Chapter XXXVIII

"Lo! I am here to answer to your vows,
And be the meeting fortunate! I come
With joyful tidings; we shall part no more."--AKENSIDE.

But a shock more severe than those she had lately experienced was yet in store for our hapless heroine. About a fortnight after the visit of the Kilcorbans and the priest, as she was rambling one evening according to custom amongst the solitary ruins of St. Catherine's, indulging the pensive meditations of her soul, the figure of a man suddenly darted from under a broken arch, and discovered to her view the features of the hated Belgrave. Amanda gave a faint cry, and in unutterable dismay tottered back a few paces against a wall. "Cruel Amanda!" exclaimed Belgrave, while his look seemed to imply he would take advantage of her situation. His look, his voice, operated like a charm to rouse her from the kind of stupefaction into which she had fallen at first sight of him, and as he attempted to lay hold of her she sprang past him, and, with a swiftness which mocked his speed, flew through the intricate windings of the place till she reached the convent. Her pale and distracted look, as she rushed into the prioress's apartment, terrified the good old lady, who hastily interrogated her as to the cause of her disorder; but Amanda was unable to speak. The appearance of Belgrave she thought an omen of every ill to her. Her blood ran cold through her veins at his sight, and terror totally subdued her powers. The prioress summoned Sister Mary to her relief; drops and water were administered, and the overloaded heart of the trembling Amanda was relieved by tears. The prioress again asked the cause of her agitation, but perceiving Amanda did not like to speak before Sister Mary, she immediately pretended to think it proceeded from fatigue, and Mary, who was simplicity itself, readily credited the idea. The prioress soon sent her upon some pretext from the room, and then, in the gentlest terms, begged to know what had so cruelly alarmed her young friend. Amanda had already confided to the prioress the events of her life, so that the good lady, on hearing Belgrave now mentioned, no longer wondered at the agitation of Amanda; yet, as her fears she saw were too powerful for her reason, she endeavored to convince her they were unnecessary. She called to her remembrance the singular protection she had already experienced from Heaven, and the protection which, while she was innocent, she would still have a right to expect. She also mentioned the security of her present situation--encompassed by friends whose integrity could not be warped, and whose utmost zeal would be manifested in defeating any stratagems which might be laid against her.

Amanda grew composed as she listened to the prioress. She was cheered by the voice of piety and friendship, and her heart again felt firm and elevated. She acknowledged that after the singular, nay, almost miraculous interpositions of Providence she had experienced in her favor, to give way to terror or despair was sinful, since it showed a distrust of the Power who has promised with guardian care to watch the footsteps of the innocent. It was, however, agreed that Amanda should venture no more from the convent, but confine her rambles to the garden, which was enclosed with a high wall, and had no places of concealment. Five weeks yet remained of the period Lord Mortimer had requested her to stay at St. Catherine's. Before it was expired she trusted and believed Belgrave would be weary of watching her, and would decamp; if, then, she neither saw nor heard from Lord Mortimer, she resolved to relinquish all hope concerning him, and immediately think upon some plan which should put her in a way of procuring subsistence.

Her paintings and embroidery still went on. She had executed some elegant pictures in both, which, if obliged to dispose of, she was sure would bring a good price; yet, whenever compelled by reflection to this idea, the tear of tender melancholy would fall upon her lovely cheek--a tear which was ever hastily wiped away, while she endeavored to fortify her mind with pious resignation to whatever should be her future fate.

Three weeks more elapsed without any event to discompose their tranquillity; but as the termination of the destined period approached, the agitation of Amanda, in spite of all her efforts to the contrary, increased. She deemed the awful crisis of her fate at hand, and she trembled at the reflection. She now for the first time avoided solitude. She wanted to fly from herself, and sat constantly with the prioress, who had nothing of the gloomy recluse, save the habit, about her.

They were chatting together one evening after tea when Sister Mary entered the room, bearing a large packet, which she rather tossed than presented to Amanda, exclaiming, "From Lord Mortimer; I wish the troublesome fellow had not come back again; here we shall have him frisking or storming continually, and again plaguing us out of our lives." "From Lord Mortimer!" exclaimed Amanda, starting from her chair, and clasping the letter between her hands, "Oh, gracious Heaven!" She said no more, but flew from the room to her chamber. She tore open the seal. The envelope contained two letters. The first was directed in a hand unknown to her. Her heart sickened as she dropped it on the ground. The other was the superscription of Lord Mortimer. She opened it with revived spirits, and read a follows:--

TO MISS FITZALAN.

