The fatigue2, distress3, and agitation4 of Amanda could no longer be struggled with; she sunk beneath their violence, and for a week was confined to her bed by the fever which had seized her in England, and ever since lurked5 in her veins6. The whole sisterhood, who took it in turn to attend her, vied with each other in kindness and care to the poor invalid7. Their efforts for her recovery were aided by a skilful8 physician from the next town, who called, without being sent for, at the convent. He said he had known Captain Fitzalan, and that, hearing that Miss Fitzalan was indisposed, he had come in hopes he might be of service to the daughter of a man he so much esteemed11. He would accept of no fee, and the prioress, who was a woman of sagacity, suspected, as well as Amanda, that he came by the direction of Lord Mortimer. Nor were they mistaken, for, distracted by apprehensions12 about her, he had taken this method of lightening his fears, flattering himself, by the excellent advice he had procured13, her recovery would be much expedited, and, of course, his suspense14 at least terminated. The doctor did not withdraw his visits when Amanda was able to rise; he attended her punctually, and often paid her long visits, which were of infinite service to her spirits, as he was a man of much information and cheerfulness. In a few days she was removed from her chamber15 into a pleasant room below stairs, which opened into the garden, where, leaning on the friendly doctor’s arm, or one of the nuns16’, she walked at different times a few minutes each day. Lord Mortimer, on hearing this, thought he might now solicit17 an interview, and accordingly wrote for that purpose:—
TO MISS FITZALAN.
Lord Mortimer presents his compliments to Miss Fitzalan, flatters himself she will allow him personally to express the sincere happiness her restoration to health has afforded him. He cannot think she will refuse so reasonable a request. He is almost convinced she would not hesitate a moment in granting it, could she form an idea of the misery18 he has experienced on her account, and the anxiety he feels, and must continue to feel, till some expressions in the last interview are explained.
Castle Carberry, 10th May.
[Pg 335] This letter greatly distressed20 Amanda. She had hoped the pain of again rejecting his visits and requests would have been spared her. She guessed at the expressions he alluded21 to in his letter; they were those she had dropped relative to her promise to her father, and from the impetuous and tender feelings of Lord Mortimer she easily conceived the agony he would experience when he found this promise inviolable. She felt more for his distress than her own. Her heart, seasoned in the school of adversity, could bear its sorrows with calmness; but this was not his case, and she paid the tribute of tears to a love so fervent22, so faithful, and so hopeless.
She then requested Sister Mary to acquaint his messenger that she received no visits; that, as she was tolerably recovered, she entreated23 his lordship would not take the trouble of continuing his inquiries24 about her health, or to send her any more written messages, as she was unable to answer them. The prioress, who was present when she received the letter, commended her exceedingly for the fortitude25 and discretion26 she had manifested. Amanda had deemed it necessary to inform her, after the conversation she heard between her and Lord Mortimer, of the terms on which they stood with each other; and the prioress, who doubted whether his lordship was in reality as honorable as he professed28 himself, thought Amanda on the sure side in declining his visits.
The next morning the doctor called as usual. He told Amanda he had brought her an entertaining book, for no such thing could be procured at St. Catherine’s, and, as she had expressed her regret at this, from the time she had been able to read he had supplied her from his library, which was extensive and well chosen.
He did not present it to her till he was retiring, and then said, with a significant smile, she would find it contained something worthy29 of her particular attention. Amanda was alone, and immediately opened it. Great was her astonishment31 when a letter dropped from it into her lap. She snatched it up, and, perceiving the direction in Lord Mortimer’s hand, she hesitated whether she should open a letter conveyed in this manner; but to return it unopened was surely a slight Lord Mortimer merited not, and she broke the seal with a trembling hand and a palpitating heart:—
Unkind Amanda, to compel me to use stratagems33 in writing to you, and destroy the delightful34 hopes which had sprung in my soul, at the prospect35 of being about to receive a reward for my sufferings. Am I ever to be involved in doubts and perplexity on your account? Am I ever to see difficulty succeeded by difficulty, and hope by disappointment?
