Chapter XXXVI

"Thy presence only 'tis can make me blest,
Heal my unquiet mind, and tune my soul."--OTWAY.

The fatigue, distress, and agitation of Amanda could no longer be struggled with; she sunk beneath their violence, and for a week was confined to her bed by the fever which had seized her in England, and ever since lurked in her veins. The whole sisterhood, who took it in turn to attend her, vied with each other in kindness and care to the poor invalid. Their efforts for her recovery were aided by a skilful physician from the next town, who called, without being sent for, at the convent. He said he had known Captain Fitzalan, and that, hearing that Miss Fitzalan was indisposed, he had come in hopes he might be of service to the daughter of a man he so much esteemed. He would accept of no fee, and the prioress, who was a woman of sagacity, suspected, as well as Amanda, that he came by the direction of Lord Mortimer. Nor were they mistaken, for, distracted by apprehensions about her, he had taken this method of lightening his fears, flattering himself, by the excellent advice he had procured, her recovery would be much expedited, and, of course, his suspense at least terminated. The doctor did not withdraw his visits when Amanda was able to rise; he attended her punctually, and often paid her long visits, which were of infinite service to her spirits, as he was a man of much information and cheerfulness. In a few days she was removed from her chamber into a pleasant room below stairs, which opened into the garden, where, leaning on the friendly doctor's arm, or one of the nuns', she walked at different times a few minutes each day. Lord Mortimer, on hearing this, thought he might now solicit an interview, and accordingly wrote for that purpose:--

TO MISS FITZALAN.

Lord Mortimer presents his compliments to Miss Fitzalan,
flatters himself she will allow him personally to express the
sincere happiness her restoration to health has afforded him. He
cannot think she will refuse so reasonable a request. He is
almost convinced she would not hesitate a moment in granting it,
could she form an idea of the misery he has experienced on her
account, and the anxiety he feels, and must continue to feel,
till some expressions in the last interview are explained.

Castle Carberry, 10th May.

This letter greatly distressed Amanda. She had hoped the pain of again rejecting his visits and requests would have been spared her. She guessed at the expressions he alluded to in his letter; they were those she had dropped relative to her promise to her father, and from the impetuous and tender feelings of Lord Mortimer she easily conceived the agony he would experience when he found this promise inviolable. She felt more for his distress than her own. Her heart, seasoned in the school of adversity, could bear its sorrows with calmness; but this was not his case, and she paid the tribute of tears to a love so fervent, so faithful, and so hopeless.

She then requested Sister Mary to acquaint his messenger that she received no visits; that, as she was tolerably recovered, she entreated his lordship would not take the trouble of continuing his inquiries about her health, or to send her any more written messages, as she was unable to answer them. The prioress, who was present when she received the letter, commended her exceedingly for the fortitude and discretion she had manifested. Amanda had deemed it necessary to inform her, after the conversation she heard between her and Lord Mortimer, of the terms on which they stood with each other; and the prioress, who doubted whether his lordship was in reality as honorable as he professed himself, thought Amanda on the sure side in declining his visits.

The next morning the doctor called as usual. He told Amanda he had brought her an entertaining book, for no such thing could be procured at St. Catherine's, and, as she had expressed her regret at this, from the time she had been able to read he had supplied her from his library, which was extensive and well chosen.

He did not present it to her till he was retiring, and then said, with a significant smile, she would find it contained something worthy of her particular attention. Amanda was alone, and immediately opened it. Great was her astonishment when a letter dropped from it into her lap. She snatched it up, and, perceiving the direction in Lord Mortimer's hand, she hesitated whether she should open a letter conveyed in this manner; but to return it unopened was surely a slight Lord Mortimer merited not, and she broke the seal with a trembling hand and a palpitating heart:--

Unkind Amanda, to compel me to use stratagems in writing to you,
and destroy the delightful hopes which had sprung in my soul, at
the prospect of being about to receive a reward for my
sufferings. Am I ever to be involved in doubts and perplexity on
your account? Am I ever to see difficulty succeeded by
difficulty, and hope by disappointment?

