp as her face.
"So, child," said she, again surveying Amanda, and then elevating her
spectacles to have a better opportunity of speaking, "why, to be sure I
did desire my cousin to get me a young person, but not one so young, so
very young, as you appear to be." "Lord bless you!" said the man, "if
that is a fault, why, it is one will mend every day." "Ay, ay," cried
the old dame, "but it will mend a little too slow for me. However,
child, as you are so well recommended, I will try you. My cousin says
something of your being well born, and having seen better days. However,
child, I tell you beforehand, I shall not consider what you have been,
but what you are now. I shall therefore expect you to be mild, regular,
and attentive--no flaunting, no gadding, no chattering, but staid,
sober, and modest." "Bless your heart," said the man, "if you look in
her face you will see she'll be all you desire." "Ay, ay, so you may
say; but I should be very sorry to depend upon the promise of a
face--like the heart, it is often treacherous and deceitful; so pray,
young woman, tell me, and remember I expect a conscientious answer,
whether you think you will be able to do as I wish?" "Yes, madam,"
replied Amanda, in a voice almost choked by the variety of painful
emotions she experienced.
"Well, then, we are agreed, as you know the salary I give." The master
of the vessel now took his leave, never having been asked by Mrs.
Macpherson to take any refreshment.
The heart of Amanda sunk within her from the moment she entered Mrs.
Macpherson's door. She shuddered at being left with so unsocial a being
in a place so wild and dreary. A hovel near St. Catherine's she would
have thought a palace in point of real comfort to her present
habitation, as she then could have enjoyed the soothing society of the
tender and amiable nuns. The presence of the master of the vessel, from
the pity and concern he manifested for her, had something consolatory in
it, and when he left the room she burst into tears, as if then, and not
till then, she had been utterly abandoned. She hastily followed him out.
"Give my love, my best love," said she, sobbing violently, and laying
her trembling hand on his, "to Mrs. Dermot, and tell her, oh! tell her
to write directly, and give me some comfort."
"You may depend on my doing so," replied he, "but cheer up, my dear
young lady; what though the old dame in the parlor is a little cranky,
she will mend, no doubt; so Heaven bless you, and make you as happy as
you deserve to be."
Sad and silent, Amanda returned to the parlor, and seating herself in
the window, strained her eyes after the carriage which had brought her
to this dismal spot.