"It would raise your pity but to see the tears
Force through her snowy lids their melting course,
To lodge themselves on her red murm'ring lips,
That talk such mournful things; when straight a gale
Of starting sighs carry those pearls away,
As dews by winds are wafted from the flowers."--LEE.
Bitterly did Amanda regret having been tempted from the inn, and
gratefully would she have acquitted fortune of half its malignancy to
her, had she been able to steal back unnoticed. The party that entered
engaged in talking to those they found in the drawing-room--laughing and
describing their ramble, which Lady Araminta said was in the style of
Will-o'-the-Wisp (over brakes and through briers)--were some time before
they observed Amanda; but soon, ah! how much too soon, did she perceive
Mrs. Macqueen approaching to introduce those of her family who were just
returned.
"The trying moment is come!" cried Amanda. "Oh! let me not by my
confusion look as if I really was the guilty thing I'm supposed to be."
She endeavored to collect herself, and rose to meet the young
Macqueens, by a timid glance perceiving that they yet hid her from the
eyes she most dreaded to encounter. She was unable, however, to return
their compliments, except by a faint smile, and was again sinking upon
her seat--for her frame trembled universally--when Mrs. Macqueen, taking
her hand, led her forward, and presented her to Lady Martha and Lady
Araminta Dormer. It may be remembered that Lady Martha had never before
seen Amanda. She therefore gave her, as Miss Donald, a benignant smile,
which, had she supposed her Miss Fitzalan, would have been lost in a
contemptuous frown. Seldom, indeed, had she seen a form more interesting
than our heroine's. Her mourning habit set off the elegance of her form
and the languid delicacy of her complexion, whilst the sad expression of
her countenance denoted that habit but the shadow of the unseen grief
which dwelt within her soul. Her large blue eyes were half concealed by
their long lashes, but the beams which stole from beneath those fringed
curtains were full of sweetness and sensibility. Her fine hair,
discomposed by the jolting of the carriage and the blowing of the wind,
had partly escaped the braid on which it was turned under her hat, and
hung in long ringlets of glossy brown upon her shoulders and careless
curls about her face, giving a sweet simplicity to it, which heightened
its beauty. How different was the look she received from Lady Araminta
to that she had received from Lady Martha! In the expressive countenance
of the former she read surprise, contempt, and anger; her cheeks were
flushed with unusual color, her eyes sparkled with uncommon lustre, and
their quick glances pierced the palpitating heart of Amanda, who heard
her repeat, as if involuntarily, the name of Donald. Ah! how dreadful
was the sound to her ear! Ah! how sad a confirmation did it convey--that
every suspicion to her prejudice would now be strengthened. "Ah! why,
why," said she to herself, "was I tempted to take this hated name? Why
did I not prefer incurring any danger to which my own might have exposed
me, rather than assume anything like deceit?" Happily the party were too
much engrossed by one another to heed the words or manner of Lady
Araminta.
Amanda withdrew her hand from Mrs. Macqueen, and moved tremblingly to
her seat; but that lady, with a politeness poor Amanda had reason to
think officious, stopped her. "Miss Donald--Lord Mortimer!" said she.
Amanda raised her head, but not her eyes, and neither saw nor heard his
lordship. The scene she had dreaded was over, and she felt a little
relieved at the idea. The haughty glance of Lady Araminta dwelt upon her
mind, and, when agitation had a little subsided, she stole a look at
her, and saw Mrs. Macqueen sitting between her and Lady Martha; and from
the altered countenance of the latter, she instantly conjectured she had
been informed by her niece of her real name. She also conjectured, from
the glances directed towards her, that she was the subject of
conversation, and concluded it was begun for the purpose of discovering
whether Mrs. Macqueen knew anything of her real history.
From these glances she quickly withdrew her own, and one of the young
Macqueens, drawing a chair near hers, began a conversation with all that
spirit and vivacity which distinguished his family. The mind of Amanda
was too much occupied by its concerns to be able to attend to anything
foreign to them. She scarcely knew what he said, and when she did reply
it was only by monosyllables. At last a question, enforced with peculiar
earnestness, roused her from this inattention, and blushing for it, she
looked at the young man, and perceived him regarding her with something
like wonder. She now, for the first time, considered the strange
appearance she must make amongst the company, if she did not collect and
compose her spirits. The family, too, to whom she was (she could not
help thinking) so unfortunately introduced, from their hospitality,
merited attention and respect from her. She resolved, therefore, to
struggle with her feelings, and, as an apology for her absent manner,
complained, and not without truth, of a headache.
Young Macqueen, with friendly warmth, said he would acquaint his mother,
or one of his sisters, with her indisposition, and procure some remedy
for it; but she insisted he should on no account disturb the company,
assuring him she would soon be well; she then endeavored to support a
conversation with him; but, ah! how often did she pause in the midst of
what she was saying, as the sweet, insinuating voice of Mortimer reached
her ear, who, with his native elegance and spirit, was participating in
the lively conversation then going forward. In hers, with young
Macqueen, she was soon interrupted by his father, who, in a good-humored
manner told his son he would no longer suffer him to engross Miss Donald
to himself, and desired him to lead her to a chair near his.
Young Macqueen immediately arose, and taking Amanda's hand, led her to
his father, by whom he seated her; and by whom on the other side sat
Lady Martha Dormer; then with a modest gallantry declared it was the
first time he ever felt reluctance to obey his father's commands, and
hoped his ready acquiescence to them would be rewarded with speedy
permission to resume his conversation with Miss Donald. Amanda had
hitherto prevented her eyes from wandering, though they could not
exclude the form of Lord Mortimer; she had not yet seen his face, and
still strove to avoid seeing it. Mr. Macqueen began with various
inquiries relative to Mrs. Duncan, to which Amanda, as she was prepared
for them, answered with tolerable composure. Suddenly he dropped the
subject of his relation, and asked Amanda from what branch of the
Donalds she was descended. A question so unexpected shocked, dismayed,
and overwhelmed her with confusion. She made no reply till the question
was repeated, when, in a low and faltering voice, her face covered with
blushes, and almost buried in her bosom, she said she did not know.
"Well," cried he, again changing his discourse, after looking at her a
few minutes, "I do not know any girl but yourself would take such pains
to hide such a pair of eyes as you have. I suppose you are conscious of
the mischief they have the power of doing, and therefore it is from
compassion to mankind you try to conceal them."
