Amanda could no longer keep silence. “What wretch,” she exclaimed, “or what is the meaning of this disorder?” “First tell me, Amanda,” said he, looking very steadfastly at her, “have you seen any stranger here lately?” “Good Heaven!” replied she, “what can you mean by such a question? But I solemnly assure you I have not.” “Enough,” said he, “such an assurance restores me to quiet; but, my dear Amanda,” coming over to her, and taking her hands in his, “since you have perceived my agitation, I must account to you for it. I have just seen Belgrave; he was but a few yards from me on the Common when I saw him; but the mean despicable wretch, loaded as he is with conscious guilt, durst not face me. He got out of my way by leaping over the hedge which divides the Common from a lane with many intricate windings. I endeavored, but without success, to discover the one he had retreated through.” “I see,” said Amanda, pale and trembling, “he is destined to make me wretched. I had hoped indeed that Lord Mortimer would no more have suffered his quiet to be interrupted by him; it implies such a doubt,” said she, weeping, “as shocks my soul! If suspicion is thus continually to be revived, we had better separate at once, for misery must be the consequence of a union without mutual confidence.” “Gracious Heaven!” said Lord Mortimer, “how unfortunate I am to give you pain. You mistake entirely, indeed, my dearest Amanda, the cause of my uneasiness. I swear by all that is sacred, no doubt, no suspicion of your worth, has arisen in my mind. No man can think more highly of a woman than I do of you; but I was disturbed lest the wretch should have forced himself into your presence, and lest you, through apprehension for me, concealed it from me.”
This explanation calmed the perturbation of Amanda. As an atonement for the uneasiness he had given her, she wanted Lord Mortimer to promise he would not endeavor to discover Belgrave. This promise he avoided giving, and Amanda was afraid of pressing it, lest the spark of jealousy, which she was convinced existed in the disposition of Lord Mortimer, should be blown into a flame. That Belgrave would studiously avoid him she trusted, and she resolved that if the things that she had deemed it necessary to order from the neighboring town were not finished, to wait no longer for them, as she longed now more than ever to quit a place she thought dangerous to Lord Mortimer. The ensuing morning, instead of seeing his lordship at breakfast, a note was brought to her couched in these words:
TO MISS FITZALAN.
I am unavoidably prevented from waiting on my dear Amanda this morning, but in the course of the day she may depend on either seeing or hearing from me again. She can have no excuse now on my account about not hastening the preparations for her journey, and when we meet, if I find that her time has not been employed for this purpose, she may expect a severe chiding from her faithful
Mortimer.
This note filled Amanda with the most alarming disquiet. It was evident to her that he was gone in pursuit of Belgrave. She ran into the hall to inquire of the messenger about his master, but he was gone. She then hastened to the prioress and communicated her apprehensions to her.
The prioress endeavored to calm them, by assuring her she might be convinced that Belgrave had taken too many precautions to be discovered.
Amanda’s breakfast, however, remained untouched, and her things unpacked, and she continued the whole morning the picture of anxiety, impatiently expecting the promised visit or letter. Neither came, and she resolved to send, after dinner, the old gardener to Castle Carberry to inquire about Lord Mortimer. While she was speaking to him for that purpose, the maid followed her into the garden, and told her there was a messenger in the parlor from Lord Mortimer. She flew thither, but what words can express her surprise when the supposed messenger, raising a large hat, which shadowed his face, and removing a handkerchief, which he had hitherto held up to it, discovered to her view the features of Lord Cherbury? She could only exclaim, “Gracious Heaven! has anything happened to Lord Mortimer?” ere she sunk into a chair in breathless agitation.
[CHAPTER XL.]
“My heavy heart The prophetess of woe, foretells some ill At hand.”