Amanda’s happiness was now almost as great as it could be in this world; almost I say, for it received alloy from the melancholy consideration that her father, that faithful and affectionate friend who had shared her troubles, could not be a partaker of her joys; but the sigh of unavailing regret which rose in her mind she checked, by reflecting, that happiness all perfect was more than humanity could either support or expect, and with pious gratitude she bent to the Power who had changed the discolored prospect, by which she had been so long surrounded, into one of cheerfulness and beauty.
If her pride was wounded by the hint, though so delicately conveyed, which Lord Mortimer had given of the difficulties he encountered in gaining Lord Cherbury’s approbation, it was instantly relieved by the flattering commendations of Lady Martha Dormer, and to be connected with her and Lady Araminta, she looked upon amongst the most valuable blessings she could enjoy.
To express what she felt for Lord Mortimer would be impossible—language could not do justice to her feelings—she felt love, gratitude, and admiration for him, all in the fullest extent, and all united, and she wept in the fulness of her heart over the joyful assurance of being his. With the two letters in her hand, she repaired to the prioress’s apartment, whom she found alone. The good old lady saw the traces of tears on Amanda’s face, and exclaimed, in a voice which evinced her sympathy in her concerns, “Oh! I fear, my child, something has happened to disturb you!” Amanda presented her the letters, and bid her judge from them whether she had not reason to be agitated. As the prioress read, her sudden and broken exclamations manifested her surprise and pleasure, and frequently were her spectacles removed to wipe from off them the tears of joy by which they were bedewed. When she finished the welcome packet, she turned to Amanda, who had been attentively watching the various turns in her countenance, and gave her a congratulatory embrace. “Lord Mortimer is worthy of you, my child,” said the prioress, “and that is the highest eulogium I can pass on him.” After commenting upon different parts of the letter, she asked Amanda a little archly, “whether she intended sending an express command to his lordship against coming early in the morning?” Amanda honestly confessed she had no such intention, and expressed her wish to behold him. The prioress said she would have breakfast prepared for them in the garden parlor, and that she would take care they should not be interrupted. She also promised to keep everything secret till matters were arranged for Amanda’s removal from St. Catherine’s.
[CHAPTER XXXIX.]
“Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign; And shall we never—never part, Oh! thou my all that’s mine.”—Goldsmith.
Joy is as great an enemy to repose as anxiety. Amanda passed an almost sleepless night, but her thoughts were too agreeably employed to allow her to suffer from want of rest; early as she arose in the morning, she was but a short time in the parlor before Lord Mortimer arrived. He appeared with all the transports of his soul beaming from his eyes, and was received by Amanda with tender and trembling emotion. He caught her to his heart as a treasure restored to him by the immediate hand of Heaven. He pressed her to it with silent ecstasy. Both for a few moments were unable to speak; but the tears which burst from Amanda, and those that stopped on the glowing cheeks of Lord Mortimer, expressed their feelings more forcibly than any language could have done.
Amanda at length found utterance, and began to thank his lordship for all the difficulties he had gone through in vindicating her fame. He hastily stopped those effusions of gratitude, by bidding her ask her heart whether he had not been serving himself as well as her by what he had done.
From the soft confusion into which his transports threw her, Amanda endeavored to recover herself by repairing to the breakfast table, on which the good sisters had spread all the niceties (adapted for a morning repast) which the convent could produce: but her hand was unsteady, she spilt the tea in pouring it out, and committed twenty blunders in helping Lord Mortimer. He laughed a little archly at her embarrassment, and insisted on doing the honors of the table himself, to which Amanda, with a deep blush, consented; but breakfast was little attended to. Amanda’s hand was detained in Lord Mortimer’s, while his eyes were continually turning towards her, as if to assure his heart that, in the lovely evidence of his happiness, there was no deception; and the tenderness Amanda had no longer reason to restrain beamed from her looks, which also evinced her perfect sensibility of her present felicity—a felicity heightened by her approving conscience testifying she had merited it. The pure, the delightful satisfaction resulting from this reflection gave such radiance to her complexion, that Lord Mortimer repeatedly declared her residence at St. Catherine’s had made her more beautiful than ever. Twelve o’clock struck, and found them still loitering over the breakfast table. “The nuns will think we have made a tolerable feast,” cried Lord Mortimer, smiling, while Amanda rose with precipitation. “I need not,” continued he, following her, “like Sterne, ask nature what has made the meal so delicious; I need only ask my own heart, and it will inform me, love and tenderness.” Amanda blushed, and they went together into the garden. She would have walked before the windows of the convent, but Lord Mortimer forced her gently into a dark, sequestered alley. Here their conversation became more connected than it had been hitherto. The generous intentions of Lady Martha Dormer, and the arrangements she had made for the reception and nuptials of Amanda, were talked over. The marriage was to take place at Thornbury, Lady Martha’s seat; they were to continue there for a month after its solemnization, and from thence to go to an estate of Lord Cherbury’s for the remainder of the summer; a house in one of the squares was to be taken and prepared for their residence in winter, and Lady Martha Dormer had promised, whenever she came to town, which was but seldom, she would make their house her home, provided they would promise to spend every Christmas, and three months at least in summer, with her at Thornbury. Lord Mortimer said he had his choice of any of the earl’s seats, but chose none, from an idea of the Hall being more agreeable to Amanda. She assured him it was, and he proceeded to mention the presents which Lady Martha had prepared for her, also the carriages and retinue he had provided, and expected to find at Thornbury against she reached it, still asking if the arrangements he had made met her approbation.
Amanda was affected even to tears by the solicitude he showed to please her; and he, perceiving her emotions, changed the discourse to talk about her removal from St. Catherine’s. He entreated her not to delay it longer than was absolutely necessary to adjust matters for it. She promised compliance to this entreaty, acknowledging that she but obeyed her inclinations in doing so, as she longed to be presented to her generous patroness, Lady Martha, and to her amiable and beloved Lady Araminta. Lord Mortimer, delicately considerate about all which concerned her, begged she would speak to the prioress to procure a decent female, who should be a proper attendant for her in her journey. They should travel together in one chaise, and he would follow them in another. Amanda promised she would lose no time in making this request, which, she had no doubt, would be successful.