“No,” replied Howel, “except that she is an angel.”
Lord Mortimer was now thoroughly convinced all was over with the poor parson; and resolved, in consequence of this conviction, to lose no time himself. He could not depart without inquiring how the evening had been spent, and envied Howel the happy minutes he had so eloquently described.
[CHAPTER VI.]
“———— Hither turn Thy graceful footsteps; hither, gentle maid, Incline thy polished forehead. Let thy eyes Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn; And may the fanning breezes waft aside Thy radiant locks, disclosing, as it bends With airy softness from the marble neck, The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lip, Where winning smiles, and pleasure sweet as love With sanctity and wisdom, tempering blend Their soft allurements.”—Akenside.
While Amanda was at breakfast the next morning, Betsey brought a letter to her; expecting to hear from her father, she eagerly opened it, and, to her great surprise, perused the following lines:—
TO MISS DUNFORD.
Lord Mortimer begs leave to assure Miss Dunford he shall remain dissatisfied with himself till he has an opportunity of personally apologizing for his intrusion yesterday. If the sweetness of her disposition fulfils the promise her face has given of it, he flatters himself his pardon will speedily be accorded: yet never shall he think himself entirely forgiven, if her visits to the library are discontinued. Happy and honored shall Lord Mortimer consider himself, if Tudor Hall contains anything which can amuse or merit the attention of Miss Dunford.
July 17th.
“From Lord Mortimer!” said Amanda, with involuntary emotion. “Well, this really has astonished me.” “Oh Lort, my tear!” cried the nurse in rapture.
Amanda waved her hand to silence her, as the servant stood in the outside room. She called Betsey: “Tell the servant,” said she——
“Lort!” cried the nurse softly, and twitching her sleeve, “write his lortship a little pit of a note, just to let him see what a pretty scribe you are.”