“The trying moment is come!” cried Amanda. “Oh! let me not by my confusion look as if I really was the guilty thing I’m supposed to be.” She endeavored to collect herself, and rose to meet the young Macqueens, by a timid glance perceiving that they yet hid her from the eyes she most dreaded to encounter. She was unable, however, to return their compliments, except by a faint smile, and was again sinking upon her seat—for her frame trembled universally—when Mrs. Macqueen, taking her hand, led her forward, and presented her to Lady Martha and Lady Araminta Dormer. It may be remembered that Lady Martha had never before seen Amanda. She therefore gave her, as Miss Donald, a benignant smile, which, had she supposed her Miss Fitzalan, would have been lost in a contemptuous frown. Seldom, indeed, had she seen a form more interesting than our heroine’s. Her mourning habit set off the elegance of her form and the languid delicacy of her complexion, whilst the sad expression of her countenance denoted that habit but the shadow of the unseen grief which dwelt within her soul. Her large blue eyes were half concealed by their long lashes, but the beams which stole from beneath those fringed curtains were full of sweetness and sensibility. Her fine hair, discomposed by the jolting of the carriage and the blowing of the wind, had partly escaped the braid on which it was turned under her hat, and hung in long ringlets of glossy brown upon her shoulders and careless curls about her face, giving a sweet simplicity to it, which heightened its beauty. How different was the look she received from Lady Araminta to that she had received from Lady Martha! In the expressive countenance of the former she read surprise, contempt, and anger; her cheeks were flushed with unusual color, her eyes sparkled with uncommon lustre, and their quick glances pierced the palpitating heart of Amanda, who heard her repeat, as if involuntarily, the name of Donald. Ah! how dreadful was the sound to her ear! Ah! how sad a confirmation did it convey—that every suspicion to her prejudice would now be strengthened. “Ah! why, why,” said she to herself, “was I tempted to take this hated name? Why did I not prefer incurring any danger to which my own might have exposed me, rather than assume anything like deceit?” Happily the party were too much engrossed by one another to heed the words or manner of Lady Araminta.
Amanda withdrew her hand from Mrs. Macqueen, and moved tremblingly to her seat; but that lady, with a politeness poor Amanda had reason to think officious, stopped her. “Miss Donald—Lord Mortimer!” said she. Amanda raised her head, but not her eyes, and neither saw nor heard his lordship. The scene she had dreaded was over, and she felt a little relieved at the idea. The haughty glance of Lady Araminta dwelt upon her mind, and, when agitation had a little subsided, she stole a look at her, and saw Mrs. Macqueen sitting between her and Lady Martha; and from the altered countenance of the latter, she instantly conjectured she had been informed by her niece of her real name. She also conjectured, from the glances directed towards her, that she was the subject of conversation, and concluded it was begun for the purpose of discovering whether Mrs. Macqueen knew anything of her real history.
From these glances she quickly withdrew her own, and one of the young Macqueens, drawing a chair near hers, began a conversation with all that spirit and vivacity which distinguished his family. The mind of Amanda was too much occupied by its concerns to be able to attend to anything foreign to them. She scarcely knew what he said, and when she did reply it was only by monosyllables. At last a question, enforced with peculiar earnestness, roused her from this inattention, and blushing for it, she looked at the young man, and perceived him regarding her with something like wonder. She now, for the first time, considered the strange appearance she must make amongst the company, if she did not collect and compose her spirits. The family, too, to whom she was (she could not help thinking) so unfortunately introduced, from their hospitality, merited attention and respect from her. She resolved, therefore, to struggle with her feelings, and, as an apology for her absent manner, complained, and not without truth, of a headache.
Young Macqueen, with friendly warmth, said he would acquaint his mother, or one of his sisters, with her indisposition, and procure some remedy for it; but she insisted he should on no account disturb the company, assuring him she would soon be well; she then endeavored to support a conversation with him; but, ah! how often did she pause in the midst of what she was saying, as the sweet, insinuating voice of Mortimer reached her ear, who, with his native elegance and spirit, was participating in the lively conversation then going forward. In hers, with young Macqueen, she was soon interrupted by his father, who, in a good-humored manner told his son he would no longer suffer him to engross Miss Donald to himself, and desired him to lead her to a chair near his.
