“I have, my dear young lady,” continued he, smiling, “beguiled you most soberly, as Lady Grace says, into conversation. I have, however, given you an opportunity of amusing your fancy by drawing a comparison between an old veteran and a young soldier; but though you may allow him more animation, I trust you will not do me so much injustice as to allow him more taste: while he merely extolled the lustre of your eyes, I should admire the mildness which tempered that lustre; while he praised the glow of your cheek, I should adore that sensibility which had power, in a moment, to augment or diminish it.”
At this instant Lady Greystock entered the room—she entered it with the swell of importance, and a haughty expression of contempt in her features.
The stranger rose from his chair, and his paleness increased.
“So, Mr. Rushbrook,” at last drawled out her ladyship. “So, sir: but pray be seated,” waving her hand at the same time.
Amanda now retired: she had lingered a few moments in the room, under the pretence of putting her work out of her ladyship’s way, to discover who the stranger was.
Rushbrook had been represented to her as artful, treacherous, and contemptible. His appearance was almost a sufficient refutation of those charges, and she began to think they never would have been laid against him by any other being than Lady Greystock, from a desire of depreciating her adversary. In her ladyship she had seen much to dislike since she resided with her; she saw that the temper, like the person, is often allowed to be in dishabille at home.
She felt even warmly interested about Rushbrook; she had heard of his large family; and, from his appearance, she conjectured they must be in distress. There was a kind of humorous sadness in his manner which affected her even more than a settled melancholy perhaps would have done, as it implied the efforts of a noble heart to repel sorrow; and if there cannot be a more noble, neither, surely, can there be a more affecting sight, than that of a good and brave man struggling with adversity.
As she leaned pensively against the window, reflecting on the various inequalities of fortune, yet still believing they were designed by a wise Providence, like hill and valley, mutually to benefit each other, she saw Rushbrook cross the street; his walk was the slow and lingering walk of dejection and disappointment. He raised his hand to his eyes, Amanda supposed to wipe away his tears, and her own fell at the supposition. The severity of the day had increased; a heavy shower of snow was falling, against which poor Rushbrook had no shelter but his threadbare coat. Amanda was unutterably affected; and when he disappeared from her sight, she fell into a sentimental soliloquy, something in the style of Yorick.
“Was I mistress,” exclaimed she, as she beheld the splendid carriages passing and repassing,——"was I mistress of one of those carriages, an old soldier like Rushbrook should not be exposed to the inclemency of a wintry sky; neither should his coat be threadbare, or his heart oppressed with anguish! If I saw a tear upon his cheek I would say it had no business there, for comfort was about revisiting him.” As she spoke, the idea of Lord Mortimer occurred. Her tears were suspended, and her cheek began to glow.
“Yes, poor Rushbrook!” she exclaimed, “perhaps the period is not far distant when a bounteous Providence, through the hands of Amanda, may relieve thy wants; when Mortimer himself may be her assistant in the office of benevolence!”