You must be sensible of the anxiety I shall feel, until your
ambiguous expressions are fully explained, and yet you refuse
this explanation! But you have no pity for my feelings. Would it
not be more generous in you to permit an interview than to keep
me in suspense? To know the worst is some degree of ease;
besides, I should then have an opportunity of perhaps convincing
you that virtue, unlike vice, has its bounds, and that we may
sometimes carry our notions of honor and generosity too far, and
sacrifice our real happiness to chimerical ideas of them. Surely
I shall not be too presumptuous in saying that, if the regard
Amanda once flattered me with is undiminished, she will, by
rejecting a union with me, leave me not the only sufferer.

Oh! do not, my dear and too scrupulous girl, think a moment
longer of persevering in a resolution so prejudicial to your
welfare. Your situation requires particular protection: young,
innocent, and beautiful; already the object of licentious
pursuits; your nearest relations your greatest enemies; your
brother, from his unsettled line of life, unable to be near you.
Oh! my Amanda, from such a situation what evils may accrue?
Avoid them, by taking refuge in his arms, who will be to you a
tender friend and faithful guardian. Before such evils, the
obligation for keeping a promise to reject me, fades away,
particularly when the motives which led to such a promise are
considered. Captain Fitzalan, hurt by the unfortunate letter he
received from my father, extended his resentment to his son, and
called upon you without reflecting on the consequences of such a
measure to give me up. This is the only reason I can conceive
for his desiring such a promise, and had I but arrived while he
could have listened to my arguments, I am firmly convinced,
instead of opposing, he would have sanctioned our union, and
given his beloved girl to a man who, in every instance, would
study to evince his gratitude for such a gift, and to supply his
loss.

Happiness, my dear Amanda, is in long arrears with us. She is
now ready to make up for past deficiencies, if it is not our own
faults; let us not frighten her from performing her good
intentions, but hand in hand receive the lovely and long absent
guest to our bosoms.

You will not, cannot, must not, be inflexible; I shall expect,
as soon as you read this, a summons to St. Catherine's to
receive the ratification of my hopes. In everything respecting
our union I will be guided by you, except delaying it; what we
have both suffered already from deceit makes me doubly anxious
to secure you mine, lest another vile scheme should be formed to
effect our separation.

Oh! Amanda, the faintest prospect of calling you mine gives to
my heart a felicity no language can express. Refuse not being
mine except you bring me an addition of fortune; already rich in
every virtue, I shall, in obtaining you, obtain a treasure which
the wealthiest, the proudest, and the vainest of the sons of men
may envy me the possession of, and which the good, the sensible,
and elegant, must esteem the kindest gift indulgent heaven could
bestow on me. Banish all uneasy doubts and scruples, my Amanda,
from your mind, nor think a promise, which was demanded without
reflecting on the consequences that must attend it, can be
binding. The ingenuous soul of your father would have cancelled
it in a moment, had those consequences been represented to him;
and now, when our own reason convinces us of them, I make no
doubt, if departed souls are permitted to view the transactions
of this world, his spirit would behold our union with
approbation. Yes, my Amanda, I repeat your father's approving
spirit will smile upon an act which gives to his lovely and
beloved orphan a faithful friend and steady protector, in her
adoring

MORTIMER.

Castle Carberry, 11th May.

This letter deeply affected the sensibility, but could not shake the resolution of Amanda. She would not have answered it, as she considered any correspondence an infringement on the promises she had given her father to decline any further intimacy with him; but from the warmth and agitation displayed in his letter, it was evident to her that, if he did not receive an immediate answer to it, he would come to St. Catherine's and insist on seeing her; and she felt assured, that she could much better deliver her sentiments upon paper than to him; she accordingly wrote as follows:--

TO LORD MORTIMER.

