“As one condemned to leap a precipice, Who sees before his eyes the depths below,
Stops short, and looks about for some kind shrub
To break his dreadful fall.”—Dryden.
Amanda went to her chamber the moment Lord Mortimer departed: the nuns were already retired to rest, so that the stillness which reigned through the house added to the awfulness of her feelings, as she sat down to peruse a letter which she had been previously informed would fix her fate.
TO MISS FITZALAN.
To destroy a prospect of felicity, at the very moment its enveloping glooms are dispersed, is indeed the source of pangs most dreadful; yet such are the horrors of my destiny, that nothing but intervening between you, Mortimer and happiness, can save me from perdition. Appalled at this dreadful assertion, the letter drops from your trembling hands; but oh! dear Miss Fitzalan, cast it not utterly aside till you peruse the rest of the contents, and fix the destiny of the most wretched of mankind, wretched in thinking he shall interrupt not only your peace, but the peace of a son so noble, so gracious, so idolized as Mortimer is by him; but I will not longer torture your feelings by keeping you in suspense; the preface I have already given is sufficient, and I will be explicit: gambling, that bane[Pg 375] of fame and fortune, has been my ruin; but whilst I indulged, so well did I conceal my propensity for it, that even those I called my friends were ignorant of it. With shame I confess I was ever foremost to rail against this vice, which was continually drawing sums in secret from me, that would have given comfort and affluence to many a child in want. For some time my good and bad fortune were so equal, that my income suffered no considerable diminution. About five years ago a Mr. Freelove, a particular friend of mine, died, and left to my care his only son, whom, I dare say, you may recollect having seen at my house last winter. This young man’s property was consigned to my care, to manage as much for his advantage as I could; it consisted of a large estate and fifty thousand pounds. At the period Freelove became my ward, I had had a constant run of ill-luck for many months. The ardor of gaming (unlike every other passion) is rather increased than diminished by disappointment. Without being warned, therefore, by ill-success, I still went on, till all I could touch of my own property was gone. Did I then retire, ashamed of my folly? No. I could not bear to do so, without another effort to recover my losses, and in that effort risked something more precious than I had ever yet done—namely, my honor, by using the money which lay in my hands belonging to Freelove; the long period which was to elapse ere he came of age, emboldened me to this. Ere that period I trusted I should have retrieved my losses, and be enabled not only to discharge the principal, but whatever interest it would have brought, if applied to another purpose. I followed the bent of my evil genius, sum after sum taken up, and all alike buried in the accursed vortex which had already swallowed so much from me! But when I found all was gone, oh, Miss Fitzalan! I still tremble at the distraction of that moment.
All, as I have said before, that I could touch of my property was gone; the remainder was so settled I had no power over it, except joined by my son. Great as was the injury that he would sustain by mortgaging it, I was confident he never would hesitate doing so if acquainted with my distress; but to let him know it was worse than a death of torture could be to me; his early excellence, the nobleness of his principles, mingled in the love I felt for him a degree of awe; to confess myself a villain to such a character, to acknowledge my life had been a scene of deceit; to be abashed, confounded in the presence of my son—to meet his piercing eye—to see the blush of shame mantle his cheeks for his father’s crimes—Oh, horrible!—most horrible! I raved at the idea, and resolved, if driven by necessity to tell him of my baseness, not to survive the confession. At this critical juncture the Marquis of Roslin came from Scotland to reside in London. An intimacy which had been dormant for years between our families was then revived, and I soon found that an alliance between them would be pleasing. The prospect of it raised me from the very depth of despair. But my transports were of short continuance, for Mortimer not only showed but expressed the strongest repugnance to such a connection. Time and daily experience, I trusted, would so forcibly convince him of the advantages of it, as at last to conquer this repugnance. Nor did the hope of an alliance taking place entirely forsake my heart, till informed that his was already bestowed upon another object. My feelings at this information I shall not attempt to describe. All hope of saving myself from dishonor was now cut off; for though dutiful and attentive to me in the highest degree, I could not flatter myself that Mortimer would blindly sacrifice his reason and inclination to my will. The most fatal intentions again took possession of my mind; but the uncertainties he suffered on your account kept me in horrible suspense as to their