Amanda impatiently longed for this night, which she believed would realize either her hopes or fears.
[CHAPTER XX.]
“A crimson blush her beauteous face o’erspread, Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red; The driving colors, never at a stay, Run here and there, and flush and fade away; Delightful change! thus Indian ivory shows, With which the bordering paint of purple glows, Or lilies damasked by the neighboring rose.”—Dryden.
The wished-for night at length arrived, and Amanda arrayed herself for it with a fluttering heart. The reflection of her mirror did not depress her spirits; hope had increased the brilliancy of her eyes, and given an additional glow to her complexion. Ellen, who delighted in the charms of her dear young lady, declared many of the Irish ladies would have reason to envy her that night; and Fitzalan when he entered the parlor was struck with her surpassing loveliness. He gazed on her with a rapture that brought tears into his eyes, and felt a secret pride at the idea of the marchioness beholding this sweet descendant of her neglected sister—
“Into such beauty spread and blown so fair, Though poverty’s cold wind, and crushing rain, Beat keen and heavy on her tender years.”
“No,” said he to himself, “the titled Euphrasia, if she equals, cannot at least surpass my Amanda—meekness and innocence dwell upon the brow of my child; but the haughty marchioness will teach pride to lower upon Lady Euphrasia.”
Amanda, on reaching Grangeville, found the avenue full of carriages. The lights dispersed through the house gave it quite the appearance of an illumination. It seemed, indeed, the mansion of gayety and splendor. Her knees trembled as she ascended the stairs. She wished for time to compose herself, but the door opened, her name was announced, and Mrs. Kilcorban came forward to receive her. The room, though spacious, was extremely crowded. It was decorated in a fanciful manner with festoons of flowers, intermingled with variegated lamps. Immediately over the entrance was the orchestra, and opposite to it sat the marchioness and her party. The heart of Amanda beat, if possible, with increased quickness on the approach of Mrs. Kilcorban, and her voice was lost in her emotions. Recollecting, however, that the scrutinizing eyes of Lord Mortimer, and her imperious relations, were now on her, she almost immediately recovered composure, and with her usual elegance walked up the room. Most of the company were strangers to her, and she heard a general buzz of “Who is she?” accompanied with expressions of admiration from the gentlemen, among whom were the officers of a garrison town near Grangeville. Confused by the notice she attracted, she hastened to the first seat she found vacant, which was near the marchioness.
Universal, indeed, was the admiration she had excited among the male part of the company, by her beauty, unaffected graces, and simplicity of dress.
She wore a robe of plain white lutestring, and a crape turban, ornamented with a plume of drooping feathers. She had no appearance of finery, except a chain of pearls about her bosom, from which hung her mother’s picture, and a light wreath of embroidered laurel, intermingled with silver blossoms, round her petticoat. Her hair, in its own native and glossy hue, floated on her shoulders, and partly shaded a cheek where the purity of the lily was tinted with the softest bloom of the rose. On gaining a seat, her confusion subsided. She looked up, and the first eyes she met were those of Lord Mortimer (who leaned on Lady Euphrasia Sutherland’s chair), fastened on her face with a scrutinizing earnestness, as if he wished to penetrate the recesses of her heart, and discover whether he yet retained a place in it. She blushed, and looking from him, perceived she was an object of critical attention to the marchioness and Lady Euphrasia. There was a malignant expression in their countenances, which absolutely shocked her; and she felt a sensation of horror at beholding the former, who had so largely contributed to the sorrows of her mother. “Can it be possible,” said Lady Euphrasia, replying to a young and elegant officer who stood by her, in a tone of affectation, and with an impertinent sneer, “that you think her handsome?” “Handsome,” exclaimed he with warmth, as if involuntarily repeating her ladyship’s word, “I think her bewitchingly irresistible. They told me I was coming to the land of saints; but,” glancing his sparkling eyes around, and fixing them on Amanda; “I find it is the land of goddesses.”