MY LORD,--You cannot change my resolution; surely, when I
solemnly declare to you it is unalterable, you will spare me any
further importunity on so painful a subject. In vain, my lord,
would you, by sophistry, cloaked with tenderness for that
purpose, try to influence me. The arguments you have made use
of, I am convinced, you never would have adopted, had you not
been mistaken in regard to those motives which prompted my
father to ask a promise from me of declining any farther
connection with you. It was not from resentment, my lord; no,
his death was then fast approaching, and he, in charity for all
mankind, forgave those who had wounded him by unjust reproach
and accusation; it was a proper respect for his own character,
and not resentment, which influenced his conduct, as he was
convinced if I consented to an alliance with you, Lord Cherbury
would be confirmed in all the suspicions he entertained of his
having entangled you with me, and consequently load his memory
with contempt. Tenderness also for me actuated him; he was
acquainted with the proud heart of Lord Cherbury, and knew that
if, poor and reduced as I was, I entered his family I should be
considered and treated as a mean intruder. So thoroughly am I
convinced that he did not err in this idea, that, whenever
reason is predominant in my mind, I think, even if a promise did
not exist for such a purpose, I should decline your addresses;
for, though I could submit with cheerfulness to many
inconveniences for your sake, I never could support indignities.
We must part, my lord; Providence has appointed different paths
for us to pursue in life: yours smooth and flowery, if by
useless regrets you do not frustrate the intentions of the
benevolent Donor; mine rough and thorny; but both, though so
different, will lead to the same goal, where we shall again meet
to be no more separated.

Let not your lordship deem me either unkind or ungrateful; my
heart disavows the justice of such accusations, and is but too
sensible of your tenderness and generosity. Yes, my lord, I will
confess that no pangs can be more pungent than those which now
rend it, at being obliged to act against its feelings; but the
greater the sacrifice the greater the merit of submitting to it,
and a ray of self-approbation is perhaps the only sunshine of
the soul which will brighten my future days.

Never, my lord, should I enjoy this, if my promise to my father
was violated. There is but one circumstance which could set it
aside, that is, having a fortune, that even Lord Cherbury might
deem equivalent to your own to bring you; for then my father has
often said he would approve our union; but this is amongst the
improbabilities of this life, and we must endeavor to reconcile
ourselves to the destiny which separates us.

I hope your lordship will not attempt to see me again; you must
be sensible that your visits would be highly injurious to me.
Even the holy and solitary asylum which I have found would not
protect me from the malice which has already been so busy with
my peace and fame. Alas! I now need the utmost
vigilance--deprived as I am of those on whom I had claim of
protection, it behooves me to exert the utmost circumspection in
my conduct; he in whom I expected to have found a guardian,
Oscar, my dear unfortunate brother, is gone, I know not whither,
persecuted and afflicted by the perfidious monster who has been
such a source of misery to me! Oh, my lord, when I think what
his sufferings may now be, my heart sinks within me. Oh! had I
been the only sufferer I should not have felt so great a degree
of agony as I now endure; but I will not despair about my dear
Oscar. The Providence which has been so kind to his sister,
which so unexpectedly raised her friends at the moment she
deemed herself deprived of all earthly comfort, may to him have
been equally merciful. I have trespassed a long time upon your
lordship's attention, but I wished to be explicit, to avoid the
necessity of any further correspondence between us. You now know
my resolves; you also know my feelings; in pity to them spare me
any further conflicts. May the tranquil happiness you so truly
deserve soon be yours! Do not, my lord, because disappointed in
one wish, lose your sense of the many valuable blessings with
which you are surrounded, in fulfilling the claims which your
friends, your country, have upon you; show how truly you merit
those blessings, and banish all useless regrets from your heart.
Adieu, my lord!--suffer no uneasiness on my account. If Heaven
prolongs my life, I have no doubt but I shall find a little
comfortable shelter from the world, where, conscious I have
acted according to my principles of right, I shall enjoy the
serenity which ever attends self-approbation--a serenity which
no changes or chances in this life will, I trust, ever wrest
from

AMANDA FITZALAN.