execution. After some months of torture, I began again to revive, by learning that you and Mortimer were inevitably separated. And[Pg 376] such is the selfish nature of vice; so abandoned is it to all feelings of humanity, that I rather rejoiced at, than lamented the supposed disgrace of the daughter of my friend. But the persevering constancy of Mortimer—rather let me say the immediate interposition of Providence—soon gave her reason to triumph over the arts of her enemies, and I was again reduced to despair. Mortimer, I dare say, from motives of delicacy, has concealed from you the opposition I gave to his wishes after your innocence was cleared, and the intentions of Lady Martha Dormer relative to you were made known. At last I found I must either seem to acquiesce in these wishes and intentions, or divulge my real motive for opposing them; or else quarrel with my son and sister, and appear in their eyes the most selfish of human beings. I, therefore, to appearance acquiesced, but resolved in reality to throw myself upon your mercy, believing that a character so tender, so perfect, so heroic-like as yours has been, through every scene of distress, would have compassion on a fallen fellow-creature. Was my situation otherwise than it now is—were you even portionless—I should rejoice at having you united to my family, from your own intrinsic merit. Situated as I now am, the fortune Lady Martha Dormer proposes giving you can be of no consequence to me. The projected match between you and Mortimer is yet a secret from the public—of course it has not lessened his interest with the Roslin family. I have already been so fortunate as to adjust the unlucky difference which took place between them, and remove any resentment they entertained against him; and I am confident the first overture he should make for a union with Lady Euphrasia would be successful. The fortune which would immediately be received with her is sixty thousand pounds, and five thousand a-year. The first would be given up to me in place of the settlement I should make on Lord Mortimer; so that you see, my dear Miss Fitzalan, his marriage with Lady Euphrasia would at once extricate me from all my difficulties. Freelove in a few months will be of age, and the smallest delay in settling with him, after he attains that period, must brand me with dishonor. I stand upon the verge of a dreadful abyss, and it is in your power only to preserve me from plunging into it—you who, like an angel of mercy, may bid me live, and save me from destruction. Yet think not in resigning Lord Mortimer, if, indeed, such a resignation should take place, you sacrifice your own interest. No; it shall be my grateful care to secure to you independence; and I am confident, among the many men you must meet, sensible of your worth, and enraptured with your charms, you may yet select one as calculated to render you happy as Mortimer; while he, disappointed of the object of his affections, will, I have no doubt, without longer hesitation, accept the one I shall again propose to him. But should you determine on giving him up, you ask how, and by what means, you can break with him after what has passed, without revealing your real motive for doing so to him. That is indeed a difficulty; but after going so far, I must not hesitate in telling you how it can be removed. You must retire secretly from his knowledge, and leave no clue behind by which you can be traced. If you comply with the first of my requests, but stop short here, you will defeat all that your mercy, your pity, your compassion, would do to save me, since the consequence of any hesitation must be a full explanation, and I have already said it, and now repeat it in the most solemn manner, that I will not survive the divulgement of my secret—for never, no, never will I live humbled in the eyes of my son. If, then, you comply, comply not in part. Pardon me, dear Miss Fitzalan, if you think there is anything arbitrary in my style. I would have softened, if I could, all I had to say, but the time, the danger, the necessity, urged me to be explicit. I have now to you, as to a superior Being, opened my whole heart. It rests with you whether I[Pg 377] shall live to atone for my follies, or by one desperate action terminate them. Should you show me mercy, unworthy as I am of it—should you in compassion to poor Mortimer, comply with a request which can only save him from the pangs he would feel at a father’s quitting life unbidden, my gratitude, my admiration, my protection whilst I live, will be yours, and the first act of my restored life will be to secure you a competence. I shall wait with trembling anxiety for your appearance tomorrow night. Till then, believe me
Your sincere, though most unhappy friend,
Cherbury.
The fatal letter fell from Amanda. A mist overspread her eyes, and she sunk senseless on her chair; but the privation of her misery was of short duration, and she recovered as if from a dreadful dream. She felt cold, trembling, and terrified. She looked round the room with an eye of apprehension and dismay, bewildered as to the cause of her wretchedness and terror, till the letter at her feet again struck her sight.
