"But thou who, mindful of the unhonored dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate,
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit should lament thy fate,
Haply some hoary headed swain may say,
Oft have I seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn."
"I left Enniskillen," said Oscar, "in the utmost distress of mind, for I
left it with the idea that I might no more behold Adela. Yet, dear and
precious as was her sight to my soul, I rejoiced she had not accompanied
the regiment, since to have beheld her but as the wife of Belgrave would
have been insupportable. Had the disappointment of my passion been
occasioned by its not meeting a return, pride would have assisted me to
conquer it; but to know it was tenderly returned, at once cherished and,
if possible, increased it. The idea of the happiness I might have
attained, rendered me insensible of any that I might still have enjoyed.
I performed the duties of my situation mechanically, and shunned society
as much as possible, unable to bear the raillery of my gay companions on
my melancholy.
"The summer you came to Ireland the regiment removed to Bray, whose
romantic situation allowed me to enjoy many delightful and solitary
rambles. It was there a man enlisted, whose manner and appearance were
for many days subjects of surprise and conversation to us all. From
both, it was obvious he had been accustomed to one of the superior
situations in life. A form more strikingly elegant I never beheld. The
officers made many attempts to try and discover who he really was; but
he evaded all their inquiries, yet with the utmost agitation. What
rendered him, if possible, more interesting, was his being accompanied
by a young and lovely woman, who, like him, appeared sunk beneath her
original state; but to their present one both conformed, if not with
cheerfulness, at least with resignation.
"Mary obtained work from almost all the officers; Henry was diligent in
his duties; and both were universally admired and respected. Often, in
my lonely rambles, have I surprised this unfortunate pair, who, it was
evident, like me, sought solitude for the indulgence of sorrow, weeping
together as if over the remembrance of happier hours. Often have I
beheld them gazing with mingled agony and tenderness on the infant which
Mary nursed, as if shuddering at the idea of its destiny.
"The loveliness of Mary was too striking not to attract the notice of
Belgrave; and from her situation he flattered himself she would be an
easy prey. He was, however, mistaken. She repulsed his overtures with
equal abhorrence and indignation. She wished to conceal them from her
husband, but he heard of them through the means of his fellow-soldiers,
who had several times seen the colonel following his wife. It was then
he really felt the bitterness of a servile situation. Of his wife he had
no doubt; she had already given him a convincing proof of constancy, but
he dreaded the insults she might receive from the colonel. The united
vigilance of both prevented, however, for some time, a repetition of
those insults. Exasperated by their vigilance, the colonel at last
concerted one of the most diabolical plans which could have entered into
the heart of man. A party of soldiers were ordered to the sea-side to
watch there for smuggled goods. Henry was named to be of the party, but
when the soldiers were drawn out he was not to be found. Belgrave's
servant, the vile agent of his master, had informed him that the colonel
meant to take advantage of his absence, and visit his wife. He trembled
for her safety, resolved to run every risk, sooner than leave her
unguarded, and accordingly absconded till the departure of the party.
The consequence of this was, that on his reappearance he was put under
an arrest for disobedience of orders, tried the next day, and sentenced
to be flogged on the following one. The very officers that passed the
sentence regretted it, but the strictness of military discipline
rendered it unavoidable.
"I shall not attempt to describe the situation of the unhappy young
couple; they felt for each other more than for themselves, and pride
heightened the agonies of Henry.
"Pale, weeping, with a distracted air, Mary flew to my apartment, and,
sinking at my feet, with uplifted hands besought me to interpose in
favor of her husband. I raised the poor mourner from the ground, and
assured her, yet with a sigh, from the fear of proving unsuccessful,
that I would do all in my power to save him. I therefore hastened to the
colonel, to ask for another that favor I should have disdained to desire
for myself; but to serve this wretched couple, I felt I could almost
humble myself to the earth.
"The colonel was on the parade; and, as if aware of my intention,
appeared sedulous to avoid me. But I would not be repulsed by this, and
followed him, entreating his attention for a few minutes. 'Dispatch your
business then in haste, sir,' said he, with an unusual haughtiness. 'I
shall, sir,' cried I, endeavoring to repress the indignation his manner
excited, 'and I also hope with success.' 'What is your business, sir?'
demanded he. ''Tis the business of humanity,' I replied, 'and 'tis only
for others I could ask a favor.'
"I then proceeded to mention it. Rage and malice inflamed his
countenance as I spoke. 'Never,' exclaimed he, 'shall the wretch receive
pardon from me; and I am astonished at your presumption in asking it.'
'Yet not half so astonished,' replied I, 'as I am at your obduracy.
Though, why do I say so? from your past actions, I should not be
surprised at any act you may commit.'
