“Why, thou poor mourner, in what baleful corner
Hast thou been talking with that witch, the night?
On what cold stone hast thou been stretched along,
Gathering the grumbling winds about thy head,
To mix with theirs the accents of thy woes?”—Otway.
Amanda had not reached the parlor when the door opened, and Mrs. Connel came from it. “Oh! oh! miss,” cried she, “so you are returned. I protest I was beginning to think you had stolen a march upon us.” There was a rude bluntness in this speech which confounded Amanda; and her mind misgave her that all was not right. “Come,” continued Mrs. Connel, “come in, miss, I assure you I have been very impatient for your return.” Amanda’s fears increased. She followed Mrs. Connel in silence into the parlor, where she beheld an elderly woman, of a pleasing but emaciated appearance, who seemed in great agitation and distress. How she could possibly have anything to say to this woman, she could not conjecture, and yet an idea that she had, instantly darted into her mind; she sat down, trembling in every limb, and waited with impatience for an explanation of this scene. After a general silence of a few minutes, the stranger, looking at Amanda, said, “My daughter, madam, has informed me we are indebted to your bounty; I am therefore happy at an opportunity of discharging the debt.” These words announced Mrs. Rushbrook, but Amanda was confounded at her manner; its coolness and formality were more expressive of dislike and severity than of gentleness or gratitude. Mrs. Rushbrook rose as she spoke, and offered a note to her. Speechless from astonishment, Amanda had not power either to decline or accept it, and it was laid on a table before her.
“Allow me, madam,” said Mrs. Rushbrook, as she resumed her seat, “to ask if your real name is Donald?” Amanda’s presentiment of underhand doings was now verified; it was evident to her that their author was Belgrave, and that he had been too successful in contriving them.
[Pg 492] Amanda now appeared to have reached the crisis of her fate. In all the various trials she had hitherto experienced, she had still some stay, some hope, to support her weakness, and soothe her sorrows. When groaning under the injuries her character sustained by the success of an execrable plot, she had the consolation to think an idolizing father would shelter her from further insult. When deprived of that father, tender friends stepped forward, who mingled tears of sympathy with hers, and poured the balm of pity on her sorrowing heart. When torn from the beloved object enshrined within that heart, while her sick soul languished under the heavy burden of existence, again did the voice of friendship penetrate its gloom, and, though it could not remove, alleviated its sufferings. Now helpless, unprotected, she saw a dreadful storm ready to burst over her devoted head, without one hope to cheer, one stretched-out arm to shield her from its violence. Surrounded by strangers prejudiced against her, she could not think that her plain, unvarnished tale would gain their credence, or prevail on them to protect her from the wretch whose machinations had ruined her in their estimation. The horrors of her situation all at once assailed her mind, overpowered its faculties; a kind of mental sickness seized her, she leaned her throbbing head upon her hand, and a deep groan burst from her agonizing heart.
“You see,” said Mrs. Connel, after a long silence, “she cannot brave this discovery.”