“Was there no way,” she asked herself, as she again examined the contents, “was there no way by which the dreadful sacrifice it doomed her to could be avoided?” Lady Martha and Lord Mortimer would unite their efforts to save the honor of their wretched relative; they would soothe his feelings; they would compassionate his failings; they would——; but she started in the midst of these ideas—started as from ideas fraught with guilt and horror, as those fatal words rushed upon her mind—"I will not survive the divulgement of my secret;" and she found that to save the father she must resign the son. How unworthy of such a sacrifice! engaged as she was to Lord Mortimer, she began to doubt whether she had a right to make it. What a doubt! She shuddered for having conceived it, and reproached herself for yielding a moment to the suggestions of tenderness which had given rise to it. She resolved without a farther struggle to submit to reason and to virtue, convinced that, if accessory to Lord Cherbury’s death, nothing could assuage her wretchedness, and that the unhappiness Lord Mortimer would suffer at losing her would be trifling compared to that he would feel if he lost his father by an act of suicide.
“In my fate,” exclaimed she, in the low and broken accent of despair, “there is no alternative. I submit to it without a farther struggle; I dare not call upon one being to advise me. I resign him, therefore,” she continued, as if Lord Cherbury was really present to hear her resignation; “I resign Lord Mortimer, but, oh, my God!” raising her hands with agony to heaven, “give me fortitude to bear the horrors of my situation! Oh, Mortimer! dear, invaluable Mortimer! the hand of fate is against our union, and we must part, never, never more to meet![Pg 378] From the imputation of ingratitude and guilt I shall not be allowed to vindicate myself. No, I am completely the victim of Lord Cherbury—the cruel, perfidious Cherbury, whose treachery, whose seeming acquiescence in the wishes of his son, has given me joy but to render my misery more acute!”
That Lord Mortimer would impute withdrawing herself from him to an attachment for Belgrave she was convinced, and that her fame as well as peace should be sacrificed to Lord Cherbury, caused such a whirl of contending passions in her mind, that reason and reflection for a few minutes yielded to their violence, and she resolved to vindicate herself to Lord Mortimer. This resolution, however, was of short continuance. As her subsiding passions again gave her power to reflect, she was convinced that by trying to clear herself of an imaginary crime, she should commit a real one—since to save her own character Lord Cherbury’s must be stigmatized; and the consequence of such an act he had already declared—so that not only by the world, but by her own conscience, she should forever be accused of accelerating his death.
“It must, it must be made!” she wildly cried; “the sacrifice must be made, and Mortimer is lost to me forever.” She flung herself on the bed, and passed the hours till morning in agonies too great for description. From a kind of stupefaction rather than sleep, into which she had gradually sunk towards morning, she was roused by a gentle tap at her chamber door, and the voice of Sister Mary informing her that Lord Mortimer was below, and impatient for his breakfast.
Amanda started from the bed, and bid her tell his lordship she would attend him immediately. She then adjusted her dress, tried to calm her spirits, and, with uplifted hands and eyes, besought Heaven to support her through the trials of the day.
Weak and trembling she descended to the parlor. The moment she entered it, Lord Mortimer, shocked and surprised by her altered looks, exclaimed, “Gracious Heaven! what is the matter?” Then feeling the feverish heat of her hands, continued, “Why, why, Amanda, had you the cruelty to conceal your illness? Proper assistance might have prevented its increasing to such a degree.” With unutterable tenderness he folded his arms about her, and, while her drooping head sunk on his bosom, declared he would immediately send for the physician who had before attended her.
“Do not,” said Amanda, while tears trickled down her cheeks, “do not,” continued she, in a broken voice, “for he[Pg 379] could do me no good.” “No good!” repeated Lord Mortimer, in a terrified accent. “I mean,” cried she, “he would find it unnecessary to prescribe anything for me, as my illness only proceeds from the agitation I suffered yesterday. It made me pass an indifferent night, but quietness to-day will recover me.”
Lord Mortimer was with difficulty persuaded to give up his intention; nor would he relinquish it till she had promised, if not better before the evening, to inform him, and let the physician be sent for.
They now sat down to breakfast, at which Amanda was unable either to preside or eat. When over, she told Lord Mortimer she must retire to her chamber, as rest was essential for her; but between nine and ten in the evening she would be happy to see him. He tried to persuade her that she might rest as well upon the sofa in the parlor as in her chamber, and that he might then be allowed to sit with her; but she could not be persuaded to this, she said, and begged he would excuse seeing her till the time she had already mentioned.
He at last retired with great reluctance, but not till she had several times desired him to do so.
