“——I’ll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never more shall it be gracious.”
Sir Charles Bingley and Colonel Belgrave, in early life, had contracted a friendship for each other which time had strengthened in one, but reduced to a mere shadow in the other. On meeting the colonel unexpectedly in town, Sir Charles had informed him of his intentions relative to Amanda. His heart throbbed at the mention of her name. He had long endeavored to discover her. Pride, love, and revenge, were all concerned in the accomplishment of his designs, which disappointment had only stimulated. He was one of those determined characters which never relinquish a purpose, “though heaven and earth that purpose crossed.” The confidence Sir Charles reposed in him, joined to his warm and unsuspicious temper, convinced him he would be credulous enough to believe any imputation he should cast on Amanda. He therefore lost no time in contriving this execrable scheme, without the smallest compunction, for destroying the reputation of an innocent girl, or injuring the happiness of an amiable man.
Removed from the protection of her father, he believed his destined victim could not escape the snare he should spread for her; and as a means of expediting his success, under the appearance of feeling, urged Sir Charles’s return to Ireland.
The easy credit which Sir Charles gave to the vile allegations of Belgrave, cannot be wondered at, when his long intimacy and total ignorance of his real character are considered. He knew Belgrave to be a gay man, but he never imagined him to be a hardened libertine. Besides, he never could have supposed any man would have been so audacious, or sufficiently base, as to make such an assertion as Belgrave had done against Amanda, without truth for his support.
The errors of his friend, though the source of unspeakable anguish to him, were more pitied than condemned, as he rather believed they proceeded from the impetuosity of passion, than the deliberation of design, and that they were long since sincerely repented of.
Amanda could not be forgotten; the hold she had on his heart could not easily be shaken off; and like the recording angel, he was often tempted to drop a tear over her faults, and obliterate them forever from his memory. This, however, was considered the mere suggestion of weakness, and he ordered immediate preparations to be made for his return to Ireland.
[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
“Oh how this tyrant doubt torments my breast! My thoughts, like birds, who frighted from their rest, Around the place where all was hushed before, Flutter, and hardly settle any more.”—Otway.