Young Macqueen immediately arose, and taking Amanda’s hand, led her to his father, by whom he seated her; and by whom on the other side sat Lady Martha Dormer; then with a modest gallantry declared it was the first time he ever felt reluctance to obey his father’s commands, and hoped his ready acquiescence to them would be rewarded with speedy permission to resume his conversation with Miss Donald. Amanda had hitherto prevented her eyes from wandering, though they could not exclude the form of Lord Mortimer; she had not yet seen his face, and still strove to avoid seeing it. Mr. Macqueen began with various inquiries relative to Mrs. Duncan, to which Amanda, as she was prepared for them, answered with tolerable composure. Suddenly he dropped the subject of his relation, and asked Amanda from what branch of the Donalds she was descended. A question so unexpected shocked, dismayed, and overwhelmed her with confusion. She made no reply till the question was repeated, when, in a low and faltering voice, her face covered with blushes, and almost buried in her bosom, she said she did not know.
“Well,” cried he, again changing his discourse, after looking at her a few minutes, “I do not know any girl but yourself would take such pains to hide such a pair of eyes as you have. I suppose you are conscious of the mischief they have the power of doing, and therefore it is from compassion to mankind you try to conceal them.”
Amanda blushed yet more deeply than before at finding her downcast looks were noticed. She turned hers with quickness to Mr. Macqueen, who having answered a question of Lady Martha’s thus proceeded: “And so you do not know from which branch of the Donalds you are descended? Perhaps now you only forget, and if I was to mention them one by one, your memory might be refreshed; but first let me ask your father’s surname, and what countrywoman he married, for the Donalds generally married amongst each other?”
Oh! how forcibly was Amanda at this moment convinced (if indeed her pure soul wanted such conviction) of the pain, the shame of deception, let the motive be what it may which prompts it. Involuntarily were her eyes turned from Mr. Macqueen as he paused for a reply to his last question, and at the moment encountered those of Lord Mortimer, who sat directly opposite to her, and with deep attention regarded her, as if anxious to hear how she would extricate herself from the embarrassments her assumed name had plunged her into.
Her confusion, her blushes, her too evident distress, were all imputed by Mrs. Macqueen to fatigue at listening to such tedious inquiries. She knew her husband’s only foible was an eager desire to trace every one’s pedigree. In order, therefore, to relieve Amanda from her present situation, she proposed a party of whist, at which Mr. Macqueen often amused himself, and for which the table and cards were already laid before him. As she took up the cards to hand them to those who were to draw, she whispered Amanda to go over to the tea-table.
Amanda required no repetition now, and thanking Mrs. Macqueen in her heart for the relief she afforded her, went to the table around which almost all the young people were crowded; so great was the mirth going on amongst them, that Miss Macqueen, the gravest of the set, in vain called upon her sisters to assist her in serving the trays, which the servants handed about, and Mrs. Macqueen had more than once called for. Miss Macqueen made room for Amanda by herself, and Amanda, anxious to do anything which could keep her from encountering the eyes she dreaded, requested to be employed in assisting her, and was deputed to fill out the coffee. After the first performance of her task, Miss Macqueen, in a whispering voice, said to Amanda, “Do you know we are all here more than half in love with Lord Mortimer. He is certainly very handsome, and his manner is quite as pleasing as his looks, for he has none of that foppery and conceit which handsome men so generally have, and nothing but the knowledge of his engagement could keep us from pulling caps about him. You have heard, to be sure, of Lady Euphrasia Sutherland, the Marquis of Roslin’s daughter; well, he is going to be married to her immediately; she and the marquis and the marchioness were here the other day. She is not to be compared to Lord Mortimer, but she has what will make her be considered very handsome in the eyes of many—namely, a large fortune. They only stopped to breakfast here, and ever since we have been on the watch for the rest of the party, who arrived this morning, and were, on Lady Martha’s account, whom the journey had fatigued, prevailed on to stay till to-morrow. I am very glad you came while they were here. I think both ladies charming women, and Lady Araminta quite as handsome as her brother; but see,” she continued, touching Amanda’s hand, “the conquering hero comes!” Lord Mortimer with difficulty made his way round the table, and accepted a seat by Miss Macqueen, which she eagerly offered him, and which she contrived to procure by sitting closer to Amanda. To her next neighbor, a fine, lively girl, Amanda now turned, and entered into conversation with her; but from this she was soon called by Miss Macqueen, requesting her to pour out a cup of coffee for Lord Mortimer.