Amanda raised her head at these words; she had grown a little more composed. “The Being in whom I trust,” she said to herself, “and whom I never wilfully offended, will still, I doubt not, as heretofore, protect me from danger.” Mrs. Rushbrook’s unanswered question still sounded in her ear. “Allow me, madam,” she cried, turning to her, “to ask your reason for inquiring whether my real name is Donald?” “Oh, Lord! my dear!” said Mrs. Connel, addressing Mrs. Rushbrook, “you need not pester yourself or her with any more questions about the matter; her question is an answer in itself.” “I am of your opinion, indeed,” exclaimed Mrs. Rushbrook, “and think any farther inquiry needless.” “I acknowledge, madam,” said Amanda, whose voice grew firmer from the consciousness of never having acted improperly, “that my name is not Donald. I must also do myself the justice to declare (let me be credited or not) that my real one was not concealed from any motive which could deserve reproach or censure. My situation is peculiarly distressing. My only consolation[Pg 493] amidst my difficulties is the idea of never having drawn them upon myself by imprudence.” “I do not want, madam,” replied Mrs. Rushbrook, “to inquire into your situation; you have been candid in one instance, I hope you will be equally so in another. Pray, madam,” handing to Amanda the letter she had written to Rushbrook, “Is this your writing?” “Yes, madam,” answered Amanda, whose pride was roused by the contempt she met, “it is my writing.” “And pray,” said Mrs. Rushbrook, looking steadfastly at her, while her voice grew more severe, “what was your motive for writing this letter?” “I think, madam,” cried Amanda, “the letter explains that.” “A pretty explanation, truly!” exclaimed Mrs. Connel; “and so you will try to vilify the poor gentleman’s character; but, miss, we have had an explanation you little dream of; ay, we found you out, notwithstanding your slyness in writing, like one of the madams in a novel, a bit of a letter without ever a name to it. Mr. Sipthorpe knew directly who it came from. Ah! poor gentleman, he allowed you wit enough; a pity there is not more goodness with it; he knows you very well to his cost.” “Yes,” said Amanda, “he knows I am a being whose happiness he disturbed, but whose innocence he never triumphed over. He knows that like an evil genius, he has pursued my wandering footsteps, heaping sorrow upon sorrow on me by his machinations; but he also knows, when encompassed with those sorrows, perplexed with those machinations, I rose superior to them all, and with uniform contempt and abhorrence rejected his offers.” “Depend upon it,” cried Mrs. Connel, “she has been an actress.” “Yes, madam,” said Amanda, whose struggling voice confessed the anguish of her soul, “upon a stage where I have seen a sad variety of scenes.” “Come, come,” exclaimed Mrs. Connel, “confess all about yourself and Sipthorpe; full confession will entitle you to pardon.” “It behooves me, indeed,” said Amanda, “to be explicit; my character requires it, and my wish,” she continued, turning to Mrs. Rushbrook, “to save you from a fatal blow demands it.” She then proceeded to relate everything she knew concerning Belgrave; but she had the mortification to find her short and simple story received with every mark of incredulity. “Beware, madam,” said she to Mrs. Rushbrook, “of this infatuation; I adjure you beware of the consequences of it. Oh! doom not your innocent, your reluctant Emily to destruction; draw not upon your own head by such a deed horrible and excruciating anguish. Why does not Mr. Sipthorpe, If I must call him so, appear, and in my presence support his allegations?” “I asked him to do so,” replied Mrs. Rushbrook; “but he has[Pg 494] feeling, and he wished not to see your distress, however merited it might be.” “No, madam,” cried Amanda, “he refused, because he knew that without shrinking he could not behold the innocent he has so abused; because he knew the conscious coloring of his cheek would betray the guilty feelings of his soul. Again, I repeat, he is not what he appears to be. I refer you for the truth of my words to Sir Charles Bingley. I feel for you, though you have not felt for me. I know, from false representations, you think me a poor misguided creature; but was I even so, my too evident anguish might surely have excited pity. Pardon me, madam, if I say your conduct to me has been most unkind. The gentle virtues are surely those best fitting a female breast. She that shows leniency to a fallen fellow-creature, fulfils the Divine precept. The tear she sheds over her frailties is consecrated in the sight of Heaven, and her compassion draws a blessing on her own head. Oh! madam, I once looked forward to a meeting with you, far, far different from the present one. I once flattered myself, that from the generous friendship of Mr. and Mrs. Rushbrook, I should derive support and consolation; but this, like every other hope, is disappointed.” Amanda’s voice faltered at these last words, and tears again trickled down her lovely cheeks. A faint glow tinged the pale cheek of Mrs. Rushbrook at Amanda’s accusation of unkindness. She bent her eyes to the ground as if conscious it was merited, and it was many minutes ere she could again look on the trembling creature before her. “Perhaps,” said she, at last, “I may have spoken too severely, but it must be allowed I had great provocation. Friendship and gratitude could not avoid resenting such shocking charges as yours against Sipthorpe.” “For my part, I wonder you spoke so mildly to her,” exclaimed Mrs. Connel; “I protest in future I shall be guarded who I admit into my house. I declare she seemed so distressed at the idea of going amongst strangers, that, sooner than let her do so, I believe, if Miss Emily had not, I should have offered her part of my bed; but this distress was all a pretext to get into the house with Mr. Sipthorpe, that she might try to entangle him in her snares again. Well, I am determined she shall not stay another night under my roof. Ay, you may stare as you please, miss, but you shall march directly. You are not so ignorant about London, I dare say, as you pretend to be.”
