His lordship came early to the convent. The dejected looks of Amanda immediately struck him, and renewed all his apprehensions about her health. She answered his tender inquiries by saying she was fatigued.
“Perhaps,” said he, “you would like to rest one day, and not commence your journey to-morrow!”
“No, no,” cried Amanda, “it shall not be deferred. To-morrow,” continued she, with a smile of anguish, “I will commence it.”
Lord Mortimer thanked her for a resolution, he imagined, dictated by an ardent desire to please him; but at the same time again expressed his fears that she was ill.
Amanda perceived that if she did not exert herself her dejection would lead him to inquiries she would find it difficult to evade; but as to exert herself was impossible, in order to withdraw his attention in some degree from herself, she proposed that, as this was the last evening they would be at the convent, they should invite the nuns to drink tea with them. Lord Mortimer immediately acquiesced in the proposal, and the invitation being sent was accepted.
But the conversation of the whole party was of a melancholy kind. Amanda was so much beloved among them, that the prospect of losing her filled them with a regret which even the idea of seeing her soon again could not banish. About nine, which was their hour for prayers, they rose to retire, and would have taken leave of Lord Mortimer, had he not informed them, that on Miss Fitzalan’s account, he would not commence the journey next day till ten o’clock, at which time he would again have the pleasure of seeing them.
When they withdrew he endeavored to cheer Amanda, and besought her to exert her spirits. Of his own accord, he said, he would leave her early, that she might get as much rest as possible against the ensuing day. He accordingly rose to depart. What an agonizing moment for Amanda; to hear, to behold the man, so tenderly beloved, for the last time; to think that ere that hour the next night she should be far, far away from him, considered as a treacherous and ungrateful creature, despised, perhaps execrated, as a source of perpetual disquiet and sorrow to him! Her heart swelled at those ideas with feelings she thought would burst it: and when he folded her to his bosom, and bid her be cheerful against the next morning, she involuntarily returned the pressure, by straining him to her heart in convulsive agitation, whilst a shower of tears burst from her. Lord Mortimer, shocked and surprised at these tears and emotions, reseated her, for her agitation was contagious, and he trembled so much he could not support her; then throwing himself at her feet, “My Amanda! my beloved girl!” cried he, “what is the matter? Is any wish of your heart yet unfulfilled? If so, let no mistaken notion of delicacy influence you to conceal it—on your happiness you know mine depends; tell me, therefore, I entreat, I conjure you, tell me, is there anything I can do to restore you to cheerfulness?” “Oh, no!” said Amanda, “all that a mortal could do to serve me you have already done, and my gratitude, the fervent sense I have of the obligations I lie under to you, I cannot fully express. May Heaven,” raising her streaming eyes,—"may Heaven recompense your goodness by bestowing the choicest of its blessings on you!” “That,” said Lord Mortimer, half smiling, “it has already done in giving you to me, for you are the choicest blessing it could bestow; but tell me, what has dejected you in this manner! something more than fatigue, I am sure.”
Amanda assured him “he was mistaken;" and, fearful of his further inquiries, told him, “she only waited for his departure to retire to rest, which she was convinced would do her good.”
Lord Mortimer instantly rose from his kneeling posture: “Farewell, then, my dear Amanda,” cried he, “farewell, and be well and cheerful against the morning.”
She pressed his hand between hers, and laying her cold wet cheek upon it: “Farewell,” said she; “when we next meet I shall, I trust, be well and cheerful; for in heaven alone (thought she at that moment) we shall ever meet again.”