“You are welcome, my dear soul,” cried the good-natured nun, running forward, and sitting down by her; “but why did you not come in to see us?” continued she, affectionately kissing her. Amanda said, “such was her intention, but feeling a little indisposed, she had remained in the air, in hopes of growing better.” “Oh, Jesu!” cried the sister, “you do indeed look ill, I must go and get you a cordial from our prioress, who is quite a doctress, I assure you.”
Amanda caught her gown as she was running away, and assured her she was better.
“Well, then,” said she, resuming her seat, “I must tell you of an odd thing which happened here last night. I came out to walk about the ruins between the lights—that is, as one may say, when it is neither dark or light. As the air was cold, I wrapped my veil about me, and had just turned the cloisters, when I heard a quick foot pacing after me. Well, I, supposing it to be one of the sisters, walked slowly, that she might easily overtake me. But you may guess my surprise when I was overtaken, not by one of them indeed, but by one of the finest and most beautiful young men I ever beheld. Lord, how he did start when he saw me, just for all the world as if I was a ghost; he looked quite wild, and flew off muttering something to himself. Well, I thought all this strange, and was making all the haste I could to the convent, when he appeared again coming from under that broken arch; and he bowed and smiled so sweetly, and held his hat in his hand so respectfully, whilst he begged my pardon for the alarm he had given me; and then he blushed and strove to hide his confusion with his handkerchief, while he asked me if I had seen here a young lady about the ruins that evening, as a particular friend had informed him she would be there, and desired him to escort her home. ‘Why, my dear sir,’ says I, ‘I have been about this place the whole evening, and there has neither been man, woman, nor child, but you and myself; so the young lady changed her mind, and took another ramble.’ ‘So I suppose,’ said he, and he looked so pale, and so melancholy, I could not help thinking it was a sweetheart he had been seeking; so by way of giving him a bit of comfort, ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘if you will leave any marks of the young lady you were seeking with me, I will watch here myself a little longer for her; and if she comes I will tell her how uneasy you were at not finding her, and be sure to dispatch her after you.’ ‘No, he thanked me,’ he said, ‘but it was of very little consequence his not meeting her, or indeed whether he ever met her again,’ and went away.” “Did he?” said Amanda. “Bless me!” exclaimed the nun, “you are worse, instead of better.”
Amanda acknowledged she was, and rising, requested she would excuse her not paying her compliments that evening at the nunnery.
Sister Mary pressed her to drink tea with the prioress, or at least take some of her excellent cordial; but Amanda refused both requests, and the affectionate nun saw her depart with reluctance.
Scarcely had she regained the road, ere a coach and six, preceded and followed by a number of attendants, approached with such quickness that she was obliged to step aside to avoid it. Looking in at the window as it passed, she saw Lord Mortimer and Lady Euphrasia seated in it, opposite to each other; she saw they both perceived her, and that Lady Euphrasia laughed, and put her head forward to stare impertinently at her. Amanda was mortified that they had seen her: there was something at that moment humiliating in the contrast between their situation and hers—she, dejected and solitary, they adorned and attended with all the advantages of fortune. But in the estimation of a liberal mind, cried she, the want of such advantage can never lessen me—such a mind as I flatter myself Lord Mortimer possesses. Ah! if he thinks as I do, he would prefer a lonely ramble in the desolate spot I have just quitted, to all the parade and magnificence he is about witnessing. The night passed heavily away. The idea of Lord Mortimer’s devoting all his attention to Lady Euphrasia, could not be driven from her mind.
The next morning, the first object she saw, on going to the window, was a large frigate lying at anchor near the castle. Ellen entered her chamber, and sighing heavily, as she always did, indeed, at the sight of a ship, said, “she wished it contained her wandering sailor.” Amanda indulged a hope that Lord Mortimer would appear in the course of the day, but she was disappointed. She retired, after tea, in the evening to her dressing-room, and seated in the window, enjoyed a calm and beautiful scene. Not a cloud concealed the bright azure of the firmament; the moon spread a line of silvery radiance over the waves, that stole with a melancholy murmur upon the shore; and the silence which reigned around was only interrupted by the faint noise of the mariners on board the frigate, and their evening drum. At last Amanda heard the paddling of oars, and perceived a large boat coming from the ship, rowed by sailors in white shirts and trousers, their voices keeping time to their oars. The appearance they made was picturesque, and Amanda watched them till the boat disappeared among the rocks. The supper-bell soon after summoned her from the window; but scarcely had she retired to her chamber for the night, ere Ellen, smiling, trembling, and apparently overcome with joy, appeared.
“I have seen him,” cried she, hastily; “oh, madam, I have seen poor Chip himself, and he is as kind and as true-hearted as ever. I went this evening to the village to see old Norah, to whom you sent the linen, for she is a pleasing kind of poty, and does not laugh like the rest at one for their Welsh tongue; so when I was returning home, and at a goot tistance from her cabin, I saw a great number of men coming towards me, all dressed in white. To pe sure, as I heerd a great teal apout the white poys, I thought these were nothing else, and I did so quake and tremble, for there was neither hole, or bush, or tree on the spot, that would have sheltered one of the little tiny fairies of Penmaenmawr. Well, they came on, shouting and laughing, and merrier than I thought such rogues ought to be; and the moment they espied me, they gathered round me, and began pulling me about; so I gave a great scream, and tirectly a voice (Lort, how my heart jumped at it) cried out, ‘that is Ellen;’ and to pe sure poor Chip soon had me in his arms; and then I heard they were sailors from the frigate, come to get fresh provisions at the village; so I turned pack with them, and they had a great bowl of whiskey punch, and a whole sight of cakes, and Chip told me all his adventures; and he was so glad when he heard I lived with you, pecause he said you were a sweet, mild young laty, and he was sure you would sometimes remind me of him; and he hopes soon to get his tischarge, and then—” “You are to be married,” said Amanda, interpreting the blushes and hesitation of Ellen. “Yes, matam, and I assure you Chip is not altered for the worse py a seafaring life. His voice, inteed, is a little of the roughest, but he told me that was owing to his learning the poatswain’s whistle. Poor fellow, he sails to-morrow night. The ship is on the Irish station, and they are to coast it to Dublin.”
“Happy Ellen!” said Amanda, as she retired from her chamber, “thy perturbations and disquietudes are over; assured of the affection of thy village swain, peace and cheerfulness will resume their empire in thy breast.”
The next evening at twilight, Amanda went down to the beach with her father to see the fishermen drawing their seines on shore, on which their hopes, and the comfort of their families, depended. Whilst Fitzalan conversed with them, Amanda seated herself on a low rock to observe their motions. In the murmur of the waves there was a gentle melancholy, in unison with her present feelings. From a pensive meditation, which had gradually rendered her inattentive to the scene before her, she was suddenly roused by voices behind her. She started from her seat, for in one of them she imagined she distinguished the accent of Lord Mortimer. Nor was she mistaken. He was descending a winding path near her, accompanied by a naval officer. To pass without seeing her was impossible; and as he approached her, he stopped, apparently hesitating whether or not he should address her. In a few minutes his hesitation ended, with waving his handkerchief, as if to bid her adieu, whilst he proceeded to a small boat which had been for some time lying in a creek among the rocks, and which, on receiving him and his companion, immediately rowed to the frigate. Amanda trembled. Her heart beat violently. Ellen had informed her the frigate was to sail that night; and what could induce Lord Mortimer to visit it at such an hour, except an intention of departing in it.