Mrs. Connel rose as she spoke, and approached her with a look which seemed to say she would put her threat into execution. It was Amanda’s intention to quit the house the next morning, but to be turned from it at such an hour, a wanderer in the Street, the idea was replete with horror! She started up, and[Pg 495] retreating a few paces, looked at Mrs. Connel with a kind of melancholy wildness. “Yes,” repeated Mrs. Connel, “I say you shall march directly.” The wretched Amanda’s head grew giddy, her sight failed, her limbs refused to support her, and she would have fallen to the ground had not Mrs. Rushbrook, who perceived her situation, timely caught her. She was replaced in a chair, and water sprinkled on her face. “Be composed, my dear,” said Mrs. Rushbrook, whose softened voice proclaimed the return of her compassion, “you shall not leave this house to-night, I promise, in the name of Mrs. Connel. She is a good-natured woman, and would not aggravate your distress.” “Ay, Lord knows, good-nature is my foible,” exclaimed Mrs. Connel. “So, miss, as Mrs. Rushbrook has promised, you may stay here to-night.” Amanda, opening her languid eyes, and raising her head from Mrs. Rushbrook’s bosom, said in a low, tremulous voice, “To-morrow, madam, I shall depart. Oh! would to Heaven,” cried she, clasping her hands together, and bursting into an agony of tears, “before to-morrow I could be rid of the heavy burden that oppresses me!” “Well, we have had wailing and weeping enough to-night,” said Mrs. Connel, “so, miss, you may take one of the candles off the table, and go to your chamber if you choose.”
Amanda did not require to have this permission repeated. She arose, and taking the light, left the parlor. With feeble steps she ascended to the little chamber; but here all was dark, and solitary, no cheerful fire sent forth an animating blaze; no gentle Emily, like the mild genius of benevolence, appeared to offer with undissembled kindness her little attentions. Forsaken, faint, the pale child of misery laid down the candle, and seating herself at the foot of the bed, gave way to deep and agonizing sorrow.
“Was I ever,” she asked herself, “blessed with friends who valued my existence as their own, who called me the beloved of their hearts? Oh! yes,” she groaned, “once such friends were mine, and the sad remembrance of them aggravates my present misery. Oh! happy is our ignorance of futurity. Oh! my father, had you been permitted to read the awful volume of fate, the page marked with your Amanda’s destiny would have rendered your existence miserable, and made you wish a thousand times the termination of hers.
“Oh, Oscar! from another hand than mine must you receive the deed which shall entitle you to independence. My trials sink me to the grave, to that grave where, but for the sweet hope of again seeing you, I should long since have wished my[Pg 496]self.” The chamber door opened. She turned her eyes to it in expectation of seeing Emily, but was disappointed on perceiving only the maid of the house. “Oh! dear ma’am,” cried she, going up to Amanda, “I declare it quite grieves me to see you in such a situation. Poor Miss Emily is just in as bad a plight. Well, it is no matter, but I think both the old ladies will be punished for plaguing you in this manner. Madam Rushbrook will be sorry enough, when, after giving her daughter to Mr. Sipthorpe, she finds he is not what he seems to be.” Amanda shrunk with horror from the idea of Emily’s destruction, and by a motion of her hand, signified to the maid her dislike to the subject. “Well, ma’am,” she continued, “Miss Emily, as I was saying, is quite in as bad a plight as yourself. They have clapped her into my mistress’s chamber, which she durst not leave without running the risk of bringing their tongues upon her. However, she contrived to see me, and sent you this note.” Amanda took it and read as follows:—
“I hope my dear Miss Donald will not doubt my sincerity when I declare that all my sorrows are heightened by knowing I have been the occasion of trouble to her. I have heard of the unworthy treatment she has received in this house, and her intention of quitting it to-morrow. Knowing her averseness to lodge in a place she is unacquainted with, I have been speaking to the maid about her, and had the satisfaction to hear, that, through her means, my dear Miss Donald might be safely accommodated for a short time; long enough, however, to permit her to look out for an eligible situation. I refer her for particulars of the conversation to the maid, whose fidelity may be relied on. To think it may be useful to my dear Miss Donald, affords me the only pleasure I am now capable of enjoying. In her esteem may I ever retain the place of a sincere and affectionate friend.