I am returned--returned to tell my Amanda that nothing but the
awful fiat of Heaven shall part us more. Yes, my love, a sweet
reward for all our difficulties, our trials--let me add, our
persevering constancy--is at hand; and one name, one interest,
one fate, I trust, will soon be ours.

Tears of joy gushed from Amanda as she exclaimed, "Can this, can this be true? Is Lord Mortimer, so long, so hopelessly beloved, indeed returned to tell me we shall part no more? 'Tis true, 'tis true, and never can my grateful heart sufficiently acknowledge the goodness it experiences; but how was this event brought about?" She wiped away her tears, and resumed the letter.

Your solemn refusal to unite yourself to me threw me into
agonies; but true love, like true courage, will never despair,
will never yield to difficulties, without first trying every
effort to conquer them. I soon, therefore, roused myself from
the heavy weight which oppressed my spirits at your resolution,
and ere long conceived a project so feasible, so almost certain
of success, that my impatience to realize it cannot be
described; yet you may conceive some idea of it from the abrupt
manner in which I quitted Castle Carberry, without desiring to
bid you adieu; but ere it could be accomplished I plainly saw I
had many difficulties to encounter, difficulties which it was
absolutely essential to overcome, that I might prove to the
world I was not the dupe of love, but the friend, the lover, and
the vindicator of real innocence and virtue. From what I have
said, you may suppose the difficulties I allude to were such as
I expected to encounter in my attempt to unravel the whole of
the deep and execrable plot which involved you in a situation so
distressing to your feelings, and injurious to your character;
and, oh! with what mingled pride and pleasure did I meditate on
being your champion, clearing your fame from each dark
aspersion, and proving, clearly proving, that your mind was as
lovely, as angelic, as your person!

I was happy, on my arrival in London, to find Lady Martha Dormer
still at Lord Cherbury's house. I have already told you that I
left town on pretence of a visit to my sister, in Wales. My
father, I soon perceived, suspected that had not been the real
motive of my departure: but I also perceived he did not desire
to reveal his suspicions, as he asked some questions concerning
Lady Araminta, which, you may be sure, I answered awkwardly
enough, and, had a comic writer been present, he might have
taken the hint of a good blundering scene from us both.

The Marquis of Roslin and his family, I learned, continued at
his villa. Their absence from town rejoiced me, as it not only
exempted me from society I abhorred, but, as it gave me an
opportunity of interrogating their household, amongst whom, I
was convinced, I should discover the trusty agents the amiable
marchioness had made use of in her scheme against you. The
morning after my arrival, I accordingly set off to Portman
Square. The man who opened the door knew me not, which I
considered a lucky circumstance, for, not being able to mention
my name to the housekeeper, whom I desired him to send to me,
she was not as much on her guard as she would otherwise have
been. She started as she entered the parlor, and lifted up her
hands and eyes with unfeigned astonishment. Soon, however,
recovering herself, she addressed me in the most obsequious
manner, and spoke as if she supposed I was come purposely to
inquire after her lord and lady, an artful way of trying to
terminate her own suspense by learning the nature of my visit. I
soon gave her to understand it was not of the most amicable kind
to her. I came, I said, to demand either the letter, or an
account of the letter, which I had intrusted to her care for
Miss Fitzalan, which contained a note of large value, and which,
I found, had never been received by that young lady. Her
countenance in a moment condemned her--it spoke stronger than a
thousand tongues against her. She first grew deadly pale, then
fiery red; trembled, faltered, and hung her head, to avoid my
eyes. Her looks, I told her, confirmed the suspicions I was
forced to entertain of her integrity, yet, shocking as the
action was which she had committed, being not only a breach of
trust, but humanity, I was willing to come to an easy and
private accommodation about it, provided she would truly and
fully confess the part she had taken, or knew others to have
taken, in injuring Miss Fitzalan, while she resided in the
marquis's house, by bringing Colonel Belgrave into it. I paused
for her reply. She appeared as if considering how she should
act. I thought I saw something yielding in her face, and, eager
to take advantage of it, I proceeded: "What I have already said
I am going again to repeat, that is, if you confess all you know
relative to the plot which was contrived, and carried into
execution, in this house, against Miss Fitzalan, I will settle
everything relative to the letter and its contents in a manner
pleasing to you. Her innocence is unquestioned by me; but it is
essential to her peace that it should also be so to the rest of
her friends, and they who regard her welfare will liberally
reward those whose allegations shall justify her."