Amanda blushed yet more deeply than before at finding her downcast looks
were noticed. She turned hers with quickness to Mr. Macqueen, who having
answered a question of Lady Martha's thus proceeded: "And so you do not
know from which branch of the Donalds you are descended? Perhaps now you
only forget, and if I was to mention them one by one, your memory might
be refreshed; but first let me ask your father's surname, and what
countrywoman he married, for the Donalds generally married amongst each
other?"
Oh! how forcibly was Amanda at this moment convinced (if indeed her pure
soul wanted such conviction) of the pain, the shame of deception, let
the motive be what it may which prompts it. Involuntarily were her eyes
turned from Mr. Macqueen as he paused for a reply to his last question,
and at the moment encountered those of Lord Mortimer, who sat directly
opposite to her, and with deep attention regarded her, as if anxious to
hear how she would extricate herself from the embarrassments her assumed
name had plunged her into.
Her confusion, her blushes, her too evident distress, were all imputed
by Mrs. Macqueen to fatigue at listening to such tedious inquiries. She
knew her husband's only foible was an eager desire to trace every one's
pedigree. In order, therefore, to relieve Amanda from her present
situation, she proposed a party of whist, at which Mr. Macqueen often
amused himself, and for which the table and cards were already laid
before him. As she took up the cards to hand them to those who were to
draw, she whispered Amanda to go over to the tea-table.
Amanda required no repetition now, and thanking Mrs. Macqueen in her
heart for the relief she afforded her, went to the table around which
almost all the young people were crowded; so great was the mirth going
on amongst them, that Miss Macqueen, the gravest of the set, in vain
called upon her sisters to assist her in serving the trays, which the
servants handed about, and Mrs. Macqueen had more than once called for.
Miss Macqueen made room for Amanda by herself, and Amanda, anxious to do
anything which could keep her from encountering the eyes she dreaded,
requested to be employed in assisting her, and was deputed to fill out
the coffee. After the first performance of her task, Miss Macqueen, in a
whispering voice, said to Amanda, "Do you know we are all here more than
half in love with Lord Mortimer. He is certainly very handsome, and his
manner is quite as pleasing as his looks, for he has none of that
foppery and conceit which handsome men so generally have, and nothing
but the knowledge of his engagement could keep us from pulling caps
about him. You have heard, to be sure, of Lady Euphrasia Sutherland, the
Marquis of Roslin's daughter; well, he is going to be married to her
immediately; she and the marquis and the marchioness were here the other
day. She is not to be compared to Lord Mortimer, but she has what will
make her be considered very handsome in the eyes of many--namely, a
large fortune. They only stopped to breakfast here, and ever since we
have been on the watch for the rest of the party, who arrived this
morning, and were, on Lady Martha's account, whom the journey had
fatigued, prevailed on to stay till to-morrow. I am very glad you came
while they were here. I think both ladies charming women, and Lady
Araminta quite as handsome as her brother; but see," she continued,
touching Amanda's hand, "the conquering hero comes!" Lord Mortimer with
difficulty made his way round the table, and accepted a seat by Miss
Macqueen, which she eagerly offered him, and which she contrived to
procure by sitting closer to Amanda. To her next neighbor, a fine,
lively girl, Amanda now turned, and entered into conversation with her;
but from this she was soon called by Miss Macqueen, requesting her to
pour out a cup of coffee for Lord Mortimer.
Amanda obeyed, and he rose to receive it; her hand trembled as she
presented it. She looked not in his face, but she thought his hand was
not quite steady. She saw him lay the cup on the table, and bend his
eyes to the ground. She heard Miss Macqueen address him twice ere she
received an answer, and then it was so abrupt that it seemed the effect
of sudden recollection. Miss Macqueen now grew almost as inattentive to
the table as her sisters, and Mrs. Macqueen was obliged to come over to
know what they were all about. At length the business of the tea-table
was declared over; and almost at the same moment the sound of a violin
was heard from an adjoining room, playing an English country dance, in
which style of dancing the Macqueens had been instructed in Edinburgh,
and chose this evening in compliment to their guests. The music was a
signal for universal motion--all in a moment was bustle and confusion.
The young men instantly selected their partners, who seemed ready to
dance from one room to another. The young Macqueen, who had been so
assiduous about Amanda, now came, and taking her hand, as if her dancing
was a thing of course, was leading her after the rest of the party, when
she drew back, declaring she could not dance. Surprised and
disappointed, he stood looking on her in silence, as if irresolute
whether he should not attempt to change her resolution. At last he
spoke, and requested she would not mortify him by a refusal.
Mrs. Macqueen hearing her son's request came forward and joined it.
Amanda pleaded her headache.
"Do, my dear," said Mrs. Macqueen, "try one dance; my girls will tell
you dancing is a sovereign remedy for everything." It was painful to
Amanda to refuse; but, scarcely able to stand, she was utterly unable to
dance; had even her strength permitted her so to do, she could not have
supported the idea of mingling in the set with Lord Mortimer, the glance
of whose eye she never caught without a throb in her heart, which shook
her whole frame. One of the Miss Macqueens ran into the room,
exclaiming: "Lord, Colin, what are you about? Lord Mortimer and my
sister have already led off; do, pray, make haste and join us," and away
she ran again.
"Let me no longer detain you," said Amanda, withdrawing her hand. Young
Macqueen finding her inflexible, at length went off to seek a partner.
He was as fond of dancing as his sisters, and feared he should not
procure one; but luckily there were fewer gentlemen than ladies present,
and a lady having stood up with his youngest sister, he easily prevailed
on her to change her partner.
"We will go into the dancing room, if you please," said Mrs. Macqueen to
Amanda; "that will amuse without fatiguing you." Amanda would rather not
have gone, but she could not say no; and they proceeded to it. Lord
Mortimer had just concluded the dance, and was standing near the door in
a pensive attitude, Miss Macqueen being too much engrossed by something
she was saying to the young lady next to her, to mind him. The moment he
perceived Amanda enter, he again approached his partner, and began
chatting in a lively manner to her. Amanda and Mrs. Macqueen sat down
together, and in listening to the conversation of that lady, Amanda
found herself insensibly drawn from a too painful attention to
surrounding objects. On expressing the pleasure which a mind of
sensibility must feel on witnessing such family happiness as Mrs.
