TO THE EARL OF CHERBURY.
My Lord,—To your wishes I resign my happiness; my happiness, I repeat, for it is due to Lord Mortimer to declare that a union with such a character as his must have produced the highest felicity. It is also due to my own to declare, that it was neither his rank nor his fortune, but his virtues, which influenced my inclination in his favor.
Happy had it been for us all, my lord, but particularly for me, had you continued steady in opposing the wishes of your son. My reverence for paternal authority is too great ever to have allowed me to act in opposition to it. I should not then, by your seeming acquiescence to them, have been tempted to think my trials all over.
But I will not do away any little merit your lordship may perhaps ascribe to my immediate compliance with your request, by dwelling upon the sufferings it entails on me. May the renunciation of my hopes be the means of realizing your lordship’s, and may superior fortune bring superior happiness to Lord Mortimer!
I thank your lordship for your intentions relative to me; but whilst I do so, must assure you, both now and forever, I shall decline having them executed for me.
I shall not disguise the truth. It would not be in your lordship’s power to recompense the sacrifice I have made you; and, besides, pecuniary obligations can never sit easy upon a feeling mind, except they are conferred by those we know value us, and whom we value ourselves. I have the honor to be, your lordship’s obedient servant,
Amanda Fitzalan.
The tears she had with difficulty restrained while writing, now burst forth. She rose and walked to the window, to try if the air would remove the faintness which oppressed her. From it she perceived Lord Mortimer and the prioress in deep conversation, at a little distance from the convent. She conjectured she was their subject; for, as Lord Mortimer retired, the prioress, whom she had not seen that day before, came into her chamber. After the usual salutations—“Lord Mortimer has been telling me you were ill,” said she. “I trusted a lover’s fears had magnified the danger; but truly, my dear child, I am sorry to say that this is not the case. Tell me, my dear, what is the matter? Surely now, more than ever, you should be careful of your health.” “Oh, no!” said Amanda, with a convulsive sob. “Oh, no" wringing her hands, “you are sadly mistaken.” The prioress grew alarmed, her limbs began to tremble, she was unable to stand, and, dropping on the nearest chair, besought Amanda, in a voice expressive of her feelings, “to explain the reason of her distress.”
Amanda knelt before her, she took her hands, she pressed them to her burning forehead and lips, and bedewed them with her tears, while she exclaimed, “she was wretched.” “Wretched!” repeated the prioress. “For Heaven’s sake be explicit—keep me no longer in suspense—you sicken my very heart by your agitation—it foretells something dreadful!”
“It does indeed,” said Amanda. “It foretells that Lord Mortimer and I shall never be united!”
The prioress started, and surveyed Amanda with A look which seemed to say, “she believed she had lost her senses;” then, with assumed composure, begged “she would defer any farther explanation of her distress till her spirits were in a calmer state.” “I will not rise,” cried Amanda, taking the prioress’s hand, which, in her surprise, she had involuntarily withdrawn. “I will not rise till you say that, notwithstanding the mysterious situation in which I am involved, you will continue to be my friend. Oh! such an assurance would assuage the sorrows of my heart.”
The prioress now perceived that it was grief alone which disordered Amanda; but how she had met with any cause for grief, or what could occasion it, were matters of astonishment to her. “Surely my dear child,” cried she, “should know me too well to desire such an assurance; but, however mysterious her situation may appear to others, she will not, I trust and believe, let it appear so to me. I wait with impatience for an explanation.” “It is one of my greatest sorrows,” exclaimed Amanda, “that I cannot give such an explanation. No, no,” she continued in an agony, “a death-bed confession would not authorize my telling you the occasion of Lord Mortimer’s separation and mine.” The prioress now insisted on her taking a chair, and then begged, as far as she could, without farther delay, she would let her into her situation.