[Pg 336] You must be sensible of the anxiety I shall feel, until your ambiguous expressions are fully36 explained, and yet you refuse this explanation! But you have no pity for my feelings. Would it not be more generous in you to permit an interview than to keep me in suspense? To know the worst is some degree of ease; besides, I should then have an opportunity of perhaps convincing you that virtue37, unlike vice9, has its bounds, and that we may sometimes carry our notions of honor and generosity38 too far, and sacrifice our real happiness to chimerical39 ideas of them. Surely I shall not be too presumptuous40 in saying that, if the regard Amanda once flattered me with is undiminished, she will, by rejecting a union with me, leave me not the only sufferer.
Oh! do not, my dear and too scrupulous41 girl, think a moment longer of persevering42 in a resolution so prejudicial to your welfare. Your situation requires particular protection: young, innocent, and beautiful; already the object of licentious43 pursuits; your nearest relations your greatest enemies; your brother, from his unsettled line of life, unable to be near you. Oh! my Amanda, from such a situation what evils may accrue44? Avoid them, by taking refuge in his arms, who will be to you a tender friend and faithful guardian45. Before such evils, the obligation for keeping a promise to reject me, fades away, particularly when the motives46 which led to such a promise are considered. Captain Fitzalan, hurt by the unfortunate letter he received from my father, extended his resentment47 to his son, and called upon you without reflecting on the consequences of such a measure to give me up. This is the only reason I can conceive for his desiring such a promise, and had I but arrived while he could have listened to my arguments, I am firmly convinced, instead of opposing, he would have sanctioned our union, and given his beloved girl to a man who, in every instance, would study to evince his gratitude48 for such a gift, and to supply his loss.
Happiness, my dear Amanda, is in long arrears49 with us. She is now ready to make up for past deficiencies, if it is not our own faults; let us not frighten her from performing her good intentions, but hand in hand receive the lovely and long absent guest to our bosoms50.
You will not, cannot, must not, be inflexible52; I shall expect, as soon as you read this, a summons to St. Catherine’s to receive the ratification53 of my hopes. In everything respecting our union I will be guided by you, except delaying it; what we have both suffered already from deceit makes me doubly anxious to secure you mine, lest another vile54 scheme should be formed to effect our separation.
Oh! Amanda, the faintest prospect of calling you mine gives to my heart a felicity no language can express. Refuse not being mine except you bring me an addition of fortune; already rich in every virtue, I shall, in obtaining you, obtain a treasure which the wealthiest, the proudest, and the vainest of the sons of men may envy me the possession of, and which the good, the sensible, and elegant, must esteem10 the kindest gift indulgent heaven could bestow55 on me. Banish56 all uneasy doubts and scruples57, my Amanda, from your mind, nor think a promise, which was demanded without reflecting on the consequences that must attend it, can be binding59. The ingenuous60 soul of your father would have cancelled it in a moment, had those consequences been represented to him; and now, when our own reason convinces us of them, I make no doubt, if departed souls are permitted to view the transactions of this world, his spirit would behold61 our union with approbation62. Yes, my Amanda, I repeat your father’s approving spirit will smile upon an act which gives to his lovely and beloved orphan63 a faithful friend and steady protector, in her adoring
Mortimer.
Castle Carberry, 11th May.
[Pg 337] This letter deeply affected64 the sensibility, but could not shake the resolution of Amanda. She would not have answered it, as she considered any correspondence an infringement65 on the promises she had given her father to decline any further intimacy66 with him; but from the warmth and agitation displayed in his letter, it was evident to her that, if he did not receive an immediate30 answer to it, he would come to St. Catherine’s and insist on seeing her; and she felt assured, that she could much better deliver her sentiments upon paper than to him; she accordingly wrote as follows:—
TO LORD MORTIMER.