Upon this she turned to me, with a countenance of the utmost
effrontery, and said she would not tell a lie to please any one.
I will not shock you by repeating all she said. She ended, by
saying, as to the letter she set me at defiance; true, I had
given her one for Miss Fitzalan, but I might remember Miss
Fitzalan was in a fit on the ground at the time, and she had
called in other servants to her assistance, she said, and in the
hurry and bustle which ensued, she knew not what became of it;
others might as well be called upon as her. I could no longer
command my temper. I told her she was a wretch, and only fit for
the diabolical service in which she was employed. The note,
which I enclosed in the letter I had given her for you, I had
received from my father's agent in the country: as a post-note I
had endorsed it, and taken the number in my pocket-book. I
therefore left Portman Square, with a resolution of going to the
bank, and, if not already received, stopping payment. I stepped
into the first hackney-coach I met, and had the satisfaction of
finding it had not been offered at the bank. I suspected she
would be glad to exchange it for cash as soon as possible, and
therefore left my direction, as well as a request for the
detention of any person who should present it.

In consequence of this, a clerk came the following morning to
inform me a woman had presented the note at the bank, and was,
agreeably to my request, detained till I appeared. I immediately
returned with him, and had the satisfaction of seeing the
housekeeper caught in the snare. She burst into tears at my
appearance, and coming up to me, in a low voice said, "If I
would have mercy upon her, she would in return make a full
confession of all she knew about the affair I had mentioned to
her yesterday." I told her, though she deserved no mercy, yet,
as I had promised on such condition to show her lenity, I would
not violate my word. I received the note, sent for a coach, and
handing the lady into it, soon conveyed her to Portman Square.
She no sooner entered the parlor than she fell on her knees and
besought my forgiveness. I bade her rise, and lose no time in
revealing all she knew concerning the scheme against you. She
then confessed that both she and Mrs. Jane, the attendant who
had been placed about your person, were acquainted and concerned
in all the contrivances the marchioness had laid against you,
who scrupled not in acknowledging to them the inveterate hatred
she bore you. Their scruples--for they pretended to have some in
abetting her schemes--were overruled, by knowing how much it was
in her power to injure them in any future establishment, had
they disobliged her, and by her liberal promises of reward,
which the housekeeper added she had never kept. But this brief
and uncircumstantial account was by no means satisfactory to me.
I called for materials for writing, and insisted she should, to
the best of her recollection, relate every word or circumstance
which had ever passed between her and the marchioness and their
other associates relative to you. She hesitated at this. On
those terms only I said I would grant her my forgiveness; and by
her complying with them, not only that, but a liberal
recompense should be hers. This last promise had the desired
effect. She laid open, indeed, a scene of complicated iniquity;
related the manner in which Colonel Belgrave was brought into
the house by her and Mrs. Jane; how they had stationed
themselves in a place of concealment to listen, by which means
they knew what passed between you, which she now, in almost the
very same words you made use of, repeated to me. As she spoke I
wrote it, and made her sign the paper under a paragraph,
purporting that it was a true confession of the part she had
taken, and knew others to have taken, in attempting to injure
Miss Fitzalan.

I now mentioned Mrs. Jane, whose evidence I wished for to
corroborate hers. This she assured me I might procure by
promising a reward, as Mrs. Jane was much dissatisfied with the
marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, neither of whom had recompensed
her as she expected for her faithful services to them. She was
now at the villa; but the housekeeper added that she would
strike out some expedient to bring her to town in the course of
the week, and would inform me immediately of her arrival. I told
her the affair of the note should be no more mentioned, and gave
a bill for fifty pounds, as the reward I had promised, and she
eagerly expected. I told her she might promise a similar one in
my name to Mrs. Jane, provided she also told truth. I also told
her I would take care she should suffer no distress by quitting
the marquis's family, which she lamented would be the
consequence of what she had done.