Macqueen possessed, that lady said she had reason indeed to be grateful
to Heaven, and was truly so for her domestic comforts. "You see us now,"
she continued, "in our gayest season, because of my sons' company; but
we are seldom dull. Though summer is delightful, we never think the
winter tedious. Yet though we love amusement, I assure you we dislike
dissipation. The mornings are appropriated to business, and the evenings
to recreation. All the work of the family goes through the hands of my
daughters, and they wear nothing ornamental which they do not make
themselves. Assisted by their good neighbors, they are enabled to
diversify their amusements: the dance succeeds the concert; sometimes
small plays, and now and then little dramatic entertainments. About two
years ago they performed the Winter's Tale; their poor father was not
then in his present situation." Mrs. Macqueen sighed, paused a minute,
and then proceeded--"Time must take something from us: but I should and
do bless, with heartfelt gratitude, the power which only, by its
stealing hand, has made me feel the lot of human nature. Mr. Macqueen,"
continued she, "at the time I mentioned, was full of spirits, and
performed the part of Autolycus. They made me take the character of the
good Paulina. By thus mixing in the amusements of our children, we have
added to their love and reverence perfect confidence and esteem, and
find, when our presence is wanting, the diversion, let it be what it
may, wants something to render it complete. They are now about acting
the Gentle Shepherd. Several rehearsals have already taken place in our
great barn, which is the theatre. On these occasions one of my sons
leads the band, another paints the scenes, and Colin, your rejected
partner, acts the part of prompter." Here this conversation, so
pleasing to Amanda, and interesting to Mrs. Macqueen, was interrupted by
a message from the drawing-room, to inform the latter the rubber was
over, and a new set wanted to cut in.
"I will return as soon as possible," said Mrs. Macqueen, as she was
quitting her seat. If Amanda had not dreaded the looks of Lady Martha
almost as much as those of Lord Mortimer or Lady Araminta, she would
have followed her to the drawing-room. As this was the case, she
resolved on remaining in her present situation. It was some time ere she
was observed by the young Macqueens. At last Miss Macqueen came over to
her--"I declare," said she, "you look so sad and solitary, I wish you
could be prevailed on to dance. Do try this; it is a very fine lively
one, and take Flora for your partner, who, you see, has sat in a corner
quite discomposed since she lost her partner, and by the next set Colin
will be disengaged."
Amanda declared she could not dance, and Miss Macqueen being called to
her place at the instant, she was again left to herself. Miss Macqueen,
however, continued to come and chat with her whenever she could do so
without losing any part of the dance. At last Lord Mortimer followed
her. The eyes of Amanda were involuntarily bent to the ground when she
saw him approach:--"You are an absolute runaway," cried he to Miss
Macqueen; "how do you suppose I will excuse your frequent desertions?"
"Why, Miss Donald is so lonely," said she.
"See," cried he, with quickness, "your sister beckons you to her. Suffer
me (taking her hand) to lead you to her."
Amanda looked up as they moved from her, and saw Lord Mortimer's head
half turned back; but the instant she perceived him he averted it, and
took no further notice of her. When the set was finished, Miss Macqueen
returned to Amanda, and was followed by some of her brothers and
sisters. Some of the gentlemen also approached Amanda, and requested the
honor of her hand, but she was steady in refusing all. Rich wines,
sweetmeats, and warm lemonade, were now handed about in profusion, and
the strains of the violin were succeeded by those of the bagpipe, played
by the family musician, venerable in his appearance, and habited in the
ancient Highland dress. With as much satisfaction to himself as to his
Scotch auditors, he played a lively Scotch reel, which in a moment
brought two of the Miss Macqueens and two gentlemen forward, and they
continued the dance till politeness induced them to stop, that one
might be begun in which the rest of the party could join. Dancing
continued in this manner with little intermission, but whenever there
was an interval, the young Macqueens paid every attention to Amanda; and
on her expressing her admiration of the Scotch music, made it a point
that she should mention some favorite airs that they might be played for
her; but these airs, the lively dances, the animated conversation, and
the friendly attentions paid her, could not remove her dejection, and
with truth they might have said--
"That nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe."
The entrance of Mrs. Macqueen was the signal for the dance being ended.
She made the young people sit down to refresh themselves before supper,
and apologized to Amanda for not returning to her; but said Lady Martha
Dormer had engaged her in a conversation which she could not interrupt.
At last they were summoned to supper, which, on Mr. Macqueen's account,
was laid out in a room on the same floor. Thither without ceremony
whoever was next the door first proceeded. Mr. Macqueen was already
seated at the table in his arm-chair, and Lady Martha Dormer on his
right hand. The eldest son was deputed to do the honors of the foot of
the table. The company was checkered, and Amanda found herself between
Lord Mortimer and Mr. Colin Macqueen; and in conversing with the latter,
Amanda sought to avoid noticing, or being noticed by Lord Mortimer; and
his lordship, by the particular attention which he paid Miss Macqueen,
who sat on the other side, appeared actuated by the same wish. The
sports of the morning had furnished the table with a variety of the
choicest wild fowl, and the plenty and beauty of the confectionery
denoted at once the hospitable spirit and elegant taste of the mistress
of the feast. Gayety presided at the board, and there was scarcely a
tongue, except Amanda's, which did not utter some lively sally. The
piper sat in the lobby, and if his strains were not melodious, they were
at least cheerful. In the course of supper, Lord Mortimer was compelled
to follow the universal example in drinking Amanda's health. Obliged to
turn her looks to him, oh! how did her heart shrink at the glance, the
expressive glance of his eye, as he pronounced Miss Donald. Unconscious
whether she had noticed in the usual manner his distressing compliment,
she abruptly turned to young Macqueen, and addressed some scarcely
articulate question to him. The supper things removed, the strains of
the piper were silenced, and songs, toasts, and sentiments succeeded.
Old Mr. Macqueen set the example by a favorite Scotch air, and then
called upon his next neighbor. Between the songs, toasts were called
for. At last it came to Lord Mortimer's turn. Amanda suddenly ceased
speaking to young Macqueen. She saw the glass of Lord Mortimer filled,
and in the next moment heard the name of Lady Euphrasia Sutherland. A
feeling like wounded pride stole into the soul of Amanda. She did not
decline her head as before, and she felt a faint glow upon her cheek.
The eyes of Lady Martha and Lady Araminta she thought directed to her
with an expressive meaning. "They think," cried she, "to witness
mortification and disappointment in my looks, but they shall not (if,
indeed, they are capable of enjoying such a triumph) have it."
At length she was called upon for a song. She declined the call; but Mr.
Macqueen declared, except assured she could not sing, she should not be
excused. This assurance, without a breach of truth, she could not give.