Amanda immediately complied. “An unexpected obstacle to her union with Lord Mortimer,” she said, “had arisen, an obstacle which, while compelled to submit to it, she was bound most solemnly to conceal.” It was expedient, therefore, she should retire from Lord Mortimer, without giving him the smallest intimation of such an intention, lest, if he suspected it, he should inquire too minutely, and by so doing, plunge not only her but himself into irremediable distress. To avoid this, it was necessary all but the prioress should be ignorant of her scheme: and by her means she hoped she should be put in away of finding such a place of secrecy and security as she should require. She besought the prioress, with streaming eyes, not to impute her resignation of Lord Mortimer to any unworthy motive; to that Heaven, which could alone console her for his loss, she appealed for her innocence. She besought her to believe her sincere; to pity, but not condemn her; to continue her friend now, when her friendship was most needful in this her deep distress, and she assured her, if it was withdrawn, she believed she could no longer struggle with her sorrows.
The prioress remained silent for a few minutes, and then addressed her in a solemn voice. “I own, Miss Fitzalan, your conduct appears so inexplicable, so astonishing, that nothing but the opinion I have formed of your character, from seeing the manner in which you have acted since left to yourself, could prevent my esteem from being diminished; but I am persuaded you cannot act from a bad motive, therefore, till that persuasion ceases, my esteem can know no diminution. From this declaration you maybe convinced that, to the utmost of my power, I will serve you; yet, ere you finally determine and require such service, weigh well what you are about; consider in the eyes of the world you are about acting a dishonorable part, in breaking your engagement with Lord Mortimer without assigning some reason for doing so. Nothing short of a point of conscience should influence you to this.” “Nothing short of it has,” replied Amanda; “therefore pity, and do not aggravate my feelings, by pointing out the consequences which will attend the sacrifice I am compelled to make; only promise (taking the prioress’s hand),—only promise, in this great and sad emergency, to be my friend.”
Her looks, her words, her agonies, stopped short all the prioress was going to say. She thought it would be barbarity any longer to dwell upon the ill consequences of an action, which she was now convinced some fatal necessity compelled her to; she therefore gave her all the consolation now in her power, by assuring her she would immediately think about some place for her to retire to, and would keep all that had passed between them a profound secret. She then insisted on Amanda’s lying down, and trying to compose herself; she brought her drops to take, and drawing the curtains about her, retired from the room. In two hours she returned. Though she entered the chamber softly, Amanda immediately drew back the curtain, and appeared much more composed than when the prioress had left her. The good woman would not let her rise, but sat down on the bed to tell her what she had contrived for her.
“She had a relation in Scotland,” she said, “who, from reduced circumstances, had kept a school for many years. But as the infirmities of age came on, she was not able to pay so much attention to her pupils as their friends thought requisite, and she had only been able to retain them by promising to get a person to assist her. As she thought her cousin (the prioress) more in the way of procuring such a one than herself, she had written to her for that purpose. A clever, well-behaved young woman, who would be satisfied with a small salary, was what she wanted. I should not mention such a place to you,” said the prioress, “but that the necessity there is for your immediately retiring from Lord Mortimer leaves me no time to look out for another. But do not imagine I wish you to continue there. No, indeed; I should think it a pity such talents as you possess should be buried in such obscurity. What I think is, that you can stay there till you grow more composed, and can look out for a better establishment.” “Do not mention my talents,” said Amanda; “my mind is so enervated by grief, that it will be long before I can make any great exertion, and the place you have mentioned is, from its obscurity, just such a one as I desire to go to.” “There is, besides, another inducement,” said the prioress, “namely, its being but a few miles from Port-Patrick, to which place a fair wind will bring you in a few hours from this. I know the master of a little wherry, which is perpetually going backwards and forwards. He lives in this neighborhood, and both he and his wife consider themselves under obligations to me, and will rejoice, I am sure, at an opportunity of obliging me. I shall therefore send for him this evening, informing him of the time you wish to go, and desire his care till he leaves you himself at Mrs. Macpherson’s.”