"His passion grew almost to frenzy; he asked me if I knew whom I was
addressing. 'Too well,' I replied; 'I know I am addressing one of the
completest villains upon earth.'
"He raised a small rattan he held, at these words, in a threatening
manner. I could no longer oppose my indignation. I rushed upon him,
wrested it from his hand, broke it, and flung it over his head. 'Now,'
cried I, laying my hand upon my sword, 'I am ready to give you the
satisfaction you may desire for my words--words whose truth I will
uphold with my life.' 'No,' said he, with the coolness of deliberate
malice; ''tis a far different satisfaction I shall expect to receive.
Some of the officers had by this time gathered round us, and attempted
to interfere, but he commanded their silence in a haughty manner, and
ordered me under an immediate arrest. My fate I then knew decided, but I
resolved to bear that fate with fortitude, nor let him triumph in every
respect over me. I was confined to my room, and Henry the next morning
was brought forth to receive his punishment. I will not, my sister, pain
your gentle heart by describing to you, as it was described to me by an
officer, his parting from his wife. Pride, indignation, tenderness, and
pity, were struggling in his heart, and visible in his countenance. He
attempted to assume composure, but when he reached the destined spot, he
could no longer control his feelings. The idea of being exposed,
disgraced, was too much for his noble soul. The paleness of his face
increased. He tottered, fell into the arms of a soldier, and expired
groaning forth the name of Mary. Four days after this melancholy event a
court-martial was held on me, when, as I expected, I was broken for
contempt to my superior officer. I retired to a solitary inn near Bray,
in a state of mind which baffles description, destitute of friends and
fortune. I felt in that moment as if I had no business in the world. I
was followed to the inn by a young lieutenant with whom I had been on an
intimate footing. The grief he expressed at my situation roused me from
almost a stupefaction that was stealing on me. The voice of friendship
will penetrate the deepest gloom, and I felt my sorrows gradually
allayed by it. He asked me had I fixed on any plan for myself. I replied
I had not, for it was vain to fix on plans when there were no friends to
support them. He took my hand and told me I was mistaken. In a few days
he trusted to procure me letters to a gentleman in London who had
considerable possessions in the West Indies, if such a thing was
agreeable to me. It was just what I wished for, and I thanked him with
the sincerest gratitude.
"In the evening I received a message from the unfortunate Mary,
requesting to see me directly. The soldier who brought it said she was
dying. I hastened to her. She was in bed, and supported by a soldier's
wife. The declining sunbeams stole into the apartment, and shed a kind
of solemn glory around her. The beauty that had caused her misfortunes
was faded, but she looked more interesting than when adorned with that
bloom of beauty. Sighs and tears impeded her words for some minutes
after I approached her. At last, in a faint voice she said, 'I sent for
you, sir, because I knew your goodness, your benevolence would excuse
the liberty. I knew you would think that no trouble which could soothe
the last sad moments of a wretched woman.'
"She then proceeded to inform me of the motives which made her
send--namely, to convey her infant to her father, a person of fortune in
Dublin, and to see her remains, ere I did so, laid by those of her
husband. Her unfortunate Henry, she added, had been son to a respectable
merchant. Their families were intimate, and an attachment which
commenced at an early period between them was encouraged. Henry's father
experienced a sudden reverse of fortune, and hers, in consequence of it,
forbade their ever thinking more of each other; but they could not obey
his commands, and married clandestinely, thus forfeiting the favor of
all their friends, as Henry's thought he wanted spirit, and hers deemed
her deficient in respect to her father. They were therefore compelled by
necessity to a state of life infinitely beneath them. 'But in my grave,'
continued she, 'I trust my father will bury all his resentment, and
protect this little orphan.'
"I promised a religious observance to her commands, and she expired in
about an hour after I quitted her. Mournful were the tasks she enjoined
me. I attended her remains to the grave, and then conveyed her child to
Dublin.
"Startled, amazed, distressed, her father too late regretted his rigor,
and received her infant to his arms with floods of repentant tears.