She did not wish to appear ungrateful to her kind entertainers, or
unsocial in the midst of mirth, by refusing what she was told would be
pleasing to them and their company. She also wished, from a sudden
impulse of pride, to appear cheerful in those eyes she knew were
attentively observing her, and therefore, after a little hesitation,
consented to sing. The first song which occurred to her was a little
simple, but pathetic air, which her father used to delight in, and which
Lord Mortimer more than once had heard from her; but indeed she could
recollect no song which at some time or other she had not sung for him.
The simple air she had chosen seemed perfectly adapted to her soft
voice, whose modulations were inexpressibly affecting. She had proceeded
through half the second verse, when her voice began to falter. The
attention of the company became, if possible, more fixed; but it was a
vain attention; no rich strain of melody repaid it, for the voice of the
songstress had suddenly ceased. Mrs. Macqueen, with the delicacy of a
susceptible mind, feared increasing her emotion by noticing it, and,
with a glance of her expressive eye, directed her company to silence.
Amanda's eyes were bent to the ground. Suddenly a glass of water was
presented to her by a trembling hand--by the hand of Mortimer himself.
She declined it with a motion of hers, and, reviving a little, raised
her head. Young Macqueen then gave her an entreating whisper to finish
the song. She thought it would look like affectation to require farther
solicitation, and, faintly smiling, again began in strains of liquid
melody, strains that seemed to breathe the very spirit of sensibility,
and came over each attentive ear,
"Like a sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets
Stealing and giving odor."
The plaudits she received from her singing gave to her cheeks such a
faint tinge of red as is seen in the bosom of the wild rose. She was now
authorized to call for a song, and, as if doomed to experience cause for
agitation, Lord Mortimer was the person from whom, in the rotation of
the table, she was to claim it. Thrice she was requested to do this ere
she could obey. At last she raised her eyes to his face, which was now
turned towards her, and she saw in it a confusion equal to that she
herself trembled under. Pale and red by turns, he appeared to her to
wait in painful agitation for the sound of her voice. Her lips moved,
but she could not articulate a word. Lord Mortimer bowed, as if he had
heard what they would have said, and then turning abruptly to Miss
Macqueen, began speaking to her.
"Come, come, my lord," said Mr. Macqueen, "we must not be put off in
this manner."
Lord Mortimer laughed, and attempted to rally the old gentleman; but he
seemed unequal to the attempt, for, with a sudden seriousness, he
declared his inability of complying with the present demand. All farther
solicitation on the subject was immediately dropped. In the round of
toasts, they forgot not to call upon Amanda for one. If she had listened
attentively when Lord Mortimer was about giving one, no less attentively
did he now listen to her. She hesitated a moment, and then gave Sir
Charles Bingley. After the toast had passed, "Sir Charles Bingley,"
repeated Miss Macqueen, leaning forward, and speaking across Lord
Mortimer. "Oh! I recollect him very well. His regiment was quartered
about two years ago at a little fort some distance from this--and I
remember his coming with a shooting party to the mountains, and sleeping
one night here. We had a delightful dance that evening, and all thought
him a charming young man. Pray, are you well acquainted with him?"
"Yes--No," replied Amanda.
"Ah! I believe you are, sly girl," cried Miss Macqueen, laughing. "Pray,
my lord, does not that blush declare Miss Donald guilty?" "We are not
always to judge from the countenance," said he, darting a penetrating
yet quickly-withdrawn glance at Amanda. "Experience," continued he,
"daily proves how little dependence is to be placed on it." Amanda
turned hastily away, and pretended, by speaking to young Macqueen, not
to notice a speech she knew directly pointed at her; for often had Lord
Mortimer declared that, "in the lineaments of the human face divine,
each passion of the soul might be well traced."
Miss Macqueen laughed, and said she always judged of the countenance,
and that her likings and dislikings were always the effects of first
sight.
The company broke up soon after this, and much earlier than their usual
hour, on account of the travellers. All but those then immediately
belonging to the family having departed, some maids of the house
appeared, to show the ladies to their respective chambers. Lady Martha
and Lady Araminta retired first. Amanda was following them, when Mrs.
Macqueen detained her, to try and prevail on her to stay two or three
days along with them. The Miss Macqueens joined their mother; but Amanda
assured them she could not comply with their request, though she felt
with gratitude its friendly warmth. Old Mr. Macqueen had had his chair
turned to the fire, and his sons and Lord Mortimer were surrounding it.
"Well, well," said he, calling Amanda to him, and taking her hand, "if
you will not stay with us now, remember, on your return, we shall lay an
embargo on you. In the mean time, I shall not lose the privilege which
my being an old married man gives me." So saying, he gently pulled
Amanda to him, and kissed her cheek. She could only smile at this
innocent freedom but she attempted to withdraw her hand to retire.
"Now," said Mr. Macqueen, still detaining it, "are all these young men
half mad with envy?" The young Macqueens joined in their father's
gallantry, and not a tongue was silent except Lord Mortimer's. His head
rested on his hand, and the cornice of the chimney supported his arm.
His hair, from which the dancing had almost shaken all the powder, hung
negligently about his face, and added to its paleness and sudden
dejection. One of the young Macqueens, turning from his brothers, who
were yet continuing their mirth with their father, addressed some
question to his lordship, but received no answer. Again he repeated it.
Lord Mortimer then suddenly started, as if from a profound reverie, and
apologized for his absence.
"Ay, ah, my lord," exclaimed old Mr. Macqueen, jocosely, "we may all
guess where your lordship was then travelling in idea--a little beyond
the mountains, I fancy. Ay, we all know where your heart and your
treasure now lie." "Do you?" said Lord Mortimer, with a tone of deep
dejection, and a heavy sigh, with an air, also, which seemed to declare
him scarcely conscious of what he said. He recollected himself, however,
at the instant, and began rallying himself, as the surest means of
preventing others doing so. The scene was too painful to Amanda. She
hastily withdrew her hand, and, faintly wishing the party a good-night,
went out to the maid, who was waiting for her in the lobby, and was
conducted to her room. She dismissed the servant at the door, and,
throwing herself into a chair, availed herself of solitude to give vent
to the tears whose painful suppression had so long tortured her heart.
She had not sat long in this situation when she heard a gentle tap at
the door. She started, and believing it to be one of the Miss Macqueens,
hastily wiped away her tears, and opened the door. A female stranger
appeared at it, who curtseying, respectfully said, "Lady Martha Dormer,
her lady, desired to see Miss Donald for a few minutes, if not
inconvenient to her." "See me!" repeated Amanda, with the utmost
surprise; "can it be possible?" She suddenly checked herself, and said
she would attend her ladyship immediately. She accordingly followed the
maid, a variety of strange ideas crowding upon her mind. Her conductress
retired as she shut the door of the room into which she showed Amanda.