St. Catherine's, May 12th.

She dispatched this by an old man who was employed in the garden at St. Catherine's; but her spirits were so much affected by writing it, she was obliged to go up and lie on the bed. She considered herself as having taken a final adieu of Lord Mortimer, and the idea was too painful to be supported with fortitude. Tender and fervent as his attachment was now to her, she believed the hurry and bustle of the world, in which he must be engaged, would soon eradicate it. A transfer of his affections, to one equal to himself in rank and fortune, was a probable event, and of course a total expulsion of her from his memory would follow. A deadly coldness stole upon her heart at the idea of being forgotten by him, and produced a flood of tears. She then began to accuse herself of inconsistency. She had often thought, if Lord Mortimer was restored to happiness, she should feel more tranquil. And now, when the means of effecting this restoration occurred, she trembled and lamented as if it would increase her misery. "I am selfish," said she to herself, "in desiring the prolongation of an affection which must ever be hopeless. I am weak in regretting the probability of its transfer, as I can never return it."

To conquer those feelings, she found she must banish Lord Mortimer from her thoughts. Except she succeeded in some degree in this, she felt she never should be able to exert the fortitude her present situation demanded. She now saw a probability of her existence being prolonged, and the bread of idleness or dependence could never be sweet to Amanda Fitzalan.

She had lain about an hour on the bed, and was about rising and returning to the parlor, when Sister Mary entered the chamber, and delivered her a letter. Ere Amanda looked at the superscription, her agitated heart foretold her whom it came from. She was not mistaken in her conjecture; but as she held it in her hand, she hesitated whether she should open it or not. "Yet," said she to herself, "it can be no great harm. He cannot, after what I have declared, suppose my resolution to be shaken. He writes to assure me of his perfect acquiescence to it." Sister Mary left her at the instant her deliberations ended, by opening the letter.

TO MISS FITZALAN.

Inexorable Amanda! but I will spare both you and myself the pain
of farther importunity. All I now request is, that for three
months longer at least, you will continue at St. Catherine's; or
that, if you find a much longer residence there unpleasant, you
will, on quitting it, leave directions where to be found. Ere
half the above-mentioned period be elapsed, I trust I shall be
able satisfactorily to account for such a request. I am quitting
Castle Carberry immediately. I shall leave it with a degree of
tranquillity that would perhaps surprise you, after what has so
lately passed, if in this one instance you will oblige your ever
faithful

MORTIMER.

This laconic letter astonished Amanda. By its style it was evident Lord Mortimer had recovered his cheerfulness--recovered it not from a determination of giving her up, but from a hope of their again meeting, as they could both wish. A sudden transport rushed upon her heart at such an idea, but quickly died away when she reflected it was almost beyond the possibility of things to bring about a pleasing interview between them. She knew Lord Mortimer had a sanguine temper, and though it might mislead him, she resolved it should not mislead her. She could not form the most distant surmise of what he had now in agitation; but whatever it was, she firmly believed it would end in disappointment. To refuse every request of his was painful; but propriety demanded she should not accede to the last, for one step, she wisely considered, from the line of prudence she had marked out for herself to take, might plunge her in difficulties from which she would find it impossible to extricate herself. With an unsteady hand she returned the following answer:--

TO LORD MORTIMER.

MY LORD,--I cannot comply with your request. You may, if you
please, repeat inexorable Amanda. I had rather incur the
imputation of obstinacy than imprudence, and think it much
better to meet your accusation, than deserve my own. How long I
may reside at St. Catherine's is to myself unknown. When I quit
it, I certainly will not promise to leave any directions where
you may find me.

The obstacles which have rendered our separation necessary, are,
I am convinced, beyond your lordship's power to conquer. Except
they were removed, any farther interviews between us would be
foolish and imprudent in the extreme. I rejoice to hear you are
leaving the castle. I also rejoice, but am not surprised, to
hear of your tranquillity. From your good sense I expected you
would make exertions against useless regrets, and those
exertions I knew would be attended with success; but, as some
return for the sincere pleasure I feel for your restoration to
tranquillity, seek not to disturb again that of

AMANDA FITZALAN.

