“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,[Pg 352] 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[Pg 353] 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[Pg 354] 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,[Pg 355] 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[Pg 356] 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[Pg 357] 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-??-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 ............