It was a small ante-chamber adjoining the apartment Lady Martha was to
lie in. Here, with increasing surprise, she beheld Lord Mortimer pacing
the room in an agitated manner. His back was to the door as she entered,
but he turned round with quickness, approached, looked on her a few
moments, then, striking his hand suddenly against his forehead, turned
from her with an air of distraction.
Lady Martha, who was sitting at the head of the room, and only bowed as
Amanda entered it, motioned for her to take a chair; a motion Amanda
gladly obeyed, for her trembling limbs could scarcely support her.
All was silent for a few minutes. Lady Martha then spoke in a grave
voice:--"I should not, madam, have taken the liberty of sending for you
at this hour, but that I believe so favorable an opportunity would not
again have occurred of speaking to you on a subject particularly
interesting to me--an opportunity which has so unexpectedly saved me the
trouble of trying to find you out, and the necessity of writing to you."
Lady Martha paused, and her silence was not interrupted by Amanda. "Last
summer," continued Lady Martha--again she paused. The throbbings of
Amanda's heart became more violent. "Last summer," she said again,
"there were some little gifts presented to you by Lord Mortimer. From
the events which followed their acceptance, I must presume they are
valueless to you: from the events about taking place, they are of
importance elsewhere." She ceased, but Amanda could make no reply.
"You cannot be ignorant," said Lady Martha, with something of severity
in her accent, as if offended by the silence of Amanda,--"you cannot be
ignorant, I suppose, that it is the picture and ring I allude to. The
latter, from being a family one of particular value, I always destined
for the wife of Lord Mortimer; I therefore claim it in my own name. The
picture, I have his lordship's approbation and authority to demand; and
to convince you I have,--indeed, if such a conviction be
necessary,--have prevailed on him to be present at this conversation."
"No, madam, such a conviction was not necessary," cried Amanda. "I
should----" She could utter no more at the moment, yet tried to suppress
the agonizing feeling that tumultuously heaved her bosom.
"If not convenient to restore them immediately," said Lady Martha, "I
will give you a direction where they may be left in London, to which
place Mrs. Macqueen has informed me you are going." "It is perfectly
convenient now to restore them, madam," replied Amanda, with a voice
perfectly recovered, animated with conscious innocence and offended
pride, which always gave her strength. "I shall return," continued she,
moving to the door, "with them immediately to your ladyship."
The picture was suspended from her neck, and the ring in its case lay in
her pocket; but by the manner in which they had been asked, or rather
demanded from her, she felt amidst the anguish of her soul a sudden
emotion of pleasure that she could directly give them back. Yet, when in
her own room she hastily untied the picture from her neck, pulled the
black ribbon from it, and laid it in its case, her grief overcame every
other feeling, and a shower of tears fell from her. "Oh, Mortimer! dear
Mortimer!" she sighed, "must I part even with this little shadow! must I
retain no vestige of happier hours! Yet, why--why should I wish to
retain it, when the original will so soon be another's? Yes, if I behold
Mortimer again, it will be as the husband of Lady Euphrasia."
She recollected she was staying beyond the expected time, and wiped away
her tears. Yet, still she lingered a few minutes in the chamber, to try
to calm her agitation. She called her pride to her aid; it inspired her
with fortitude, and she proceeded to Lady Martha, determined that lady
should see nothing in her manner which she could possibly construe into
weakness or meanness. Never did she appear more interesting than at the
moment she re-entered the apartment. The passion she had called to her
aid gave a bright glow to her cheeks, and the traces of the tears she
had been shedding appeared upon those glowing cheeks like dew on the
silken leaves of the rose ere the sunbeams of the morning have exhaled
it. Those tears left an humble lustre in her eyes, even more interesting
than their wonted brilliancy. Her hair hung in rich and unrestrained
luxuriance--for she had thrown off her hat on first going to her
chamber--and gave to the beauty of her face, and the elegance of her
form, a complete finishing.
"Here, madam, is the ring," cried she, presenting it to Lady Martha,
"and here is the picture," she would have added, but her voice faltered,
and a tear started from her eye. Determined to conceal, if possible, her
feelings, she hastily dashed away the pearly fugitive. Lady Martha was
again extending her hand when Lord Mortimer suddenly started from a
couch on which he had thrown himself, and snatching the picture from the
trembling hand that held it, pulled it from its case, and flinging it on
the floor, trampled it beneath his feet. "Thus perish," exclaimed he,
"every memento of my attachment to Amanda! Oh, wretched, wretched girl!"
cried he, suddenly grasping her hand, and as suddenly relinquishing it,
"Oh, wretched, wretched girl! you have undone yourself and me!" He
turned abruptly away, and instantly quitted the room. Shocked by his
words, and terrified by his manner, Amanda had just power to gain a
chair. Lady Martha seemed also thunderstruck; but, from the musing
attitude in which she stood, the deep convulsive suffocating sobs of
Amanda soon called her. She went to her, and finding her unable to help
herself, loosened her cravat, bathed her temples with lavender, and gave
her water to drink. These attentions, and the tears she shed, revived
Amanda. She raised herself in her chair, on which she had fallen back,
but was yet too much agitated to stand.
"Poor, unhappy young creature!" said Lady Martha, "I pity you from my
soul! Ah! if your mind resembled your person, what a perfect creature
had you been! How happy had then been my poor Mortimer!"
Now, now was the test, the shining test of Amanda's virtue, agonized by
knowing she had lost the good opinion of those whom she loved with such
ardor, esteemed with such reverence. She knew by a few words she could
explain the appearances which had deprived her of his good opinion, and
fully regain it--regain, by a few words, the love, the esteem of her
valued, her inestimable Mortimer--the affection, the protection, of his
amiable aunt and sister. She leaned her head upon her hand, the weight
on her bosom became less oppressive; she raised her head. "Of my
innocence I can give such proofs," cried she. Her lips closed, a mortal
paleness overspread her face; the sound of suicide seemed piercing
through her ear; she trembled; the solemn, the dreadful declaration Lord
Cherbury had made of not surviving the disclosure of his secret, her
promise of inviolably keeping it, both rushed upon her mind. She beheld
herself on the very verge of a tremendous precipice, and about plunging
herself and a fellow-creature into it, from whence, at the tribunal of
her God, she would have to answer for accelerating the death of that
fellow-creature. "And is it by a breach of faith?" she asked herself, "I
hope to be reestablished in the opinion of Lord Mortimer and his
relations. Ah! mistaken idea, and how great is the delusion passion
spreads before our eyes, even if their esteem could be thus regained?