Mrs. Jane did not come to town as soon as I expected. But on
receiving a summons to inform me of her arrival, I hastened to
the house like an inquisitor-general with my scroll, prepared to
take the confession of the fair culprit, which exactly
corresponded with the housekeeper's, and I had the felicity of
seeing her subscribe her name to it. I gave her the promised
recompense most cheerfully, as I had not half so much trouble in
making her tell truth as I had with the housekeeper. Mrs.
Jennings, your old landlady, and Lady Greystock's faithful
friend, was the next and last person whose malice I wanted to
refute. I made my servant inquire her character in the
neighborhood, and learned it was considered a very suspicious
one. I went to her one morning in my carriage, well knowing that
the appearance of rank and splendor would have greater weight in
influencing a being like her to justice than any plea of
conscience. She appeared lost in astonishment and confusion at
my visit, and I saw waited with trembling expectation to have
the reason of it revealed. I kept her not long in suspense; I
was the friend, I told her, of a young lady, whose character she
had vilely and falsely aspersed. Her conscience, I believed,
would whisper to her heart the name of this lady, and send its
crimson current to her face at the mention of Miss Fitzalan.

The wretch seemed ready to sink to the earth. I repeated to her
all she had said concerning you to Lady Greystock. I told her of
the consequences of defamation, and declared she might expect
the utmost rigor of the law, except she confessed her assertions
were infamous falsehoods, and the motives which instigated her
to them. She trembled with terror, and supplicated mercy. I
desired her to deserve it by her confession. She then
acknowledged she had grossly and cruelly wronged you by what she
had said to Lady Greystock, and that she had many opportunities
of being convinced, while you resided in her house, that your
virtue and innocence were of the purest nature; but that she was
provoked to speak maliciously against you from resentment at
losing all the rich gifts Colonel Belgrave had promised her if
she brought you to comply with his wishes. She related all the
stratagems they had mutually concerted for your destruction, and
she brought me some letters which I have kept, from him to you,
and which she pretended you had received, lest she should lose
the money he always gave when she was successful in delivering
one. I bid her beware how she ever attempted to vilify
innocence, lest the friends of those at whom she levelled the
arrows of defamation should not be as merciful to her as Miss
Fitzalan's had been; and was the tale of the slanderer thus ever
to be minutely investigated, the evil might die away by degrees,
and many hapless victims escape, who are daily sacrificed to
malice, revenge, or envy.

Oh! my Amanda, I cannot express the transports I felt when I
found the difficulties, which I dreaded as intervening between
me and happiness, thus removed. I felt myself the happiest of
men; my heart acknowledged your worth, I was convinced of your
love, and in my hands I held the refutation of falsehood, and
the confirmation of your innocence.

The period for mentioning my project was now arrived. I desired,
the morning after my visit to Mrs. Jennings, to be indulged in a
_tete-à-tete_ in Lady Martha's dressing-room. I believed she
half guessed what the subject of it would be; she saw by my
countenance there was joyful news at hand. I shall not
recapitulate our conversation; suffice it to say, that her
excellent feeling heart participated largely in my satisfaction;
it did more than participate, it wished to increase it, and ere
I could mention my project, she declared my Amanda should
henceforth be considered as her adopted daughter, and should
from her receive such a fortune as such a title claimed. Yes, my
Amanda, the fortune she ever destined for me, she said she
should now consecrate to the purpose of procuring me a treasure
the most valuable Heaven could bestow;--the richest--the most
valuable indeed--a treasure dearer, far dearer to my soul for
all the dangers it has encountered. I fell at Lady Martha's feet
in a transport of gratitude, and acknowledged that she had
anticipated what I was going to say, as I had been determined to
throw myself on her generosity from the time I was convinced of
your inflexible resolution, not to unite yourself to me without
you brought a fortune.

It was now agreed we should keep Lord Cherbury a little longer
ignorant of our intentions. We proposed taking the marchioness
and Lady Euphrasia by surprise, and hoped, by so doing, to be
able to remove from his eyes the mist which partially had
hitherto spread before them, to obscure the defects of the
above-mentioned ladies.