My Lord,—You cannot change my resolution; surely, when I solemnly declare to you it is unalterable, you will spare me any further importunity67 on so painful a subject. In vain, my lord, would you, by sophistry68, cloaked with tenderness for that purpose, try to influence me. The arguments you have made use of, I am convinced, you never would have adopted, had you not been mistaken in regard to those motives which prompted my father to ask a promise from me of declining any farther connection with you. It was not from resentment, my lord; no, his death was then fast approaching, and he, in charity for all mankind, forgave those who had wounded him by unjust reproach and accusation69; it was a proper respect for his own character, and not resentment, which influenced his conduct, as he was convinced if I consented to an alliance with you, Lord Cherbury would be confirmed in all the suspicions he entertained of his having entangled70 you with me, and consequently load his memory with contempt. Tenderness also for me actuated him; he was acquainted with the proud heart of Lord Cherbury, and knew that if, poor and reduced as I was, I entered his family I should be considered and treated as a mean intruder. So thoroughly71 am I convinced that he did not err19 in this idea, that, whenever reason is predominant in my mind, I think, even if a promise did not exist for such a purpose, I should decline your addresses; for, though I could submit with cheerfulness to many inconveniences for your sake, I never could support indignities72. We must part, my lord; Providence73 has appointed different paths for us to pursue in life: yours smooth and flowery, if by useless regrets you do not frustrate74 the intentions of the benevolent75 Donor76; mine rough and thorny77; but both, though so different, will lead to the same goal, where we shall again meet to be no more separated.
Let not your lordship deem me either unkind or ungrateful; my heart disavows the justice of such accusations78, and is but too sensible of your tenderness and generosity. Yes, my lord, I will confess that no pangs79 can be more pungent80 than those which now rend81 it, at being obliged to act against its feelings; but the greater the sacrifice the greater the merit of submitting to it, and a ray of self-approbation is perhaps the only sunshine of the soul which will brighten my future days.
Never, my lord, should I enjoy this, if my promise to my father was violated. There is but one circumstance which could set it aside, that is, having a fortune, that even Lord Cherbury might deem equivalent to your own to bring you; for then my father has often said he would approve our union; but this is amongst the improbabilities of this life, and we must endeavor to reconcile ourselves to the destiny which separates us.
I hope your lordship will not attempt to see me again; you must be sen[Pg 338]sible that your visits would be highly injurious to me. Even the holy and solitary82 asylum83 which I have found would not protect me from the malice84 which has already been so busy with my peace and fame. Alas85! I now need the utmost vigilance—deprived as I am of those on whom I had claim of protection, it behooves86 me to exert the utmost circumspection87 in my conduct; he in whom I expected to have found a guardian, Oscar, my dear unfortunate brother, is gone, I know not whither, persecuted88 and afflicted89 by the perfidious90 monster who has been such a source of misery to me! Oh, my lord, when I think what his sufferings may now be, my heart sinks within me. Oh! had I been the only sufferer I should not have felt so great a degree of agony as I now endure; but I will not despair about my dear Oscar. The Providence which has been so kind to his sister, which so unexpectedly raised her friends at the moment she deemed herself deprived of all earthly comfort, may to him have been equally merciful. I have trespassed91 a long time upon your lordship’s attention, but I wished to be explicit92, to avoid the necessity of any further correspondence between us. You now know my resolves; you also know my feelings; in pity to them spare me any further conflicts. May the tranquil93 happiness you so truly deserve soon be yours! Do not, my lord, because disappointed in one wish, lose your sense of the many valuable blessings94 with which you are surrounded, in fulfilling the claims which your friends, your country, have upon you; show how truly you merit those blessings, and banish all useless regrets from your heart. Adieu, my lord!—suffer no uneasiness on my account. If Heaven prolongs my life, I have no doubt but I shall find a little comfortable shelter from the world, where, conscious I have acted according to my principles of right, I shall enjoy the serenity95 which ever attends self-approbation—a serenity which no changes or chances in this life will, I trust, ever wrest96 from
Amanda Fitzalan.
St. Catherine’s, May 12th.
She dispatched this by an old man who was employed in the garden at St. Catherine’s ; but her spirits were so much affected by writing it, she was obliged to go up and lie on the bed. She considered herself as having taken a final adieu of Lord Mortimer, and the idea was too painful to be supported with fortitude. Tender and fervent as his attachment97 was now to her, she believed the hurry and bustle98 of the world, in which he must be engaged, would soon eradicate99 it. A transfer of his affections, to one equal to himself in rank and fortune, was a probable event, and of course a total expulsion of her from his memory would follow. A deadly coldness stole upon her heart at the idea of being forgotten by him, and produced a flood of tears. She then began to accuse herself of inconsistency. She had often thought, if Lord Mortimer was restored to happiness, she should feel more tranquil. And now, when the means of effecting this restoration occurred, she trembled and lamented100 as if it would increase her misery. “I am selfish,” said she to herself, “in desiring the prolongation of an affection which must ever be hopeless. I am weak in regretting the probability of its transfer, as I can never return it.”