Oh! what were that, or what the esteem, the plaudits of the world, if
those of my own heart were gone forever! Oh! never!" cried she, still to
herself, and raising her eyes to Heaven. "Oh! never may the pang of
self-reproach be added to those which now oppress me!" Her heart at the
moment formed a solemn vow never, by any wilful act, to merit such a
pang. "And, oh, my God!" she cried, "forgive thy weak creature who,
assailed by strong temptation, thought for a moment of wandering from
the path of truth and integrity, which can alone conduct her to the
region where peace and immortal glory will be hers."
Amanda, amidst her powerful emotions, forgot she was observed, except by
that Being to whom she applied for pardon and future strength. Lady
Martha had been a silent spectator of her emotions, and, thinking as she
did of Amanda, could only hope that they proceeded from contrition for
her past conduct, forcibly awakened by reflecting on the deprivations it
had caused her.
When she again saw Amanda able to pay attention, she addressed her: "I
said I was sorry for witnessing your distress; I shall not repent the
expression, thinking as I now do; I hope that it is occasioned by regret
for past errors: the tears of repentance wash away the stains of guilt,
and that heart must indeed be callous which the sigh of remorse will not
melt to pity." Amanda turned her eyes with earnestness on Lady Martha
as she spoke, and her cheeks were again tinged with a faint glow.
"Perhaps I speak too plainly," cried Lady Martha, witnessing this glow,
and imputing it to resentment; "but I have ever liked the undisguised
language of sincerity. It gave me pleasure," she continued, "to hear you
had been in employment at Mrs. Duncan's, but that pleasure was destroyed
by hearing you were going to London, though to seek your brother; Mrs.
Duncan has informed Mrs. Macqueen. If this were indeed the motive, there
are means of inquiring without taking so imprudent a step." "Imprudent!"
repeated Amanda, involuntarily. "Yes," cried Lady Martha, "a journey so
long, without a protector, to a young, I must add, a lovely woman, teems
with danger, from which a mind of delicacy would shrink appalled. If,
indeed, you go to seek your brother, and he regards you as he should, he
would rather have you neglect him (though that you need not have done by
staying with Mrs. Duncan), than run into the way of insults. No
emergency in life should lead us to do an improper thing; as trying to
produce good by evil is impious, so trying to produce pleasure by
imprudence is folly; they are trials, however flatteringly they may
commence, which are sure to end in sorrow and disappointment.
"You will," continued Lady Martha, "if indeed anxious to escape from any
farther censure than what has already fallen upon you, return to Mrs.
Duncan, when I inform you (if indeed you are already ignorant of it)
that Colonel Belgrave passed this road about a month ago, on his way
from a remote part of Scotland to London, where he now is." "I cannot
help," said Amanda, "the misconstructions which may be put on my
actions; I can only support myself under the pain they inflict by
conscious rectitude. I am shocked, indeed, at the surmises entertained
about me, and a wretch whom my soul abhorred from the moment I knew his
real principles."
"If," said Lady Martha, "your journey is really not prompted by the
intention of seeing your brother, you heighten every other by
duplicity." "You are severe, madam," exclaimed Amanda, in whose soul the
pride of injured innocence was again reviving.
"If I probe the wound," cried Lady Martha. "I would also wish to heal
it. It is the wish I feel of saving a young creature from further error,
of serving a being once so valued by him who possesses my first regard,
that makes me speak as I now do. Return to Mrs. Duncan's, prove in one
instance at least you do not deserve suspicion. She is your friend, and
in your situation a friend is too precious a treasure to run the risk
of losing it with her; as she lives retired, there will be little danger
of your history or real name being discovered, which I am sorry you
dropped, let your motive for doing so be what it may, for the detection
of one deception makes us suspect every other. Return, I repeat, to Mrs.
Duncan's, and if you want any inquiries made about your brother, dictate
them, and I will take care they shall be made, and that you shall know
their result."
Had Amanda's motive for a journey to London been only to seek her
brother, she would gladly have accepted this offer, thus avoiding the
imputation of travelling after Belgrave, or of going to join him, the
hazard of encountering him in London, and the dangers of so long a
journey; but the affair of the will required expedition, and her own
immediate presence--an affair the injunction of Lady Dunreath had
prohibited her disclosing to any one who could not immediately forward
it, and which, if such an injunction never existed, she could not with
propriety have divulged to Lady Martha, who was so soon to be connected
with a family so materially concerned in it, and in whose favor, on
account of her nephew's connection with them, it was probable she might
be biased.
Amanda hoped and believed that in a place so large as London, and with
her assumed name (which she now resolved not to drop till in a more
secure situation), she should escape Belgrave. As to meeting him on the
road she had not the smallest apprehension concerning that, naturally
concluding that he never would have taken so long a journey as he had
lately done, if he could have stayed but a few weeks away. Time, she
trusted, would prove the falsity of the inference, which she already was
informed would be drawn from her persevering in her journey. She told
Lady Martha "that she thanked her for her kind offer, but must decline
it, as the line of conduct she had marked out for herself rendered it
unnecessary whose innocence would yet be justified," she added. Lady
Martha shook her head; the consciousness of having excited suspicions
which she could not justify, had indeed given to the looks of Amanda a
confusion when she spoke which confirmed them in Lady Martha's breast.
"I am sorry for your determination," said she, "but notwithstanding it
is so contrary to my ideas of what is right, I cannot let you depart
without telling you that, should you at any time want or require
services, which you would, or could not, ask from strangers, or perhaps
expect them to perform, acquaint me, and command mine; yet, in doing
justice to my own feelings, I must not do injustice to the noble ones
of Lord Mortimer. It is by his desire, as well as my own inclination, I
now speak to you in this manner, though past events, and the situation
he is about entering into, must forever preclude his personal
interference in your affairs. He could never hear the daughter of
Captain Fitzalan suffered inconveniency of any kind, without wishing,
without having her, indeed, if possible, extricated from it." "Oh!