E. R.”
“And where is the place I can be lodged in?” eagerly asked Amanda. “Why, ma’am,” said the maid, “I have a sister who is housemaid, at a very grand place, on the Richmond Road. All the family are now gone to Brighton, and she is left alone in the house, where you would be very welcome to take up your residence till you could get one to your mind. My sister is a sage, sober body, and would do everything in her power to please and oblige you, and you would be as snug and secure with her as in a house of your own; and poor Miss Emily begged you would go to her, till you could get lodgings with people whose characters you know. And, indeed, ma’am, it is my humble opinion, it would be safe and pleasant for you to do so; and, if you consent, I will conduct you there to-morrow morning; and I am sure, ma’am, I shall be happy if I have the power of serving you.” Like the Lady in Comus, Amanda might have said[Pg 497]—
“I take thy word,
And trust thy honest offered courtesy,
For in a place
Less warranted than this, or less secure
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it:
Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial
To my proportioned strength.”
To take refuge in this manner, in any one’s house, was truly repugnant to the feelings of Amanda; but sad necessity conquered her scrupulous delicacy, and she asked the maid at what hour in the morning she should be ready for her.
“I shall come to you, ma’am,” answered she, “as soon as I think there is a carriage on the stand, and then we can go together to get one. But I protest, ma’am, you look sadly. I wish you would allow me to assist in undressing you, for I am sure you want a little rest. I dare say, for all my mistress said, if you choose it, I could get a little wine from her to make whey for you.” Amanda refused this, but accepted her offer of assistance, for she was so overpowered by the scenes of the day, as to be almost unequal to any exertion. The maid retired after she had seen her to bed. Amanda entreated her to be punctual to an early hour, and also requested her to give her most affectionate love to Miss Rushbrook, and her sincere thanks for the kind solicitude she had expressed about her. Her rest was now, as on the preceding night, broken, and disturbed by frightful visions. She arose pale, trembling, and unrefreshed. The maid came to her soon after she was dressed, and she immediately accompanied her down stairs, trembling as she went, lest Belgrave should suddenly make his appearance, and either prevent her departure, or follow her to her new residence. She left the house, however, without meeting any creature, and soon obtained the shelter of a carriage.
As they proceeded, Amanda besought the maid, who seemed perfectly acquainted with everything relative to Belgrave, to tell Miss Rushbrook to believe her assertions against him if she wished to save herself from destruction. The maid assured her she would, and declared she always suspected Mr. Sipthorpe was not as good as he should be. Amanda soon found herself at the end of her little journey. The house was elegant and spacious, with a short avenue before it planted with chestnuts. The maid’s sister was an elderly-looking woman, who received Amanda with every appearance of respect, and conducted her into a handsome parlor, where a neat breakfast was laid out. “I took care, ma’am,” said the maid, smiling, “to apprise my sister last night of the honor she was to have this[Pg 498] morning: and I am sure she will do everything in her power to oblige you.” “I thank you both,” cried Amanda, with her usual sweetness, but while she spoke a struggling tear stole down her lovely cheek at the idea of that forlorn situation which had thus cast her upon the kindness of strangers—strangers who were themselves the children of poverty and dependence. “I hope, however, I shall not long be a trouble to either, as it is my intention immediately to look out for a lodging amongst the cottages in this neighborhood, till I can settle my affairs to return to my friends. In the mean time, I must insist on making some recompense for the attention I have received, and the expense I have put you to.” She accordingly forced a present upon each, for both the women appeared unwilling to accept them, and Mrs. Deborah, the maid’s sister, said it was quite unnecessary at present to think of leaving the house, as the family would not return to it for six weeks. Amanda, however, was resolved on doing what she had said, as she could not conquer her repugnance to continue in............