St. Catherine's, May 12th.

Scarcely had she sealed this letter when she was called to dinner; but though she obeyed the summons she could not eat. The exertions her writing to Lord Mortimer required, and the agitation his letter had thrown her into, quite exhausted her strength and spirits. The nuns withdrew soon after dinner, and left her alone with the prioress. In a few minutes after their departure, the old gardener returned from Castle Carberry, where he had been delivering her letter. After informing her he had put it safely into his lordship's hands, he added, with a look which seemed to indicate a fear lest she should be distressed, that he had received neither letter nor message from him, though he waited a long time in expectation of receiving either one or the other; but he supposed, he said, his lordship was in too great a hurry just then to give any answer, as a chaise and four was waiting to carry him to Dublin.

Amanda burst into tears as the man retired from the room. She saw she had written to Lord Mortimer for the last time, and she could not suppress this tribute of regret. She was firmly convinced, indeed, she should behold him no more. The idea of visiting her she was sure, nay, she hoped, he would relinquish, when he found, which she supposed would soon be the case, the schemes or hopes which now buoyed up his spirits impossible to be realized.

The prioress sympathized in her sorrow; though not from her own experience, yet from the experience of others, she knew how dangerous and bewitching a creature man is, and how difficult it is to remove the chains which he twines around the female heart. To remove those which lay so heavy upon the delicate and susceptible heart of her young friend, without leaving a corrosive wound, was her sincere wish, and by strengthening her resolution, she hoped success would crown their endeavors.

Two hours were elapsed since her messenger's return from the castle, when Sister Mary entered the room with a large packet, which she put into Amanda's hands, saying, it was given her by Lord Mortimer's servant, who rode off the moment he delivered it.

Sister Mary made no scruple of saying, she should like to know what such a weighty packet contained. The prioress chide her in a laughing manner for her curiosity, and drew her into the garden, to give Amanda an opportunity of examining the contents.

She was surprised, on breaking the seal, to perceive a very handsome pocket-book in a blank cover, and found unsealed, a letter to this effect:--

TO MISS FITZALAN.

I have put it out of your power to return this, by departing
long ere you receive it. Surely, if you have the laudable pride
you profess, you will not hesitate to use the contents of the
pocket-book, as the only means of avoiding a weight of
obligations from strangers. Though discarded as a lover, surely
I may be esteemed as a friend, and with such a title I will be
contented till I can lay claim to a tenderer one. You start at
this last expression, and I have no doubt you will call me a
romantic visionary, for entertaining hopes which you have so
positively assured me can never be realized; but ere I resign
them, I must have something more powerful than this assurance,
my sweet Amanda, to convince me of their fallacy. I was
inexpressibly shocked this morning to learn by your letter, that
your brother had met with misfortune. My blood boils with
indignation against the monster who has, to use your emphatical
expression, been such a source of misery to you both. I shall
make it my particular care to try and discover the place to
which Mr. Fitzalan is gone, and in what situation. By means of
the agents, or some of the officers belonging to the regiment, I
flatter myself with being able to gain some intelligence of him.
I need not add, that, to the utmost extent of my power I will
serve him. My success in this affair, as well as in that which
concerns a much dearer being, you may be convinced you shall
soon hear. Adieu, my Amanda; I cannot say, like Hamlet, "Go, get
you to a nunnery;" but I can say, "Stay there, I charge you."
Seriously, I could wish, except you find your present situation
very unpleasant and inconvenient, not to change it for a short
time. I think, for a temporary abode, you could not find a more
eligible one; and, as I shall be all impatience when I return to
Ireland to see you, a search after you would be truly
insupportable. You have already refused to inform me of your
determination relative to this matter; surely I may venture to
request it may be as I wish, when I assure you, that, except I
can see you in a manner pleasing to both, I never will force
into your presence him, who, let things turn out as they may,
must ever continue Your faithful

MORTIMER.

