"Who knows the joys of friendship,
The trust, security and mutual tenderness,
The double joys, where each is glad for both;
Friendship, our only wealth, our last retreat and strength,
Secure against ill-fortune and the world?"--ROWE.
Among Mrs. Macpherson's pupils were two little girls, who pleased and
interested Amanda greatly. Their father, for whom they were in mourning,
had perished in a violent storm, and their mother had pined in health
and spirits ever since the fatal accident. The kindness with which
Amanda treated them, they repaid with gratitude and attention. It had a
double effect upon their little hearts, from being contrasted with the
sour austerity of Mrs. Macpherson. They told Amanda, in a whisper, one
morning, that their mamma was coming to see their dear, good Frances
Donald.
Accordingly, in the course of the day, Mrs. Duncan came. She was young
and pleasing in her appearance; her weeds and deep dejection rendered
her a most interesting object. She sat by Amanda, and took an
opportunity, while Mrs. Macpherson was engaged with some of the
children, to tell her, in a low voice, "she was truly obliged to her for
the great attention and kindness she showed her little girls, so unlike
their former treatment at the school." "The task of instructing them was
hers," she said, "till her declining health and spirits rendered her no
longer able to bear it." Amanda assured her, "it was a pleasure to
instruct minds so docile and sweet tempered as theirs." Mrs. Duncan, as
she rose to depart, asked her and Mrs. Macpherson to tea that evening,
which invitation was instantly accepted by Mrs. Macpherson, who was
extremely fond of being sociable everywhere but in her own house. Mrs.
Duncan lived at but a little distance, and everything in and about her
house was neat and comfortable. She had an old neighbor in the parlor,
who kept Mrs. Macpherson in chat, and gave her an opportunity of
conversing freely with Amanda. She remarked the delicacy of her looks,
and said "She believed she was ill-qualified to endure so fatiguing a
life as her present one." She mentioned her own lonely and melancholy
life, and the happiness she would derive from having such a companion,
and expressed her hopes of often enjoying her society. Amanda said this
would be impossible without disobliging Mrs. Macpherson; and Mrs.
Duncan, on reflection, allowed it would be so. She then inquired if she
ever walked? Amanda replied she did; and was asked where she generally
rambled? By the sea-side, she answered. Mrs. Duncan sighed deeply, and
her eyes filled with tears. "It is there I generally ramble too," said
she. This led to the mention of her late loss. "Mr. Duncan had been the
kindest, best of husbands," she said; "the first years of their marriage
were attended with difficulties, which were just removed, when he was
lost on a party of pleasure, with several others. It was some
consolation, however," continued Mrs. Duncan, "that the body was cast
upon the shore, and I had the power of paying the last rites of decency
and respect to him." In short, between her and Amanda there appeared a
mutual sympathy, which rendered them truly interesting to each other.
From this period they generally met every evening, and passed many hours
on the "sea-beat shore," talking, and often weeping, over joys departed,
never to return! Mrs. Duncan was too delicate to inquire into Amanda's
former situation; but was well convinced it had been very different from
her present one. Amanda, however, of her own accord, told her what she
had told Mrs. Macpherson respecting herself. Mrs. Duncan lamented her
misfortunes; but since she had met them, blessed the happy chance which
conducted her near her habitation.
A month passed in this manner, when one evening, at the usual place of
meeting, Mrs. Duncan told her, "that she believed she should soon be
quitting that part of the country." Amanda started, and turned pale at
this disagreeable intelligence. She had received no answer to her letter
from Mrs. Dermot, consequently dreaded that necessity would compel her
to remain in her present situation, and on Mrs. Duncan's society she had
depended for rendering it bearable to her.