"I now procured my recommendatory letters, and sailed for England,
having first written farewell ones to my father and Mrs. Marlowe, in
which I informed both I was about quitting the kingdom. As soon as I had
procured cheap lodgings in London, I repaired to the gentleman to whom I
was recommended; but conceive my consternation when I heard he was
himself gone to the West Indies. I turned into a coffee-house, with an
intention of communicating this intelligence to my friend. While the
waiter was getting me materials for writing, I took up a newspaper, and
cast my eyes carelessly over it. Oh! my Amanda, what was the shock of
that moment, when I read my father's death: grief for him, anxiety for
you, both assailed my heart too powerfully for its feelings. My heart
grew giddy, my sight failed me, and I fell back with a deep groan. When
recovered, by the assistance of some gentlemen, I requested a carriage
might be sent for, but I was too weak to walk to it. On returning to my
lodgings, I was compelled to go to bed, from which I never rose for a
fortnight. During my illness all the little money I had brought along
with me was expended, and I was besides considerably in debt with the
people of the house for procuring me necessaries. When able to sit up
they furnished their accounts, and I candidly told my inability to
discharge them. In consequence of this I was arrested, and suffered to
take of my clothes but a change or two of linen. The horrors of what I
imagined would be a lasting captivity were heightened by reflecting on
your unprotected situation. A thousand times was I on the point of
writing to inquire into that situation, but still checked myself by
reflecting that, as I could not aid you, I should only add to any griefs
you might be oppressed with by acquainting you of mine. The company of
Captain Rushbrook alleviated in some degree the dreariness of my time. I
knew I should sustain an irreparable loss in losing him, but I should
have detested myself if any selfish motives had prevented my rejoicing
at his enlargement. Oh! little did I think his liberation was leading
the way to mine. Early this morning he returned, and introduced Sir
Charles Bingley to me. Gently, and by degrees, they broke the joyful
intelligence they had to communicate. With truth I can aver that the
announcement of a splendid fortune was not so pleasing to my heart as
the mention of my sister's safety. Of my poor Adela I know nothing since
my confinement; but I shudder to think of what she may have suffered
from being left solely in the power of such a man as Belgrave, for the
good old general died soon after I left Enniskillen.
"'Regret not too bitterly, my dear Oscar,' said Mrs. Marlowe, in one of
her letters, 'the good man's death; rather rejoice he was removed ere
his last hours were embittered by the knowledge of his darling child's
unhappiness.'
"Oh! my sister!" continued Oscar, with a heavy sigh, while tears fell
from him, and mingled with those Amanda was shedding, "in this world we
must have still something to wish and sigh for."
Oscar here concluded his narrative with such an expression of melancholy
as gave to Amanda the sad idea of his passion for Adela being incurable.
This was indeed the case; neither reason, time, nor absence could remove
or lessen it, and the acquisition of liberty or fortune lost half their
value by brooding over her loss.
When their friends returned to the drawing-room and again offered their
congratulations, Oscar's dejection would not permit him to reply to
them. When Mr. and Mrs. Rushbrook spoke of the happiness he might now
enjoy, he listened to their recapitulation of it as to a fulsome tale,
to which his heart in secret gave the lie. An innate sense of piety,
however, recalled him to a proper recollection of the blessings so
unexpectedly declared to be his. He accused himself of ingratitude to
Heaven in yielding to murmurs, after so astonishing a reverse in his
situation. Perfect happiness he had been early taught--and daily
experience confirmed the truth of the remark--was rarely to be met with;
how presumptuous in him, therefore, to repine at the common lot of
humanity: to be independent, to have the means of returning the
obligations Sir Charles Bingley had conferred upon him; to be able to
comfort and provide for his lovely and long-afflicted sister; and to
distribute relief amongst the children of indigence, were all blessings
which would shortly be his--blessings which demanded his warmest
gratitude, and for which he now raised his heart with thankfulness to
their divine Dispenser. His feelings grew composed: a kind of soft and
serene melancholy stole over his mind. He still thought of Adela, but
not with that kind of distracting anguish he had so recently
experienced; it was with that kind of tender regret which a soul of
sensibility feels when reflecting on a departed friend, and to him Adela
was as much lost, as if already shrouded in her native clay. "Yes, my
love," he said, as if her gentle spirit had already forsaken its earthly
mansion, "in that happy world we shall be reunited, which only can
reward thy goodness and thy sufferings."
He could now enter into conversation with his friends about the measures
which should be taken to forward his pretensions. It was the opinion of
Captain Rushbrook and Sir Charles, that to make known his claim to the
Marquis of Roslin was all that was necessary; a claim which they did not
imagine he would or could dispute, when such proofs of its validity as
the testimony of Lady Dunreath, and the will, could be produced. Was it
disputed, it was then time enough to apply elsewhere for justice.
Sir Charles knew the Marquis personally, and was also well acquainted in
his neighborhood, and declared he would accompany Oscar to Scotland.
Oscar thanked him for his intention. The support of a person so well
known, and universally esteemed he was convinced, would essentially
serve him. Sir Charles said, regimental business required his presence
in Ireland, which, however, would occasion no great delay, as he should
have it transacted in a few days; and as his regiment lay near
Donaghadee, they could cross over to Port-Patrick, and, in a few hours
after, reach the Marquis of Roslin's Castle.