madam," cried Amanda, unable to repress her gushing tears, "I am already
well acquainted with the noble feelings of Lord Mortimer, already
oppressed with a weight of obligations." Lady Martha was affected by her
energy; her eyes grew humid, and her voice softened. "Error in you will
be more inexcusable than in others," cried Lady Martha, "because, like
too many unhappy creatures, you cannot plead the desertion of all the
world. To regret past errors, be they what they may, is to insure my
assistance and protection, if both, or either, are at any time required
by you. Was I even gone, I should take care to leave a substitute behind
me who should fulfil my intentions towards you, and by so doing at once
soothe and gratify the feelings of Lord Mortimer." "I thank you, madam,"
cried Amanda, rising from her chair, and, as she wiped away her tears,
summoning all her fortitude to her aid, "for the interest you express
about me; the time may yet come, perhaps, when I shall prove I never was
unworthy of exciting it--when the notice now offered from compassion may
be tendered from esteem--then," continued Amanda, who could not forbear
this justice to herself, "the pity of Lady Martha Dormer will not humble
but exalt me, because then I shall know that it proceeded from that
generous sympathy which one virtuous mind feels for another in
distress." She moved to the door. "How lamentable," said Lady Martha,
"to have such talents misapplied!" "Ah! madam," cried Amanda, stopping,
and turning mournfully to her, "I find you are inflexible."
Lady Martha shook her head, and Amanda had laid her hand upon the lock,
when Lady Martha said suddenly, "There were letters passed between you
and Lord Mortimer." Amanda bowed. "They had better be mutually
returned," said Lady Martha. "Do you seal up his and send them to Lord
Cherbury's house in London, directed to me, and I will pledge myself to
have yours returned." "You shall be obeyed, madam," replied Amanda, in a
low, broken voice, after the pause of a moment. Lady Martha then said
she would no longer encroach upon her rest, and she retired.
In her chamber, the feelings she had so long, so painfully tried to
suppress, broke forth without again meeting opposition. The pride which
had given her transient animation was no more; for, as past
circumstances arose to recollection, she could not wonder at her being
condemned from them. She no longer accused Lady Martha in her mind of
severity--no longer felt offended with her; but, oh! Mortimer, the
bitter tears she shed fell not for herself alone; she wept to think thy
destiny, though more prosperous, was not less unhappy than her own; for
in thy broken accents, thy altered looks, she perceived a passion strong
and sincere as ever for her, and well she knew Lady Euphrasia not
calculated to soothe a sad heart, or steal an image from it which
corroded its felicity. Rest, after the incidents of the evening, was not
to be thought of, but nature was exhausted, and insensibly Amanda sunk
upon the bed in a deep sleep--so insensibly, that when she awoke, which
was not till the morning was pretty far advanced, she felt surprised at
her situation. She felt cold and unrefreshed from having lain in her
clothes all night, and when she went to adjust her dress at the glass,
was surprised at the pallidness of her looks. Anxious to escape a second
painful meeting, she went to the window to see if the chaise was come,
but was disappointed on finding that she had slept at the back of the
house. She heard no noise, and concluded the family had not yet risen
after the amusements of the preceding night, sat down by the window
which looked into a spacious garden, above which rose romantic hills
that formed a screen for some young and beautiful plantations that lay
between them and the garden; but the misty tops of the hills, the varied
trees which autumn spread over the plantations, nor the neat appearance
of the garden, had power to amuse the imagination of Amanda. Her
patience was exhausted after sitting some time, and going to the door
she softly opened it, to try if she could hear any one stirring. She had
not stood long, when the sound of footsteps and voices rose from below.
She instantly quitted her room, and descended the stairs into a small
hall, across which was a folding-door; this she gently opened, and found
it divided the hall she stood in from the one that was spacious and
lofty, and which her passing through the preceding night before it was
lighted up had prevented her taking notice of. Here, at a long table,
were the men servants belonging to the family, and the guests assembled
at breakfast, the piper at the head, like the king of the feast. Amanda
stepped back the moment she perceived them, well knowing Lord Mortimer's
servants would recollect her, and was ascending the stairs to her room
to ring for one of the maids, when a servant hastily followed her, and
said the family were already in the breakfast-room. At the same moment,
Mr. Colin Macqueen came from a parlor which opened into the little hall,
and paying Amanda, in a lively and affectionate manner, the compliments
of the morning, he led her to the parlor, where not only all the family
guests who had lain in the house, but several gentlemen, who had been
with them the preceding night, were assembled. Doctor Johnson has
already celebrated a Scotch breakfast, nor was the one at which Mrs.
Macqueen and her fair daughters presided inferior to any he had seen.
Beside chocolate, tea, and coffee, with the usual appendages, there were
rich cakes, choice sweetmeats, and a variety of cold pastry, with ham
and chickens, to which several of the gentlemen did honor. The dishes
were ornamented with sweet herbs and wild flowers, gathered about the
feet of the mountains and in the valley, and by every guest was placed a
fine bouquet from the green-house, with little French mottoes on love
and friendship about them, which, being opened and read, added to the
mirth of the company.
"I was just going to send one of the girls for you," said Mrs. Macqueen,
when Amanda had taken a place at the table, "and would have done so
before, but wished you to get as much rest as possible, after your
fatiguing journey." "I assure you, madam," said Amanda, "I have been up
this long time, expecting every moment a summons to the chaise." "I took
care of that last night," said Mrs. Macqueen, "for I was determined you
should not depart, at least without breakfasting." Amanda was seated
between Mr. Colin Macqueen and his eldest sister, and sought, by
conversing with the former, for the latter was too much engrossed by the
general gayety to pay much attention to any one, to avoid the looks she
dreaded to see. Yet the sound of Lord Mortimer's voice affected her as
much almost as his looks.
"Pray, Lady Martha," said the second Miss Macqueen, a lively,
thoughtless girl, "will your ladyship be so good as to guarantee a
promise Lord Mortimer has just made me, or rather that I have extorted
from him, which is the cause of this application?" "You must first, my
dear," answered Lady Martha, "let me know what the promise is." "Why,
gloves and bridal favors; but most unwillingly granted, I can assure
your ladyship." Amanda was obliged to set down the cup she was raising
to her lips, and a glance stole involuntarily from her towards Lord
Mortimer--a glance instantly withdrawn when she saw his eyes in the
same direction. "I declare," continued Miss Phœbe Macqueen, "I should do
the favor all due honor." "I am sure," cried Lord Mortimer, attempting
to speak cheerfully, "your acceptance of it will do honor to the
presenter." "And your lordship may be sure, too," said one of her
brothers, "it is a favor she would wish with all her heart to have an
opportunity of returning." "Oh! in that she would not be singular," said
a gentleman. "What do you think, Miss Donald," cried Colin Macqueen,
turning to Amanda, "do you imagine she would not?" Amanda could scarcely
speak. She tried, however, to hide her agitation, and, forcing a faint
smile, with a voice nearly as faint, said, "that was not a fair
question." The Miss Macqueens took upon themselves to answer it, and
Amanda, through their means, was relieved from farther embarrassment.