"I have been invited, my dear girl," said Mrs. Duncan, leaning on her
arm as they walked up and down the beach, "to reside with an aunt, who
has always been kind, and particularly so to me in my distress. She
lives about ten miles from this, at an old place called Dunreath Abbey,
of which she is housekeeper. Have you ever heard of it?" Amanda's
agitation at hearing her mother's native habitation mentioned, is not to
be described. Her heart palpitated; she felt her color change, and said
Yes and No to Mrs. Duncan, without knowing what she answered. Then
recollecting herself, she replied, "she had heard of it." "Well, then,
my dear," continued Mrs. Duncan, "my aunt, as I have already told you,
is housekeeper there. She lives in great grandeur, for it is a
magnificent old seat, and has the absolute command of everything, as
none of the family have resided at it since the Earl of Dunreath's
decease. My aunt is lately grown weary of the profound solitude in which
she lives, and has asked me, in a letter which I received this morning,
to go immediately and take up my residence with her, promising, if I do,
she will leave everything she is worth to me and my children; and as her
salary is very good, I know she must have saved a good deal. This is a
very tempting offer, and I am only withheld from accepting it directly
by the fear of depriving my children of the advantages of education."
"Why," said Amanda, "what they learn at Mrs. Macpherson's they could
easily learn anywhere else." "But I intended, when they were a little
older," replied Mrs. Duncan, "to go to some one of the neighboring towns
with them. If I once go to my aunt, I must entirely relinquish such an
idea, and to a boarding-school I could not send them, for I have not
fortitude to bear a separation from them. What I wish, therefore, is to
procure a person who would be at once a pleasing companion for me, and
an eligible governess for them. With such a person, the solitude of
Dunreath Abbey would be rather agreeable than irksome to me."
She looked earnestly at Amanda as she spoke, and Amanda's heart began to
throb with hope and agitation. "In short, my dear girl," continued she,
"you of all others, to be explicit, are the person I would choose to
bring along with me. Your sweet society would alleviate my sorrows, and
your elegant accomplishments give to my children all the advantages I
desire them to possess." "I am not only flattered, but happy by your
prepossession in my favor," replied Amanda.
"I am pleased we agree in point of inclination," said Mrs. Duncan; "but
I must now inform you that my aunt has always been averse to admit any
strangers to the Abbey. Why, I know not, except it is by the commands of
the family; and she tells me in her letter, that if I accept her
invitation, I must not on any account let it be known where I am
removing to. I dare not, therefore, bring you with me without her
permission; but I shall write immediately and request it. In the course
of a day or two I may expect an answer. In the mean time, give Mrs.
Macpherson no intimation of our present intentions, lest they should be
defeated." Amanda promised she would not, and they separated.
She was now in a state of the greatest agitation, at the probability
there was that she might visit the seat of her ancestors. She dreaded a
disappointment, and felt that, if she went there as the companion of
Mrs. Duncan, she should be better situated than a few hours before she
had ever expected to be again. Two evenings after her conversation with
Mrs. Duncan, on going to the beach to meet her, she saw her approaching
with an open letter in her hand, and a smile on her face, which informed
her its contents were pleasing. They were so indeed, as they gave
permission to have Amanda brought to the Abbey, provided she promised
inviolable secrecy as to where she was going. This Amanda cheerfully
did, and Mrs. Duncan said she had some affairs to settle, which would
prevent their departure for a few days. At whatever time she appointed,
her aunt was to send a carriage for then, and it was now agreed that
Mrs. Macpherson should be informed Mrs. Duncan was leaving that part of
the country, and had engaged Amanda as a governess to her children.
Mrs. Duncan then mentioned her own terms. Amanda assured her an idea of
them had never entered her thoughts. Mrs. Duncan said she was sure of
that, but at the same time thought between the most intimate friends
exactness should be preserved. Everything being settled to their mutual
satisfaction, they separated, and the following day, after school broke
up, Amanda informed Mrs. Macpherson of her intended departure. The old
dame was thunderstruck, and for some time unable to speak; but when she
recovered the use of her tongue, she expressed the utmost rage and
indignation against Amanda, Mrs. Duncan, and the prioress. Against the
first for thinking of leaving her, the second for inveigling her away,
and the third for recommending a person who could serve her in such a
manner. When she stopped, exhausted by her violence, Amanda took the
opportunity of assuring her that she had no reason to condemn any of
them; as for her part, previous to Mrs. Duncan's offer, she intended to
leave her, being unable to bear a life of such fatigue; that as her
removal would not be immediate, Mrs. Macpherson could suffer no
inconvenience by it, there being time enough to look out for another
person ere it took place. But the truth now broke from Mrs. Macpherson;
angry as she was with Amanda, she could not help confessing, that she
never again expected to meet with a person so well qualified to please
her, and a torrent of bitter reproaches again burst forth for her
quitting her.