The day after the next he had fixed for commencing his journey, and he
asked Oscar if it would be agreeable and convenient to accompany him
then. Oscar instantly assured him it was both. Amanda's heart fluttered
at the idea of a journey to Ireland. It was probable, she thought, that
they would take Wales in their way; and her soul seemed already on the
wing to accompany them thither, and be left at the cottage of nurse
Edwin, from whence she could again wander through the shades of Tudor
Hall, and take a last, a sad farewell of them; for she solemnly
determined from the moment she should be apprised of Lord Mortimer's
return to England to visit them no more. In such a farewell she believed
she should find a melancholy consolation that would soothe her spirits.
She imagined there was no necessity for accompanying her brother into
Scotland, and except told there was an absolute one, she determined to
decline the journey if she should be asked to undertake it. To go to the
very spot where she would hear particulars of Lord Mortimer's nuptials,
she felt would be too much for her fortitude, and might betray to her
brother a secret she had resolved carefully to conceal from him, as she
well knew the pain he would feel from knowing that the pangs of a
hopeless attachment were entailed upon her life, and would defeat
whatever flattering hopes he entertained for her. Exclusive of the
above-mentioned objections, she could not bear to go to a place where
she might perhaps witness the pain which Lord Mortimer must unavoidably
feel from having any disgrace befall a family he was so nearly connected
with. Oh, how her heart swelled at the idea that ere Oscar reached
Scotland, the interest of the Marquis of Roslin and Lord Mortimer would
be but one! From her apprehensions of being asked to undertake a journey
so truly repugnant to her feelings, she was soon relieved by Oscar's
declaring that, except she wished it, he would not ask her to take so
fatiguing a one, particularly as her presence he could not think at all
necessary.
Sir Charles Bingley assured him it was not; though in a low voice he
said to her, it was against his own interest he spoke.
She would now have mentioned her wish of going to Wales, had not a
certain consciousness checked her. She feared her countenance would
betray her motives for such a wish. While she hesitated about mentioning
it, Sir Charles Bingley told Captain Rushbrook, that he had applied to a
friend of his in power for a place for him, and had been fortunate
enough to make application at the very time there was one of tolerable
emolument vacant, at ----, about seventy miles distant from London,
whither it would be necessary he should go as soon as possible. He
therefore proposed that he and Mrs. Rushbrook should begin preparations
for their journey the ensuing morning, and exert themselves to be able
to undertake it in the course of the week.
They were all rapture and gratitude at this intelligence, which opened a
prospect of support through their own means, as the bread of
independence, however hardly earned, which here was not the case, must
ever be sweet to souls of sensibility.
Oscar looked with anxiety at his sister, on the mention of the
Rushbrook's removal from town, as if to say, to whose care then can I
intrust you? Mrs. Rushbrook interpreted his look, and instantly
requested that Miss Fitzalan might accompany them, declaring her society
would render their felicity complete. This was the moment for Amanda to
speak. She took courage, and mentioned her earnest wish of visiting her
faithful nurse, declaring she could not lose so favorable an opportunity
as now offered for the gratification of that wish, by accompanying her
brother into Wales. Emily pleaded, but Amanda, though with the utmost
gratitude and tenderness, as if to soften her refusal, was steady. Oscar
was pleased with his sister's determination, as he trusted going into
what might be called her native air, joined to the tender care of nurse
Edwin, would recruit her health. Sir Charles was in raptures at the idea
of having her company so far on their way.
Everything relative to the proceedings of the whole party was arranged
before dinner, at which Sir Charles presided, giving pleasure to all
around him, by the ineffable sweetness of his manners. He withdrew at an
early hour at night, and his friends soon after retired to their
respective chambers. On entering the breakfast-room next morning, Amanda
found not only her brother and the Rushbrooks, but Sir Charles Bingley
there. Immediately after breakfast, he drew Oscar aside, and in the most
delicate terms insisted on being his banker at present, to which Oscar
gratefully consented. As soon as this affair was settled, he put a note
into his sister's hands, to purchase whatever she should deem necessary;
and she went out with the Rushbrooks, who, according to Sir Charles's
directions, began preparations for their journey this day. After their
return, Sir Charles found an opportunity of again making an offer of his
hand to Amanda.
The sincere friendship she had conceived for him made her determine to
terminate his suspense on her account. "Was I to accept your generous
proposal, Sir Charles," said she, "I should be unworthy of that esteem
which it will be my pride to retain and my pleasure to return, because
beyond esteem I cannot go myself. It is due to your friendship," cried
she, after the hesitation of a moment, whilst a rosy blush stole over
her lovely face, and as quickly faded from it, "to declare, that ere I
saw you, the fate of my heart was decided."
Sir Charles turned pale. He grasped her hands in a kind of silent agony
to his bosom, then exclaimed: "I will not, Miss Fitzalan, after your
generous confidence, tease you with further importunity."