Amanda now repaired to her chamber, but not to indulge in the supineness of grief, though her heart felt bursting, but to settle upon some plan for her future conduct. In the first place, she immediately meant to write to Lord Cherbury, as the best method she could take of acquainting him with her compliance, and preventing any conversation between them, which would now have been insupportable to her.
In the next place, she designed acquainting the prioress with the sudden alteration in her affairs, only concealing the occasion of that alteration, and, as but one day intervened between the present and the one fixed for her journey, meant to beseech her to think of some place to which she might retire from Lord Mortimer.
Yet such was the opinion she knew the prioress entertained of Lord Mortimer, that she almost dreaded she would impute her resignation of him to some criminal motive, and abandon her entirely. If this should be the case (and scarcely could she be surprised if it was), she resolved without delay to go privately to the neighboring town, and from thence proceed immediately to Dublin. How she should act there, or what would become of her, never entered her thoughts; they were wholly engrossed about the manner in which she should leave St. Catherine’s.
But she hoped, much as appearances were against her, she[Pg 380] should not be deserted by the prioress. Providence, she trusted, would be so compassionate to her misery, as to preserve her this one friend, who could not only assist but advise her.
As soon as she had settled the line of conduct she should pursue, she sat down to pen her renunciation of Lord Mortimer, which she did in the following words:—
TO THE EARL OF CHERBURY.
My Lord,—To your wishes I resign my happiness; my happiness, I repeat, for it is due to Lord Mortimer to declare that a union with such a character as his must have produced the highest felicity. It is also due to my own to declare, that it was neither his rank nor his fortune, but his virtues, which influenced my inclination in his favor.
Happy had it been for us all, my lord, but particularly for me, had you continued steady in opposing the wishes of your son. My reverence for paternal authority is too great ever to have allowed me to act in opposition to it. I should not then, by your seeming acquiescence to them, have been tempted to think my trials all over.
But I will not do away any little merit your lordship may perhaps ascribe to my immediate compliance with your request, by dwelling upon the sufferings it entails on me. May the renunciation of my hopes be the means of realizing your lordship’s, and may superior fortune bring superior happiness to Lord Mortimer!
I thank your lordship for your intentions relative to me; but whilst I do so, must assure you, both now and forever, I shall decline having them executed for me.
I shall not disguise the truth. It would not be in your lordship’s power to recompense the sacrifice I have made you; and, besides, pecuniary obligations can never sit easy upon a feeling mind, except they are conferred by those we know value us, and whom we value ourselves. I have the honor to be, your lordship’s obedient servant,
Amanda Fitzalan.
The tears she had with difficulty restrained while writing, now burst forth. She rose and walked to the window, to try if the air would remove the faintness which oppressed her. From it she perceived Lord Mortimer and the prioress in deep conversation, at a little distance from the convent. She conjectured she was their subject; for, as Lord Mortimer retired, the prioress, whom she had not seen that day before, came into her chamber. After the usual salutations—“Lord Mortimer has been telling me you were ill,” said she. “I trusted a lover’s fears had magnified the danger; but truly, my dear child, I am sorry to say that this is not the case. Tell me, my dear, what is the matter? Surely now, more than ever, you should be careful of your health.” “Oh, no!” said Amanda, with a convulsive sob. “Oh, no" wringing her hands, “you are sadly mistaken.” The prioress grew alarmed, her limbs began to tremble, she was unable to stand, and, dropping on[Pg 381] the nearest chair, besought Amanda, in a voice expressive of her feelings, “to explain the reason of her distress.”
Amanda knelt before her, she took her hands, she pressed them to her burning forehead and lips, and bedewed them with her tears, while she exclaimed, “she was wretched.” “Wretched!” repeated the prioress. “For Heaven’s sake be explicit—keep me no longer in suspense—you sicken my very heart by your agitation—it foretells something dreadful!”
“It does indeed,” said Amanda. “It foretells that Lord Mortimer and I shall never be united!”
The prioress started, and surveyed Amanda with A look which seemed to say, “she believed she had lost her senses;” then, with assumed composure, begged “she would defer any farther explanation of her distress till her spirits were in a calmer state.” “I will not rise,” cried Amanda, taking the prioress’s hand, which, in her surprise, she had involuntarily withdrawn. “I will not rise till you say that, notwithstanding the mysterious situation in which I am involved, you will continue to be my friend. Oh! such an assurance would assuage the sorrows of my heart.”
