Amanda assured her she was already aware of these, but the apprehensions they excited were less painful than the anxiety she suffered on her brother’s account, and ended by declaring her resolution unalterable.
Mrs. Duncan, who, in her heart, could not blame Amanda for such a resolution, now expressed her hopes that she would not make a longer stay in London than was absolutely necessary, declaring that her society would be a loss she could scarcely support.
Amanda thanked her for her tenderness, and said, “she hoped they should yet enjoy many happy days together.” She proposed travelling in a chaise to the borders of England, and then pursuing the remainder of the journey in a stage-coach. The woman of the house was sent for, and requested to engage a carriage for her against the morning, which she promised to do; and the intervening time was almost entirely passed by Mrs. Duncan in lamenting the approaching loss of Amanda’s society, and in entreaties for her to return as soon as possible. Till this period she did not know, nor did Amanda conceive, the strength of her friendship. She presented her purse to our heroine, and in the impassioned language of sincerity, entreated her to consider it as the purse of a sister, and take from it whatever was necessary for her long journey and uncertain stay.
Amanda, who never wished to lie under obligations, when she could possibly avoid them, declined the offer; but with the warmest expressions of gratitude and sensibility, declaring (what she thought indeed would be the case), that she had more than sufficient for all her purposes; all, therefore, she would accept was what Mrs. Duncan owed her.
Mrs. Duncan begged her to take a letter from her to a family, near whose house her first day’s journey would terminate. They were relations of Mr. Duncan’s, she said, and had been extremely kind to him and her. She had kept up a correspondence with them till her removal to Dunreath Abbey, when she dropped it, lest her residence there should be discovered; but such an opportunity of writing to them, by a person who would answer all their inquiries concerning her, she could not neglect; besides, she continued, they were the most agreeable and hospitable people she had ever known, and she was convinced would not suffer Amanda to sleep at an inn, but would probably keep her a few days at their house, and then escort her part of the way.
Averse to the society of strangers, in her present frame of mind, Amanda said she would certainly take the letter, but could not possibly present it herself. She thanked Mrs. Duncan for her solicitous care about her; but added, whether she lodged at an inn or private house for one night was of little consequence; and as to her journey being retarded, it was what she never could allow.
Mrs. Duncan declared she was too fond of solitude, but did not argue the point with her. She wrote the letter, however.
They took leave of each other at night, as the chaise was ordered at an early hour. As Mrs. Duncan folded Amanda to her heart, she again besought her to hasten back, declaring that neither she nor her little girls would be themselves till she returned.
At an early hour Amanda entered the chaise; and, as she stepped into it, could not forbear casting a sad and lingering look upon a distant prospect, where, the foregoing evening, a dusky grove of firs had been pointed out to her, as encompassing the Marquis of Roslin’s Castle. Ah! how did her heart sicken at the idea of the event which either had or was soon to take place in that Castle! Ah! how did she tremble at the idea of her long and lonesome journey, and the difficulties she might encounter on its termination! How sad, how solitary, did she feel herself! Her mournful eyes filled with tears as she saw the rustic families hastening to their daily labors; for her mind involuntarily drew a comparison between their situation and her own. And, ah! how sweet would their labor be to her, she thought, if she, like them, was encompassed with the social ties of life. Fears, before unthought of, rose in her mind, from which her timid nature shrunk appalled. Should Rushbrook be absent from London, or should he not answer her expectations; but, “I deserve disappointment,” cried she, “if I thus anticipate it. Oh! let me not be over-exquisite
‘To cast the fashion of uncertain evils,’