“Let me go, my lord,” said she. “In pity to me, in mercy to yourself, let me go; for one moment longer and we may be discovered.”
Lord Cherbury started up—"From whom,” cried he, “can I hear about you?” “From the prioress of St. Catherine’s,” replied Amanda, in a trembling voice; “she only will know the secret of my retreat.”
He again snatched her hand and kissed it with vehemence. “Farewell, thou angel of a woman!” he exclaimed, and disappeared amongst the ruins. Amanda hurried back, dreading every moment to meet Lord Mortimer; but she neither met him nor any other person. She had scarcely gained her chamber ere the prioress came to inform her his lordship was in the parlor. She instantly repaired to it. The air had a little changed the deadly hue of her complexion, so that from her looks he supposed her better, and her words strengthened the supposition. She talked with him, forced herself to eat some supper, and checked the tears from falling, which sprang to her eyes, whenever he mentioned the happiness they must experience when united, the pleasure they should enjoy at Thornbury, and the delight Lady Martha and Lady Araminta would experience whenever they met.
Amanda desired him not to come to breakfast the next morning, nor to the convent till after dinner, as she should be so busy preparing for her journey she would have no time to devote to him. He wanted to convince her he should not retard her preparations by coming, but she would not allow this.
Amanda passed another wretched night. She breakfasted in the morning with the nuns, who expressed their regret at losing her—a regret, however, mitigated by the hope of shortly seeing her again, as Lord Mortimer had promised to bring her to Castle Carberry as soon as she had visited his friends in England. This was a trying moment for Amanda. She could scarcely conceal her emotions, or keep herself from weeping aloud, at the mention of a promise never to be fulfilled. She swallowed her breakfast in haste, and withdrew to her chamber on pretence of settling her things. Here she was immediately followed by the nuns, entreating they might severally be employed in assisting her. She thanked them with her usual sweetness, but assured them no assistance was necessary, as she had but few things to pack, never having unlocked the chests which had come from Castle Carberry. They retired on receiving this assurance, and Amanda, fearful of another interruption, instantly sat down to write her farewell letter to Lord Mortimer.
TO LORD MORTIMER.
My Lord,—A destiny, which neither of us can control, forbids our union. In vain were obstacles encountered and apparently overcome; one has arisen to oppose it which we never could have thought of, and, yielding to it, as I am compelled by dire necessity to do, I find myself separated from you, without the remotest hope of our ever meeting again—without being allowed to justify my conduct, or offer one excuse which might, in some degree, palliate the abominable ingratitude and deceit I may appear guilty of; appear, I say, for in reality my heart is a stranger to either, and is now agonized at the sacrifice it is compelled to make; but I will not hurt your lordship’s feelings by dwelling on my own sufferings. Already have I caused you too much pain, but never again shall I cross your path to disturb your peace, and shade your prospect of felicity; no, my lord, removed to a tedious distance, the name I love no more will sink upon my ear, the delusive form of happiness no more will mock me.
Had everything turned out according to my wishes, perhaps happiness, so great, so unexpected, might have produced a dangerous revolution in my sentiments, and withdrawn my thoughts too much from heaven to earth: if so, oh! blessed be the power that snatched from my lips the cup of joy, though at the very moment I was tasting the delightful beverage.
I cannot bid you pity me, though I know myself deserving of compassion; I cannot bid you forbear condemning me, though I know myself undeserving of censure. In this letter I enclose the notes I received from your lordship; the picture and the ring I have retained; they will soon be my only vestiges of former happiness. Farewell, Lord Mortimer, dear and invaluable friend, farewell forever. May that peace, that happiness you so truly deserve to possess, be yours, and may they never again meet with such interruptions as they have received from the unfortunate
Amanda M. Fitzalan.
This letter was blistered with her tears; she laid it in a drawer till evening, and then proceeded to pack whatever she meant to take with her in a little trunk. In the midst of this business the prioress came in to inform her she had seen the master of the wherry, and settled everything with him. He not only promised to be secret, but to sail the following morning at four o’clock, and conduct her himself to Mrs. Macpherson’s. About three he was to come to the convent for her; he had also promised to provide everything necessary on board for her.
Matters being thus arranged, Amanda told the prioress, to avoid suspicion, she would leave the money she intended for the woman who had been engaged to accompany her to England on her dressing-table, with a few lines purporting who it was for. The prioress approved of her doing so, as it would prevent any one from suspecting she was privy to her departure. She was obliged to leave her directly, and Amanda took the opportunity of putting up fifteen guineas in a paper—five for the woman, and ten for the nuns. She wished to do more for them, but feared to obey the dictates of generosity, while her own prospect of provision was so uncertain. She wrote as follows to the prioress:—
TO MRS. DERMOT.
Dear Madam,—Was my situation otherwise than it now is, be assured I never should have offered the trifle you will find in this paper as any way adequate to the discharge of my debt; to you and your amiable companions, I regret my inability (more than I express) of proving my gratitude to you and them for all your kindness—never will they be obliterated from my remembrance; and He who has promised to regard those that befriend the orphan, will reward you for them. I have also left five guineas for the woman you were so good as to engage to attend me to England. I trust she will think them a sufficient recompense for any trouble or disappointment I may have occasioned her.
Farewell, dear Mrs. Dermot, dear and amiable inhabitants of St. Catherine’s farewell. As Amanda will never forget you in hers, so let her never be forgotten in your orisons, and never cease to believe her.
Grateful, sincere, and affectionate,
A. M. Fitzalan.
By this time she was summoned to dinner. Her spirits were sunk in the lowest dejection at the idea of leaving the amiable women who had been so kind to her, and above all at the idea of the last sad evening she was to pass with Lord Mortimer.