He had hinted more than once his wishes for my paying my
compliments at the marquis's villa. I now proposed going thither
myself the ensuing day. He looked equally surprised and pleased
at this proposal: Lady Martha agreed to accompany me, and his
lordship, you may be sure, determined to be one of the party,
that he might supply the deficiencies of his son, which he had
heretofore found pretty manifest in such society.

We had the happiness to find all the family at home when we
reached the villa. The ladies all expressed themselves delighted
at my unexpected appearance, and quite charmed by my recovered
looks. The marquis, with his usual sang froid, declared himself
glad to see me. Ye smiling deceivers, I cried to myself, as I
surveyed the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia, your triumph over
innocence and beauty will soon be over. After passing half an
hour in uninteresting chitchat, I took the opportunity of one of
those pauses in conversation, which so frequently happen, to
commence my attack. It would be as painful to you as to me to
recapitulate all which ensued in consequence of it. Rage, guilt,
and confusion, were conspicuous in the marchioness and Lady
Euphrasia. The marquis and Lady Greystock looked with
astonishment, and my father seemed overwhelmed with surprise and
consternation.

I said (addressing the marchioness), I now trusted the
resentment her ladyship had entertained against her unoffending
niece was sufficiently appeased by what she had made her suffer,
and that she would rather rejoice than regret the opportunity
which presented itself of vindicating her fame. I wished, I
said, as much as possible, to spare her ladyship's feelings, and
provided she would clear Miss Fitzalan from the obloquy which
the transactions in her house cast upon her, I was willing to
conceal the share her ladyship had in them.

In a voice of smothered rage, and with a look into which she
threw as much contempt as possible, she replied, "She thanked me
for the attention I professed myself inclined to pay her
feelings; but she fancied I had overlooked all inclination of
this kind when I undertook to bribe her servants to asperse her
character, that Miss Fitzalan's might be cleared. She was
sorry," she said, "to find I could be capable of such
complicated baseness and weakness. Miss Fitzalan, she perceived,
had made me her dupe again; but this was not surprising, as she
was the professed pupil of art. Too late I should behold her in
her native colors, and find the disgrace, which, by artifice, I
now attempted to remove from her character, thrown back upon
her, perhaps, to overwhelm me also by its weight."

"She has infatuated him," said Lord Cherbury; "she will be the
bane of his life, the destruction of my hopes." "Not Miss
Fitzalan," cried I, assuming as much coolness as possible,
though, like the marchioness, I found it a difficult task; "not
Miss Fitzalan, but the enemies of Miss Fitzalan deceived me. I
own I was the dupe of the scheme contrived against her. Anything
so horrid, so monstrous, so execrable, I did not think could
have entered into the minds of those who were bound by the
united ties of kindred and hospitality to protect her, and I
rather believed I owed my misery to the frailty than to the
turpitude of human nature." "You see, my lord," exclaimed the
marchioness, turning to Lord Cherbury, "Lord Mortimer
acknowledges his passion for this wretched girl." "I do," cried
I, "I glory in confessing it. In loving Miss Fitzalan, I love
virtue itself. In acknowledging a passion for her, I violate no
faith, I break no engagement; my heart ever resisted entering
into any which it could not fulfil." "Unfortunate
prepossession," said Lord Cherbury, sternly. "But why, why, when
you believed her guilty, were you so infatuated as to follow her
to Ireland? Why not calmly resign her to the infamy she
merited?" "I followed her my lord," I replied, "in hope to
withdraw her from her seducer's arms, and place her in her
father's. I hoped, I trusted, I should be able also to alleviate
the bitter destiny of poor Fitzalan. Alas! not in the arms of a
gay, successful seducer, but apparently in the arms of death,
did I find Amanda. I saw her at the solemn hour which consigned
her parent to his grave, and to have doubted her protestations
of innocence then would have been almost impious. Gracious
Heaven! how impossible to disbelieve her truth at the very
moment her gentle spirit seemed about to take its flight to
heaven! From that period she has stood acquitted in my mind, and
from that period I determined to develop, to the utmost of my
power, the machinations which had made me doubt her innocence.
My success in their development has been beyond my expectations;
but Providence is on the side of suffering virtue, and assists
those who stand up in its support." Contrary to my first
intention, my dear Amanda, I have given you a sketch of part of
our conversation. For the remainder, it shall suffice to say,
that the marchioness persevered in declaring I had bribed her
servants to blacken her character, in order to clear Miss
Fitzalan's, an attempt, she repeatedly assured me, I would find
unsuccessful.

