“Such on the ground the fading rose we see, By some rude blast torn from the parent tree!
The daffodil so leans his languid head,
Newly mown down upon his grassy bed!”—Lee.
Experience convinced Amanda that the change in her situation was, if possible, more pleasing than she expected it would be. Mrs. Duncan was the kindest and most attentive of friends. Mrs. Bruce was civil and obliging, and her little pupils were docile and affectionate. Could she have avoided retrospection, she would have been happy; but the remembrance of past events was too deeply impressed upon her mind to be erased; it mingled in the visions of the night, in the avocations of the day, and in the meditations of her lonely hours, forcing from her heart the sighs of regret and tenderness. Her mornings were devoted to her pupils, and in the evenings she sometimes walked with Mrs. Duncan, sometimes read aloud whilst she and her aunt were working; but whenever they were engaged in chatting about family affairs, or at a game of piquet (which was often the case), as Mrs. Bruce neither loved walking nor working, she always took that opportunity of retiring from the room, and either rambled through the dark and intricate windings of the Abbey, or about the grounds contiguous to it. She sighed whenever she passed the chapel which contained the picture of her mother; it was in a ruinous condition, but a thick foliage of ivy partly hid while it proclaimed its decay; the windows were broken in many places, but all too high to admit the possibility of her gaining admittance through them, and the door was strongly secured by massy bars of iron, as was every door which had a communication with the eastern part of the Abbey. A fortnight passed away at the Abbey without anything happening to disturb the tranquillity which reigned in it. No one approached it, except a few of the wandering chil[Pg 417]dren of poverty, and its inhabitants seemed perfectly content with their seclusion from the world. Amanda, by Mrs. Duncan’s desire, had told Mrs. Dermot to direct her letters to a town about five miles from the Abbey; thither a man went every day, but constantly returned without one for her.
“Why,” she asked herself, “this anxiety for a letter, this disappointment at not receiving one, when I neither expect to hear anything interesting or agreeable? Mrs. Dermot has already said she had no means of hearing about Lord Mortimer; and, even if she had, why should I desire such intelligence, torn as I am from him forever?”
At the expiration of another week an incident happened, which again destroyed the composure of our heroine. Mrs. Bruce one morning hastily entered the room, where she and Mrs. Duncan were sitting with the little girls, and begged they would not stir from it till she had told them to do so, as the Marquis of Roslin’s steward was below stairs, and if he knew of their residence at the Abbey, she was confident he would reveal it to his lord, which she had no doubt would occasion her own dismission from it. The ladies assured her they would not leave the apartment, and she retired, leaving them astonished at the agitation she betrayed.
In about two hours she returned, and said she came to release them from confinement, as the steward had departed. “He has brought unexpected intelligence,” said she; “the marquis and his family are coming down to the castle. The season is so far advanced, I did not suppose they would visit it till next summer; I must, therefore,” continued she, addressing her niece, “send to the neighboring town to procure lodgings for you till the family leave the country, as no doubt some of them will come to the Abbey, and to find you in it would, I can assure you, be attended with unpleasant consequences to me.”
Mrs. Duncan begged she would not suffer the least uneasiness on her account, and proposed that very day leaving the Abbey. “No,” Mrs. Bruce replied, “there is no necessity for quitting it for a few days longer; the family,” continued she, “are coming down upon a joyful occasion, to celebrate the nuptials of the marquis’s daughter, Lady Euphrasia Sutherland.” “Lady Euphrasia’s nuptials!” exclaimed Amanda, in an agitated voice, and forgetting her own situation. “To whom is she going to be married?” “To Lord Mortimer,” Mrs. Bruce replied, “the Earl of Cherbury’s only son; a very fine young man. I am told the affair has been long talked of; but——" Here she was interrupted by a deep sigh, or rather groan,[Pg 418] from the unfortunate Amanda, who at the same moment fell back in her chair, pale and without motion. Mrs. Duncan screamed, and flew to her assistance. Mrs. Bruce, equally frightened, though less affected, ran for restoratives, and the children clasped her knees and wept. From her pensive look and manner, Mrs. Duncan suspected, from their first acquaintance, that her heart had experienced a disappointment of the tenderest nature. Her little girls, too, had told her that they had seen Miss Donald crying over a picture. Her suspicions concerning such a disappointment were now confirmed by the sudden emotion and illness of Amanda. But she had all the delicacy which belongs to true sensibility, and determined never to let Amanda know she conjectured the source of her sorrows, certain as she was that they had never originated from any misconduct.
Mrs. Bruce’s drops restored Amanda’s senses; but she felt weak and trembling, and begged she might be supported to her room, to lie down on the bed. Mrs. Bruce and Mrs. Duncan accordingly led her to it. The former almost immediately retired, and the tears of Amanda now burst forth. She wept a long time without intermission; and as soon as her sobs would permit her to speak, begged Mrs. Duncan to leave her to herself. Mrs. Duncan knew too well the luxury of secret grief to deny her the enjoyment of so melancholy a feast, and directly withdrew.
The wretched Amanda then asked herself, “if she had not known before that the sacrifice she made Lord Cherbury would lead to the event she now regretted?” It was true she did know it. But whenever an idea of its taking place occurred, she had so sedulously driven it from her mind, that she at last almost ceased to think about it. Were he to be united to any other woman than Lady Euphrasia, she thought she would not be so wretched. “Oh, Mortimer! beloved of my soul!” she cried, “were you going to be united to a woman sensible of your worth, and worthy of your noble heart, in the knowledge of you............