The prioress now perceived that it was grief alone which disordered Amanda; but how she had met with any cause for grief, or what could occasion it, were matters of astonishment to her. “Surely my dear child,” cried she, “should know me too well to desire such an assurance; but, however mysterious her situation may appear to others, she will not, I trust and believe, let it appear so to me. I wait with impatience for an explanation.” “It is one of my greatest sorrows,” exclaimed Amanda, “that I cannot give such an explanation. No, no,” she continued in an agony, “a death-bed confession would not authorize my telling you the occasion of Lord Mortimer’s separation and mine.” The prioress now insisted on her taking a chair, and then begged, as far as she could, without farther delay, she would let her into her situation.
Amanda immediately complied. “An unexpected obstacle to her union with Lord Mortimer,” she said, “had arisen, an obstacle which, while compelled to submit to it, she was bound most solemnly to conceal.” It was expedient, therefore, she should retire from Lord Mortimer, without giving him the smallest intimation of such an intention, lest, if he suspected it, he should inquire too minutely, and by so doing, plunge not only her but himself into irremediable distress. To avoid this, it was necessary all but the prioress should be ignorant of her scheme: and by her means she hoped she should be put in away of finding such[Pg 382] a place of secrecy and security as she should require. She besought the prioress, with streaming eyes, not to impute her resignation of Lord Mortimer to any unworthy motive; to that Heaven, which could alone console her for his loss, she appealed for her innocence. She besought her to believe her sincere; to pity, but not condemn her; to continue her friend now, when her friendship was most needful in this her deep distress, and she assured her, if it was withdrawn, she believed she could no longer struggle with her sorrows.
The prioress remained silent for a few minutes, and then addressed her in a solemn voice. “I own, Miss Fitzalan, your conduct appears so inexplicable, so astonishing, that nothing but the opinion I have formed of your character, from seeing the manner in which you have acted since left to yourself, could prevent my esteem from being diminished; but I am persuaded you cannot act from a bad motive, therefore, till that persuasion ceases, my esteem can know no diminution. From this declaration you maybe convinced that, to the utmost of my power, I will serve you; yet, ere you finally determine and require such service, weigh well what you are about; consider in the eyes of the world you are about acting a dishonorable part, in breaking your engagement with Lord Mortimer without assigning some reason for doing so. Nothing short of a point of conscience should influence you to this.” “Nothing short of it has,” replied Amanda; “therefore pity, and do not aggravate my feelings, by pointing out the consequences which will attend the sacrifice I am compelled to make; only promise (taking the prioress’s hand),—only promise, in this great and sad emergency, to be my friend.”
Her looks, her words, her agonies, stopped short all the prioress was going to say. She thought it would be barbarity any longer to dwell upon the ill consequences of an action, which she was now convinced some fatal necessity compelled her to; she therefore gave her all the consolation now in her power, by assuring her she would immediately think about some place for her to retire to, and would keep all that had passed between them a profound secret. She then insisted on Amanda’s lying down, and trying to compose herself; she brought her drops to take, and drawing the curtains about her, retired from the room. In two hours she returned. Though she entered the chamber softly, Amanda immediately drew back the curtain, and appeared much more composed than when the prioress had left her. The good woman would not let her rise, but sat down on the bed to tell her what she had contrived for her.
[Pg 383] “She had a relation in Scotland,” she said, “who, from reduced circumstances, had kept a school for many years. But as the infirmities of age came on, she was not able to pay so much attention to her pupils as their friends thought requisite, and she had only been able to retain them by promising to get a person to assist her. As she thought her cousin (the prioress) more in the way of procuring such a one than herself, she had written to her for that purpose. A clever, well-behaved young woman, who would be satisfied with a small salary, was what she wanted. I should not mention such a place to you,” said the prioress, “but that the necessity there is for your immediately retiring from Lord Mortimer leaves me no time to look out for another. But do not imagine I wish you to continue there. No, indeed; I should think it a pity such talents as you possess should be buried in such obscurity. What I think is, that you can stay there till you grow more composed, and can look out for a better establishment.” “Do not mention my talents,” said Amanda; “my mind is so enervated by grief, that it will be long before I can make any great exertion, and the place you have mentioned is, from its obscurity, just such a one as I desire to go to.” “There is, besides, another inducement,” said the prioress, “namely, its being but a few miles from Port-Patrick, to which place a fair wind will bring you in a few hours from this. I know the master of a little wherry, which is perp............