The marquis talked in high terms of the dignity of his house,
and how impossible it was the marchioness should ever have
disgraced it by such actions as I accused her of committing. I
answered him in a manner equally warm, that my accusations were
too well grounded and supported to dread refutation. That it was
not only due to injured innocence, but essential to my own
honor, which would soon be materially concerned in whatever
related to Miss Fitzalan, to have those accusations made public,
if her ladyship refused to contradict the aspersions which might
be thrown upon Miss Fitzalan, in consequence of the scene which
passed at his lordship's house.

This the marchioness, with mingled rage and contempt, refused
doing, and Lady Euphrasia, after the hint I gave of soon being
united to you, left the room in convulsive agitation.

Lord Cherbury, I perceived, suspected foul play, by some
speeches which dropped from him, such as, if there had been any
misunderstanding between her ladyship and Miss Fitzalan, it was
better surely to have it done away, or certainly, if any mistake
was proved relative to the affair which happened in her
ladyship's house, it was but justice to the young lady to have
it cleared up.

Yet, notwithstanding the interest he felt in the cause of
suffering innocence, it was obvious to me that he dreaded a
rupture with the marquis's family, and appeared shocked at the
unequivocal declaration I had made of never being allied to it.

Lady Martha Dormer took up the cause. The testimony Lord
Mortimer had received, she said, of Miss Fitzalan's innocence
was incontrovertible, and exempted him alike from being
stigmatized either as the dupe of art or love. Humanity, she was
convinced, exclusive of every warmer feeling, would have
influenced him to have undertaken Miss Fitzalan's cause; it was
the cause of innocence and virtue--a cause in which every
detester of scandal and treachery should join, since not only
the defenceless orphan, but the protected child of rank and
prosperity, was vulnerable to their shafts.

I again repeated the evidence of her servants, and the
refutation of Mrs. Jennings to her former story. I produced, to
strengthen it, the unopened letters of Colonel Belgrave--thus
continuing to put proof upon proof of your innocence, as Sancho
Panza says, upon the shoulders of demonstration.

The passions of the marchioness rose at last to frantic
violence. She persisted in alleging her integrity, and vilifying
yours; but with a countenance so legibly impressed with guilt
and confusion, that a doubt of her falsehood could not be
entertained even by those who wished to doubt it.

The scene of violence we now became witness to was painful to
me, and shocking to Lady Martha. I therefore ordered the horses
immediately to her ladyship's chariot, in which, accompanied by
me, she had preceded Lord Cherbury's coach, from the idea that
our continuance at the villa might not be quite so long as his
lordship's.

As we expected, his lordship stayed behind, with the hope, I
perceived, of being able to calm the perturbations of the
marchioness, and lessen the breach between us. He returned the
next day to town. I have so long dwelt upon disagreeable scenes,
that to go over any others would be dreadful; nor should I hint
to you that I had such scenes to encounter, was it not to excuse
and account to you for my absence from Castle Carberry. Our
difficulties (you see I already unite your interests with mine)
began to decrease, and are at last happily overcome. Lady Martha
made me write her intentions relative to you, and his lordship
was quite satisfied with them. He authorizes me to assure you he
longs to receive you into his family, at once a boast and
acquisition to it, and he says, he shall consider himself under
obligations to you, if you hasten, as much as possible, the
period of becoming one of its members, thus giving him an
opportunity of making early amends, by attention to the
daughter, for the injustice he did the father.

Lady Martha Dormer's intentions I have only hinted to you; in
the letter, which I have the pleasure of enclosing, she is more
explicit concerning them. I have given you this long narrative
on paper, that when we meet our conversation may be unembittered
by any painful retrospect, and that we may enjoy uninterrupted
the bright prospect which now lies before us.

