The author of this effusion of ignorance and impertinence has already inspired all the contempt he merits. Should he repeat his insolence, something even more mortifying than contempt—chastisement—must ensue.
That a repetition of this kind would be the case, she did not believe. From Kilcorban she had no reason to suspect either the perseverance or designs of Belgrave. One was a libertine from principle, the other she believed from fashion; and that to pique his pride would be a sure method of getting rid of him.
But the calm she had for some time experienced was destined to be interrupted. The next morning brought Father O’Gallaghan, the little fat priest (of whom we have made mention before in our pages), to the convent. He was not the officiating priest; but notwithstanding this, paid many visits to the sisterhood, with whom he was a great favorite; he had been much concerned about Amanda’s illness. She was sitting alone in the parlor, drawing, when he entered it. He seated himself by her, and the expression of his countenance seemed to declare his heart was brimful of something pleasant.
“You won’t be offended now, my dear sowl,” said he, smirking up in her face, “with a body for asking you how you would like to leave this dismal solitude and have a comfortable home of your own, where you might see your own friends, and have everything warm and cosy about you?” “Why,” said Amanda, “though I do not consider this a dismal solitude, yet, to be sure, I should have no objection to a pleasant settled habitation.” “Ay, I always thought you a sensible young body. Well, and what would you say to the person then who could point out such a habitation? Ay, you little rogue, who could say they had just such a one in their eye for you.” Amanda stared at him with astonishment. She had at first believed him jesting, but now found him serious.
“Ay, faith, my dear creature,” cried he, continuing his discourse with a look of the most perfect satisfaction, “I have an offer to make you, which, I believe, would make many girls jump out of their skins with joy to hear. You remember the O’Flannaghans, I am sure, where you took tea last summer. Well, the eldest of the sons (as honest a lad as ever broke bread) cast a sheep’s eye upon you then. But what with your going from the country, and some other matters, he thought there was no use then in revealing his flame; but now, when you are come plump in his way again, faith he plucked up his courage, and told his father all about it. Old Flannaghan is a good-natured sowl, and is very willing the match should take place. They have everything snug about them. The old man will give everything into your spouse’s hands. The youngest son will live in the house till he gets married, and goes off to a farm of his own. The eldest daughter is married; the second will live with her, and the youngest will be a little handy assistant to you. So you see, you will not be tormented with a large family. There is one little matter which, to be sure, they are a little uneasy about, and that is your being of different persuasions; but says I to them, when this was started, faith, says I, you need not give yourself any trouble about it, for I know the young woman to be a discreet sowl, and I am sure she will make no hesitation about going to chapel instead of church, when she knows, too, it is for her own interest. So, my dear sowl, I hope soon to give you the nuptial benediction, and to be also your spiritual director.”
Amanda had listened to this speech in silent amazement. She now rose, and would have quitted the room without speaking, to evince her contempt, had not an idea darted into her mind that such conduct perhaps might not be construed by the ignorant priest in the manner she wished. She therefore stopped, and turning to him said; “He could not wonder at her being offended at his pretending to answer so freely for her in matters so important as religion; but to prove how presumptuous he was in everything he said about her, she must assure him his embassy to her was equally fruitless and disagreeable; and that if Mr. O’Flannaghan consulted his own happiness, he would seek to unite himself with a woman brought up in his own sphere of life.” So saying, she quitted the room with a look of dignity which quite confounded the poor priest, who snatched up his hat in a great hurry, and waddled away to the farm, to communicate the ill-success of his visit, which had quite crushed his expectations of wedding presents and pudding feasts, which he had contemplated in idea with delight.
It was some time ere Amanda recovered from the discomposure into which the impertinence of the Kilcorbans and the priest had thrown her. From what she suffered in consequence of it, she was forcibly convinced how ill-qualified she was to struggle with a world where she would be continually liable to such shocks. She had yet a hope of escaping them—a hope of being guarded by the tutelary care of Lord Mortimer, and of being one of the happiest of her sex.
[CHAPTER XXXVIII.]
“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.