"Gracious Heaven!" said Amanda to herself, "what can he mean? What scheme can he have in agitation which will remove the obstacles to our union? He here seems to speak of a certainty of success. Oh, grant, merciful Power!" she continued, raising her meek eyes to heaven, while a rosy blush stole upon her cheeks, "grant that indeed he may be successful. He talks of returning to Ireland; still," proceeded she, reading over the letter, "of requiring something more powerful than my assurance to convince him of the fallacy of his hopes. Surely, Lord Mortimer would not be so cruel as to raise expectations in my bosom without those in his own were well founded. No, dear Mortimer, I will not call you a romantic visionary, but the most amiable, the most generous of men, who for poor Amanda encounters difficulties and sacrifices every splendid expectation." She rejoiced at the intention he had declared of seeking out Oscar. She looked forward either to a speedy interview, or speedy intelligence of this beloved brother, as she knew Lord Mortimer would seek him with the persevering spirit of benevolence, and leave no means untried to restore him to her.

She now examined the contents of the pocket-book. It contained a number of small bills, to the amount of two hundred pounds,--a large present, but one so delicately presented, that even her ideas of propriety could scarcely raise a scruple against her accepting it. They did, however, suggest one. Uncertain how matters would yet terminate between her and Lord Mortimer, she was unwilling to receive pecuniary obligations from him. But when she reflected on his noble and feeling heart, she knew she should severely wound it by returning his present; she therefore resolved on keeping it, making a kind of compromise with her feelings about the matter, by determining that, except entitled to receive them, she would never more accept favors of this nature from his lordship. The present one, indeed, was a most seasonable relief, and removed from her heart a load of anxiety which had weighed on it. After paying her father's funeral expenses, the people with whom he lodged, and the apothecary who had attended him, she found herself mistress of but twenty guineas in the whole world, and more than half of this she considered as already due to the benevolent sisters of St. Catherine's, who were ill able to afford any additional expense.

She had resolved to force them to accept, what indeed she deemed a poor return for their kindness to her, and she then intended to retire to some obscure hovel in the neighborhood, as better suited to the state of her finances, and continue there till her health was sufficiently restored to enable her to make exertions for her livelihood. But she shuddered at the idea of leaving St. Catherine's and residing amongst a set of boors. She felt sensations something similar to those we may suppose a person would feel who was about being committed to a tempestuous ocean without any means of security.

Lord Mortimer had prevented the necessity which had prompted her to think of a removal, and she now resolved to reside, at least for the time he had mentioned, in the convent, during which she supposed her uncertainties relative to him would be over, and that, if it was not her fate to be his, she should, by the perfect re-establishment of her health, be enabled to use her abilities in the manner her situation required. Tears of heartfelt gratitude and sensibility flowed down her cheeks for him who had lightened her mind of the care which had so oppressed it.

She at length recollected the prioress had retired into the garden from complaisance to her, and yet continued in it, waiting no doubt to be summoned back to her. She hastily wiped away her tears, and folding up the precious letter which was bedewed with them, repaired to the garden, resolving not to communicate its contents, as the divulgement of expectations (considering how liable all human ones are to be disappointed) she ever considered a piece of folly.

She found the prioress and Sister Mary seated under a broken and ivy-covered arch. "Jesu! my dear," said the latter, "I thought you would never come to us. Our good mother has been keeping me here in spite of my teeth, though I told her the sweet cakes I made for tea would be burned by this time, and that, supposing you were reading a letter from Lord Mortimer, there could be no harm in my seeing you." Amanda relieved the impatient Mary, and she took her seat. The prioress cast her piercing eyes upon her. She perceived she had been weeping, and that joy rather than sorrow caused her tears. She was too delicate to inquire into its source; but she took Amanda's hand, and gave it a pressure, which seemed to say, "I see, my dear child, you have met with something which pleases you, and my heart sympathizes as much in your happiness as in your grief."