But ere I close my letter, I must inform you that, knowing you
could never be selfishly wrapped up in your own enjoyments, I
made every possible inquiry relative to your brother, and was at
length referred by the agent of his late regiment to an officer
in it; with some difficulty I found he had quitted his quarters
on leave of absence. I wrote immediately to his family
residence, and after waiting long and impatiently for an answer
to my letter, I dispatched a special messenger to learn whether
he was there or not. The courier returned with a polite note
from the officer's father, informing me his son was gone on an
excursion of pleasure with some friends, and that if he knew
where to find him, he would have transmitted my letter, which I
might depend on being answered the moment he returned. I have no
doubt but we shall receive intelligence from him concerning Mr.
Fitzalan. It shall then be our business, if his situation is not
already pleasing, to change it, or render it as much so as
possible to him. Keep up your spirits, therefore, about him, for
by the time we arrive in England I expect a letter from his
friend, and let me not be any more pained by seeing your
countenance clouded with care or anxiety. As a reward for
reining in my impatience to see you this evening, be propitious
to my request for early admission to-morrow. If charitable, you
will allow me to breakfast with you, for I shall take none
except with you; and without an express command to the contrary,
shall take it for granted I am expected. 'Tis said that contrast
heightens pleasure, and I believe the saying--I believe that,
without having felt pain in all its acuteness, as I have done, I
never should have felt such pleasure as I now enjoy. After so
often giving you up, so often lamenting you as lost forever, to
think I shall soon call you mine, is a source of transport which
words cannot express. Mine, I may say, is the resurrection of
happiness, for has it not been revived from the very grave of
despair? But I forgot that you have Lady Martha Dormer's letter
still to peruse. I acknowledge that, for old friendship's sake,
I supposed you would give mine the preference; but in all reason
it is time I should resign my place to her ladyship. But ere I
bid you adieu, I must tell you that Araminta is a sincere
participator in our happiness. She arrived from Wales but a few
minutes previous to my leaving London, and I would not allow her
time, as she wished, to write to you. I almost forgot to tell
you that the marquis's family, amongst whom Lady Greystock is
still numbered, instead of returning to town, set out for
Brighthelmstone. I have learned, contrary to my and their
expectations, that neither the housekeeper nor Mrs. Jane have
been dismissed, but both sent to a distant seat of the
marquis's. As we know the marchioness's revengeful disposition,
it is plain she has some secret motive for not gratifying it
immediately by their dismission; but what it is can be of little
consequence for us to learn, since we are both too well guarded
to suffer from any future plot of hers. Like every other which
was formed against my dear Amanda, I trust they will ever prove
abortive. I was disturbed within a few miles of Castle Carberry
by a gentleman passing on horseback, who either strongly
resembled, or was Colonel Belgrave. My blood boiled in my veins
at his sight. I left the carriage, mounted one of my servant's
horses, and endeavored to overtake him. He certainly avoided me
by taking some cross-road, as his speed could not have
outstripped mine. My efforts to discover his habitation were
equally unsuccessful. As to your personal security I had no
apprehensions, having heard constantly from my good friend the
doctor about you; but I dreaded the wretch, if it were really
him, might disturb your tranquillity, either by forcing into
your presence, or writing. Thank Heaven, from all intrusions or
dangers of this kind my Amanda will now be guarded. But again am
I trespassing on the time you should devote to Lady Martha's
letter. Adieu, and do not disappoint my hopes of being allowed
to visit you early.

MORTIMER.

Amanda perused this letter with emotions which can be better conceived than described. She could scarcely have parted with it without a second reading, had not Lady Martha's demanded her attention. She snatched it hastily from the ground where it hitherto lay neglected, and read to the following purpose:--

That I warmly and sincerely congratulate my dear and amiable
Miss Fitzalan on the happy revolution in her affairs, she will
readily believe, persuaded as she must be of the deep interest I
take in whatever concerns a person on whom the happiness of him
whom I have loved from childhood so materially--so entirely, I
may say--depends.

