“See,” cried she, presenting him the letter, as if happy at the moment to have such a proof of the truth of what she had alleged to him.
Lord Mortimer was affected by the letter: his eyes filled with tears, and he turned aside to hide his emotion; recovering himself, he again approached her. “And while you so sweetly pray for the felicity of the father,” said he, “are you resolved on dooming the son to despair? If sincere penitence can extenuate error, and merit mercy, I deserve to be forgiven.”
Amanda rose, as if with an intention of retiring, but Lord Mortimer caught her hand. “Think not,” cried he, “I will lose the present opportunity, which I have so long desired, and with such difficulty obtained, of entering into a vindication of my conduct: however it may be received by you, it is a justice I owe my own character to make: for as I never wilfully injured innocence, so I cannot bear to be considered as its violator. Amidst the wildness, the extravagance of youth, which with compunction I acknowledge being too often led into, my heart still acquitted me of ever committing an act which could entail upon me the pangs of conscience. Sacred to me has virtue ever been, how lowly soever in situation.”
The idea of his being able to vindicate himself scarcely afforded less pleasure to Amanda than it did to Lord Mortimer. She suffered him to reseat her, while he related the circumstances which had led him astray in his opinion of her. Oh! how fervent was the rapture that pervaded Amanda’s heart, when, as she listened to him, she found he was still the amiable, the generous, the noble character her fancy had first conceived him to be. Tears of pleasure, exquisite as those she had lately shed, again fell from her; for oh! what delight is there in knowing that an object we cannot help loving we may still esteem. “Thus,” continued Lord Mortimer, “have I accounted for my error: an error which, except on account of your displeasure, I know not whether I should regret, as it has convinced me, more forcibly than any other circumstance could have done, of the perfections of your mind, and has, besides, removed from mine prejudices which causelessly I did not entertain against your sex. Was every woman in a similar situation to act like you,
——Such numbers would not in vain, Of broken vows and faithless men complain.
To call you mine is the height of my wishes; on your decision I rest for happiness. Oh! my Amanda, let it be a favorable decision, and suffer me to write to Mr. Fitzalan, and request him to bestow on me the greatest treasure one being could possibly receive from another—a woman lovely and educated as you have been.”
When he mentioned appealing to her father, Amanda could no longer doubt the sincerity of his intentions. Her own heart pleaded as powerfully as his solicitations did for pardoning him; and if she did not absolutely extend her hand, she at least suffered it to be taken without any reluctance. ““I am forgiven, then,” said Lord Mortimer, pressing her to his bosom. “Oh, my Amanda, years of tender attention can never make up for this goodness!”
When his transports were a little abated, he insisted on writing immediately to Fitzalan. As he sealed the letter, he told Amanda he had requested an expeditious answer. The happiness of the youthful pair was communicated to the honest rustics, whom Lord Mortimer liberally rewarded for their fidelity to his Amanda, and whom she readily excused for their ambiguous expressions to him, knowing they proceeded from simplicity of heart, and a wish of serving her, yet without injuring themselves, by betraying the manner in which they had procured their intelligence of her situation.
The day after the reconciliation, Lord Mortimer told Amanda he was compelled, for a short time, to leave her; with that reluctance, he hoped, he said, she could readily conceive; but the visit, which he had come into Wales for the purpose of paying, had been so long deferred, his friend was growing impatient, and threatened to come to Tudor Hall to see what detained him there. To prevent such a measure, which he knew would be a total interruption to the happiness he enjoyed in her society, Lord Mortimer added he meant to pass a few days with him, hoping by the time he returned there would be a letter from Mr. Fitzalan, which would authorize his immediate preparations for their nuptials. Amanda wished, but could not totally hide, the uneasiness she felt at the prospect of a separation; the idea, however, of his speedy return, rendered it but transient, and he departed in a few hours after he had mentioned his intention.
Amanda had never before experienced such happiness as she now enjoyed. She now saw herself on the point of being elevated to a situation, by a man, too, whom she adored, which would give her ample opportunities of serving the clearest connections of her heart, and of gratifying the benevolence of her disposition, and the elegance of her taste. Oh, how delightful to think she should be able to soothe the declining period of her father’s life, by providing for him all the requisite indulgences of age! oh, how delightful to think she should be accessory to her dear Oscar’s promotion! how rapturous to imagine at her approach the drooping children of misery would brighten with pleasing presages of relief, which she should amply realize! Such were Amanda’s anticipations of what she termed the blessings of an affluent fortune; felicity, in her opinion, was to be diffused to be enjoyed. Of Lord Cherbury’s sanction to the attachment of his son, she entertained not a doubt; her birth was little inferior to his, and fortune was entirely out of the question—for a liberal mind, she thought, could never look to that, when on one side was already possessed more than sufficient for even the luxuries of life. Such were the ideas of the innocent and romantic Amanda—ideas which made her seem to tread on air, and which she entertained till subsequent experience convinced her of their fallacy.