Amanda returned the affectionate pressure with one equally tender and a starting tear. They were soon called by Sister Mary to partake of her hot cakes, which she had made indeed in hopes of tempting Amanda to eat after her bad dinner. The whole community were assembled at tea when the doctor entered the parlor. Amanda blushed and looked grave at his first entrance; but he soon rallied her out of her gravity. And when the prioress and the nuns, according to custom, had withdrawn to evening vespers, he said, with a significant smile, "he feared she had not attended as much as he wished she should to the contents of the book he had last brought her." She saw by his manner he was acquainted with her situation relative to Lord Mortimer, and therefore replied by saying, "that perhaps, if he knew the motives which influenced her conduct, he would not think her wrong in disregarding what he had just mentioned." She also said, "she detested all kinds of stratagem, and was really displeased with him for practising one upon her." "In a good cause," he said, "he should never hesitate using one. Lord Mortimer was the finest young fellow he had ever seen, and had won his favor, and the best wishes of his heart, from the first moment that he beheld him. He made me contrive," continued the doctor, "a story to gain admission to your ladyship, and when I found him so dreadfully anxious about you, I gave you credit (as I had then no opportunity of judging for myself) for all the virtues and graces he ascribed to you, and which I have since perceived you to possess. You smile, and look as if you would call me a flatterer; seriously, I assure you I am not one. I really think you worthy of Lord Mortimer, and I assure you that is as great a compliment as could be paid any woman. His mind was troubled with grief; he revealed his troubles and perplexities to me, and after hearing them, no good Christian ever prayed more devoutly for another than I prayed for your recovery, that all your sorrows, like a novel, might terminate in marriage." "You are obliging in your wishes," said Amanda, smiling. "Faith, I am sincere in them," exclaimed he, "and do not know when I have been so disconcerted as at things not turning out smoothly between you and his lordship; but I will not despair. In all my troubles, and Heaven has given me my share, I ever looked to the bright side of things, and shall always do so for my friends. I yet expect to see you settled at Castle Carberry, and to be appointed myself physician-general to your ladyship's household." The mention of an event yet so uncertain greatly agitated Amanda; she blushed and turned pale alternately, and convinced her good-natured but loquacious friend, he had touched a chord which could not bear vibration. He hastily changed the discourse, and as soon as he saw her composed, rose to take his leave. Amanda detained him for a minute, to try and prevail on him to take a ten-guinea note; but he was inflexible, and said with some archness, "till the disorder which preyed upon Lord Mortimer's heart was in some degree alleviated, he would receive no recompense for his visits, which he assured Amanda, from time to time, he would continue to pay her, adding, a certain person had enjoined him now and then to take a peep within the holy walls of St. Catherine's."

The next morning Amanda set about a temporary arrangement of her affairs. She presented thirty guineas to the sisterhood, which, with much difficulty, she forced them to accept, though, in reality, it was much required by them. But when she came to speak of paying for a continuance, they positively declared they would agree to no such thing, as she had already so liberally rewarded them for any expense they had incurred on her account. She told them that if they would not agree to be paid for lodging and board, she would certainly leave them, though such a step was contrary to her inclinations; she assured them also she was at present well able to pay.

At last it was settled she should give them at the rate of forty pounds a-year--a salary they thought extremely ample, considering the plain manner in which they lived. She then had all the things which belonged to her father and herself brought to the convent, and had the former, with whatever she did not immediately want, nailed up in a large chest, that on a short notice they might be removed. Her harp and guitar she had, in her distress, proposed sending back to the person in Dublin from whom they were purchased, to sell for her; but she now determined to keep those presents of her beloved father, except again urged by necessity to part with them. She had a variety of materials for painting and working, and proposed employing herself in executing pieces in each way, not only as a means of amusing her time, but as a resource on an evil day; thus wisely making use of the present sunshine, lest another storm should arise which she should not be so well able to struggle against.