Amanda resented them not, but did all in her power to mollify her; as
the most effectual method of doing so, she declared she meant to take
no recompense for the time she had been with her, and added, if she had
her permission, she would write that evening to Mrs. Dermot about a
woman she had seen at the convent, whom she thought well qualified to be
an assistant in her school. This was the woman who had been engaged to
attend her to England. Mrs. Macpherson at last consented she should
write for her, as her wrath had gradually subsided from the moment
Amanda declared she would take no payment. Amanda accordingly wrote to
Mrs. Dermot, and informed her of the agreeable change there was about
taking place in her situation; also of Mrs. Macpherson's displeasure,
and her own wish that a person might immediately be procured to fill the
place she was resigning. She mentioned the woman already spoken of as a
proper person, but requested, if she consented to come, she might not be
allowed to do so till she had left Mrs. Macpherson's, else who she
really was would be betrayed. She now thought little of the tedious and
disagreeable days she spent, as the eagerness with which she saw Mrs.
Duncan preparing for their departure promised so speedily to change
them. She received an answer from Ireland even sooner than she expected.
Mrs. Dermot congratulated her on having met with so amiable a friend as
Mrs. Duncan, said the woman accepted the offer made in Mrs. Macpherson's
name, but should not depart till she had written for that purpose, and
concluded her letter by saying, there was no intelligence yet of Lord
Mortimer. Mrs. Macpherson was pleased to find she should not be long
without a companion, and two days after the receipt of the letter Mrs.
Duncan told Amanda their journey was fixed for the ensuing day, and
begged Amanda to sleep at her house that night, to which she gladly
consented; accordingly, after dinner she took leave of Mrs. Macpherson,
who grumbled out a farewell, and a hope that she might not have reason
to repent quitting her, for the old lady was so incensed to have the
place Mrs. Duncan was going to concealed from her that all her ill-humor
had returned. Amanda with a pleasure she could scarcely conceal, quitted
her inhospitable mansion, and, attended by a man who carried her trunk,
soon found herself at Mrs. Duncan's, where she was received with every
demonstration of joy. The evening passed sociably away; they rose early
in the morning, and had just breakfasted when the expected carriage from
Dunreath Abbey arrived. It was a heavy, old-fashioned chaise, on whose
faded panels the arms of the Dunreath family were still visible. Mrs.
Duncan's luggage had been sent off the preceding day, so that there was
nothing now to delay them. Mrs. Duncan made Amanda and the children go
into the chaise before her, but, detained by an emotion of the most
painful nature, she lingered sometime after them upon the threshold. She
could not indeed depart from the habitation where she had experienced so
many happy days with the man of her tenderest affections without a flood
of tears, which spoke the bitterness of her feelings. Amanda knew too
well the nature of those feelings to attempt restraining them; but the
little children, impatient to begin their journey, called out to their
mamma to come into the carriage. She started when they spoke, but
instantly complied with their desire: and when they expressed their
grief at seeing her cheeks wet with tears, kissed them both, and said
she would soon recover her spirits. She accordingly exerted herself for
that purpose, and was soon in a condition to converse with Amanda. The
day was fine and serene; they travelled leisurely, for the horses had
long outlived their mettlesome days, and gave them an opportunity of
attentively viewing the prospects on each side, which were various,
romantic, and beautiful; the novelty of the scenes, the disagreeable
place she had left, and the idea of the one she was going to, helped a
little to enliven the pensive soul of Amanda, and she enjoyed a greater
degree of tranquillity than she had before experienced since her
separation from Lord Mortimer.