They arrived the third day in Sackville Street, where her ladyship had a house, and two days after embarked for England. They slept the first night they landed at Holyhead, and the next morning pursued their journey.
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
“A song, a flower, a name, at once restore Those long-connected scenes when first they moved The attention————.”—Akenside.
The dejection of Amanda gradually declined, as the idea of seeing Lord Mortimer again revived. It revived not, however, without hopes, fears, and agitations. Sometimes she imagined she should find him devoted to Lady Euphrasia; then again believed his honor and sincerity would not allow him to give her up so suddenly, and that this apparent indifference proceeded from resentment, which would vanish if an opportunity once offered (and she trusted there would) for explaining her conduct. She endeavored to calm the emotions these ideas gave rise to, by reflecting that a short time now would most probably terminate her suspense.
They stopped for the night, about five o’clock, at an inn about a mile from Tudor Hall. After dinner, Amanda informed Lady Greystock she wished to accompany Ellen to her parents. To this her ladyship made no objection, on finding she did not want the carriage. She charged her, however, not to forget the hour of tea, by which time she would be refreshed by a nap, and ready to engage her at a game of picquet.
They set out unattended, as Ellen refused the ostler’s offer of carrying her portmanteau, saying she would send for it the next day. This she did by Amanda’s desire, who wished, unobserved, to pursue a walk, in which she promised herself a melancholy indulgence, from reviewing the well-known scenes endeared by tender recollections.
A mournful, yet not undelightful, sensation attends the contemplation of scenes where we once enjoyed felicity—departed joys are ever remembered with an enthusiasm of tenderness which soothes the sorrow we experience for their loss.
Such were the present feelings of Amanda; while Ellen, undisturbed by regrets for the past, pointed out, with pleasure, the dwellings of her intimates and friends. Yet when she came to Chip’s deserted cottage, she stopped, and a tear stole from her eye, accompanied at the same time by a smile, which seemed to say, “though thou art now lonely and cheerless, the period is approaching when comfort and gayety shall resume their stations within thee; when the blaze of thy fire and thy taper shall not only diffuse cheerfulness within, but without, and give a ray to the desolate or benighted traveller, to guide him to thy hospitable shelter!”