Yet do not suppose me, my dear Miss Fitzalan, so selfish as not
to be able to rejoice at your happiness on your own account,
exclusive of every consideration relative to Lord Mortimer. Long
since I was taught by description to esteem and admire you, and
even when the hope of being connected with you became extinct, I
could not so totally forego that admiration as to feel
uninterested about you. Oh I how truly do I rejoice at the
revival of the hope I have just mentioned, and at its revival
with every prospect of its being speedily realized! I shall
consider Lord Mortimer as one of the most fortunate of men in
calling you his, and to think I have been able to promote his
happiness gives me a satisfaction which never was, nor ever will
be, equalled by any circumstance in my life.

Though I cannot give my adopted daughter a fortune by any means
equal to that which Lady Euphrasia Sutherland will possess, Lord
Cherbury is fully sensible that her perfections will abundantly
make up for any deficiency in this respect. Ten thousand pounds,
and one thousand a year, is at present to be her portion, and
the reversion of the remainder of my fortune is to be secured to
her and Lord Mortimer; the final adjustment of all affairs is to
take place at my house in the country, whither I propose going
immediately, accompanied by Lady Araminta, and where we shall
both most impatiently expect your arrival, which, we mutually
entreat, may be hastened as much as possible, consistent with
your health and convenience. Lord Cherbury has promised to
follow us in a few days, so that I suppose he will also be at
Thornbury to receive you. Would to Heaven, my dear Miss
Fitzalan, injured virtue and innocence may always meet with such
champions to vindicate them as Lord Mortimer. Was that the case,
we should see many lovely victims of scorn and reproach raising
their heads with triumph and satisfaction. But pardon my
involuntarily adverting to past scenes, though, at the same
time, I think you have reason to rejoice at your trials, which
served as so many tests and proofs of the estimable qualities
you possess. Farewell, my dear Miss Fitzalan. I have been brief
in my letter, because I know I should not be pardoned by a
certain person, if I engrossed too much of your time. I told him
I would give you a hint of the impetuosity of his disposition;
but he told me, perhaps to prevent this, that you were already
acquainted with it. In one instance I shall commend him for
displaying it: that is, in hastening you to Thornbury, to the
arms of your sincere and affectionate friend,

MARTHA DORMER.

Amanda's happiness was now almost as great as it could be in this world; almost I say, for it received alloy from the melancholy consideration that her father, that faithful and affectionate friend who had shared her troubles, could not be a partaker of her joys; but the sigh of unavailing regret which rose in her mind she checked, by reflecting, that happiness all perfect was more than humanity could either support or expect, and with pious gratitude she bent to the Power who had changed the discolored prospect, by which she had been so long surrounded, into one of cheerfulness and beauty.

If her pride was wounded by the hint, though so delicately conveyed, which Lord Mortimer had given of the difficulties he encountered in gaining Lord Cherbury's approbation, it was instantly relieved by the flattering commendations of Lady Martha Dormer, and to be connected with her and Lady Araminta, she looked upon amongst the most valuable blessings she could enjoy.

To express what she felt for Lord Mortimer would be impossible--language could not do justice to her feelings--she felt love, gratitude, and admiration for him, all in the fullest extent, and all united, and she wept in the fulness of her heart over the joyful assurance of being his. With the two letters in her hand, she repaired to the prioress's apartment, whom she found alone. The good old lady saw the traces of tears on Amanda's face, and exclaimed, in a voice which evinced her sympathy in her concerns, "Oh! I fear, my child, something has happened to disturb you!" Amanda presented her the letters, and bid her judge from them whether she had not reason to be agitated. As the prioress read, her sudden and broken exclamations manifested her surprise and pleasure, and frequently were her spectacles removed to wipe from off them the tears of joy by which they were bedewed. When she finished the welcome packet, she turned to Amanda, who had been attentively watching the various turns in her countenance, and gave her a congratulatory embrace. "Lord Mortimer is worthy of you, my child," said the prioress, "and that is the highest eulogium I can pass on him." After commenting upon different parts of the letter, she asked Amanda a little archly, "whether she intended sending an express command to his lordship against coming early in the morning?" Amanda honestly confessed she had no such intention, and expressed her wish to behold him. The prioress said she would have breakfast prepared for them in the garden parlor, and that she would take care they should not be interrupted. She also promised to keep everything secret till matters were arranged for Amanda's removal from St. Catherine's.