The message, indeed, had been sent, but never delivered to Amanda.
“I assure you, my lord,” said she, “I heard of no such request.” “And pray, child, how have you been employed all this time?” asked Lady Greystock. “In reading, madam,” faltered out Amanda, while her death-like paleness was succeeded by a deep blush. “You are certainly ill,” said Lord Mortimer, who sat beside her, in a voice expressive of regret at the conviction. “You have been indulging melancholy ideas, I fear,” continued he softly, and taking her hand, “for surely—surely to-night you are uncommonly affected.”
Amanda attempted to speak. The contending emotions of her mind prevented her utterance, and the tears trickled silently down her cheeks. Lord Mortimer saw she wished to avoid notice, yet scarcely could he forbear requesting some assistance for her.
Lady Euphrasia now complained of a violent headache. The marchioness wanted to ring for remedies. This Lady Euphrasia opposed; at last, as if suddenly recollecting it, she said, “in the closet there was a bottle of eau-de-luce, which she was certain would be of service to her.”
At the mention of the closet, the blood ran cold through the veins of Amanda; but when she saw Lady Euphrasia rise to enter it, had death, in its most frightful form, stared her in the face, she could not have betrayed more horror. She looked towards it with a countenance as expressive of wild affright as Macbeth’s, when viewing the chair on which the spectre of the murdered Banquo sat. Lord Mortimer observing the disorder of her looks, began to tremble. He grasped her hand with a convulsive motion, and exclaimed:
“Amanda, what means this agitation?”
A loud scream from Lady Euphrasia broke upon their ears, and she rushed from the closet, followed by Belgrave.
"Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed Lord Mortimer, dropping Amanda’s hand, and rising precipitately.
Amanda looked around—she beheld every eye fastened on her with amazement and contempt. The shock was too much for her to support. A confused idea started into her mind that a deep-laid plot had been concerted to ruin her; she faintly exclaimed, “I am betrayed,” and sunk back upon the sofa.
Lord Mortimer started at her exclamation. “Oh Heavens!” cried he, as he looked towards her; unable to support the scene that would ensue in consequence of this discovery, he struck his forehead in agony, and rushed out of the room. In the hall he was stopped by Mrs. Jane, the maid appointed by the marchioness to attend Amanda.