Breakfast over, Amanda was anxious to depart, and yet wanted courage to
be the first to move. A charm seemed to bind her to the spot where, for
the last time, she should behold Lord Mortimer, at least the last time
she ever expected to see him unmarried.
Her dread of being late on the road--and she heard the destined stage
for the night was at a great distance--at last conquered her reluctance
to move, and she said to Mr. Colin Macqueen it was time for her to go.
At that moment Lord Mortimer rose, and proposed to the young Macqueens
going with them to see the new plantations behind the house, which old
Mr. Macqueen had expressed a desire his lordship should give his opinion
of.
All the young gentlemen, as well as the Macqueens, Colin excepted,
attended his lordship; nor did they depart without wishing Amanda a
pleasant journey.
Silent and sad, she continued in her chair for some minutes after they
quitted the room, forgetful of her situation, till the loud laugh of the
Miss Macqueens restored her to a recollection of it. She blushed, and,
rising hastily, was proceeding to pay her farewell compliments, when
Mrs. Macqueen, rising, drew her to the window, and in a low voice
repeated her request for Amanda's company a few days. This Amanda again
declined, but gratefully expressed her thanks for it, and the
hospitality she had experienced. Mrs. Macqueen said, on her return to
Scotland, she hoped to be more successful. She also added, that some of
her boys and girls would gladly have accompanied Amanda a few miles on
her way, had not they all agreed, ere her arrival, to escort Lord
Mortimer's party to an inn at no great distance, and take an early
dinner, with them. She should write that day, she said, to Mrs. Duncan,
and thank her for having introduced to her family a person whose
acquaintance was an acquisition. Amanda, having received the
affectionate adieus of this amiable woman and her daughters, curtseyed,
though with downcast looks, to Lady Martha and Lady Araminta, who
returned her salutation with coolness.
Followed by two of the Miss Macqueens, she hurried through the hall,
from which the servants and the breakfast things were already removed,
but how was she distressed when the first object she saw outside the
door was Lord Mortimer, by whom stood Colin Macqueen--who had left the
parlor to see if the chaise was ready--and one of his brothers. Hastily
would she have stepped forward to the chaise, had not the gallantry of
the young men impeded her way. They expressed sorrow at her not staying
longer among them, and hopes on her return she would.
"Pray, my lord," cried the Miss Macqueens, while their brothers were
thus addressing Amanda, "pray, my lord," almost in the same breath,
"what have you done with the gentlemen?" "You should ask your brother,"
he replied; "he has locked them up in the plantation." A frolic was at
all times pleasing to the light-hearted Macqueens, and to enjoy the
present one off they ran directly, followed by their brothers, all
calling, as they ran, to Amanda not to stir till they came back, which
would be in a few minutes; but Amanda, from the awkward, the agitating
situation in which they had left her, would instantly have relieved
herself, could she have made the postilion hear her; but, as if enjoying
the race, he had gone to some distance to view it, and none of the
servants of the house were near. Conscious of her own emotions, she
feared betraying them, and stepped a few yards from the door, pretending
to be engrossed by the Macqueens. A heavy sigh suddenly pierced her
ears. "Amanda," in the next moment said a voice to which her heart
vibrated. She turned with involuntary quickness and saw Lord Mortimer
close by her. "Amanda," he repeated; then suddenly clasping his hands
together, exclaimed, with an agonized expression, while he turned
abruptly from her, "Gracious Heaven! what a situation! Amanda," said he,
again looking at her, "the scene which happened last night was
distressing. I am now sorry on your account that it took place.
Notwithstanding past events, I bear you no ill-will. The knowledge of
your uneasiness would give me pain. From my heart I forgive you all that
you have caused--that you have entailed upon me. At this moment I could
take you to my arms, and weep over you--like the fond mother over the
last darling of her hopes--tears of pity and forgiveness."
Amanda, unutterably affected, covered her face to hide the tears which
bedewed it.
"Let me have the pleasure of hearing," continued Lord Mortimer, "that
you forgive the uneasiness and pain I might have occasioned you last
night." "Forgive!" repeated Amanda. "Oh, my lord," and her voice sunk in
the sobs which heaved her bosom. "Could I think you were, you would be
happy--" Lord Mortimer stopped, overcome by strong emotions.
"Happy!" repeated Amanda! "oh! never--never!" continued she, raising her
streaming eyes to heaven; "oh, never--never in this world!"
At this moment the Macqueens were not only heard but seen running back,
followed by the gentlemen whom they had been prevailed on to liberate.
Shocked at the idea of being seen in such a situation, Amanda would have
called the postilion, but he was too far off to hear her weak voice, had
she then even been able to exert that voice. She looked towards him,
however, with an expression which denoted the feelings of her soul. Lord
Mortimer, sensible of those feelings, hastily pulled open the door of
the chaise, and taking the cold and trembling hand of Amanda with one
equally cold and trembling, assisted her into the chaise, then pressing
the hand he held between both his, he suddenly let it drop from him, and
closing the door without again looking at Amanda, called to the driver,
who instantly obeyed the call, and had mounted ere the Macqueens
arrived. Oh, what a contrast did their looks, blooming with health and
exercise, their gayety, their protected situation, form to the wan,
dejected, desolate Amanda! With looks of surprise they were going up to
the chaise, when Lord Mortimer, still standing by it, and anxious to
save his unhappy, lost Amanda the pain of being noticed in such
agitation, gave the man a signal to drive off, which was instantly
obeyed.
Thus did Amanda leave the mansion of the Macqueens, where sorrow had
scarcely ever before entered without meeting alleviation, a mansion,
where the stranger, the wayfaring man, and the needy, were sure of a
welcome, cordial as benevolence and hospitality themselves could give;
and where happiness, as pure as in this sublunary state can be
experienced, was enjoyed. As she drove from the door, she saw the
splendid equipages of Lord Mortimer and Lady Martha driving to it. She
turned from them with a sigh, at reflecting they would soon grace the
bridal pomp of Lady Euphrasia. She pursued the remainder of her journey
without meeting anything worthy of relation. It was in the evening she
reached London. The moment she stopped at the hotel she sent for a
carriage, and proceeded in it to Mrs. Connel's, in Bond Street.