[Pg 339] To conquer those feelings, she found she must banish Lord Mortimer from her thoughts. Except she succeeded in some degree in this, she felt she never should be able to exert the fortitude her present situation demanded. She now saw a probability of her existence being prolonged, and the bread of idleness or dependence101 could never be sweet to Amanda Fitzalan.
She had lain about an hour on the bed, and was about rising and returning to the parlor102, when Sister Mary entered the chamber, and delivered her a letter. Ere Amanda looked at the superscription, her agitated103 heart foretold104 her whom it came from. She was not mistaken in her conjecture105; but as she held it in her hand, she hesitated whether she should open it or not. “Yet,” said she to herself, “it can be no great harm. He cannot, after what I have declared, suppose my resolution to be shaken. He writes to assure me of his perfect acquiescence106 to it.” Sister Mary left her at the instant her deliberations ended, by opening the letter.
TO MISS FITZALAN.
Inexorable Amanda! but I will spare both you and myself the pain of farther importunity. All I now request is, that for three months longer at least, you will continue at St. Catherine’s ; or that, if you find a much longer residence there unpleasant, you will, on quitting it, leave directions where to be found. Ere half the above-mentioned period be elapsed, I trust I shall be able satisfactorily to account for such a request. I am quitting Castle Carberry immediately. I shall leave it with a degree of tranquillity107 that would perhaps surprise you, after what has so lately passed, if in this one instance you will oblige your ever faithful
Mortimer.
This laconic108 letter astonished Amanda. By its style it was evident Lord Mortimer had recovered his cheerfulness—recovered it not from a determination of giving her up, but from a hope of their again meeting, as they could both wish. A sudden transport rushed upon her heart at such an idea, but quickly died away when she reflected it was almost beyond the possibility of things to bring about a pleasing interview between them. She knew Lord Mortimer had a sanguine109 temper, and though it might mislead him, she resolved it should not mislead her. She could not form the most distant surmise110 of what he had now in agitation; but whatever it was, she firmly believed it would end in disappointment. To refuse every request of his was painful; but propriety111 demanded she should not accede112 to the last, for one step, she wisely considered, from the line of prudence113 she had marked out for herself to take, might plunge[Pg 340] her in difficulties from which she would find it impossible to extricate114 herself. With an unsteady hand she returned the following answer:—
TO LORD MORTIMER.
My Lord,—I cannot comply with your request. You may, if you please, repeat inexorable Amanda. I had rather incur115 the imputation116 of obstinacy117 than imprudence, and think it much better to meet your accusation, than deserve my own. How long I may reside at St. Catherine’s is to myself unknown. When I quit it, I certainly will not promise to leave any directions where you may find me.
The obstacles which have rendered our separation necessary, are, I am convinced, beyond your lordship’s power to conquer. Except they were removed, any farther interviews between us would be foolish and imprudent in the extreme. I rejoice to hear you are leaving the castle. I also rejoice, but am not surprised, to hear of your tranquillity. From your good sense I expected you would make exertions118 against useless regrets, and those exertions I knew would be attended with success; but, as some return for the sincere pleasure I feel for your restoration to tranquillity, seek not to disturb again that of
Amanda Fitzalan.
St. Catherine’s, May 12th.
Scarcely had she sealed this letter when she was called to dinner; but though she obeyed the summons she could not eat. The exertions her writing to Lord Mortimer required, and the agitation his letter had thrown her into, quite exhausted119 her strength and spirits. The nuns withdrew soon after dinner, and left her alone with the prioress. In a few minutes after their departure, the old gardener returned from Castle Carberry, where he had been delivering her letter. After informing her he had put it safely into his lordship’s hands, he added, with a look which seemed to indicate a fear lest she should be distressed, that he had received neither letter nor message from him, though he waited a long time in expectation of receiving either one or the other; but he supposed, he said, his lordship was in too great a hurry just then to give any answer, as a chaise and four was waiting to carry him to Dublin.
Amanda burst into tears as the man retired120 from the room. She saw she had written to Lord Mortimer for the last time, and she could not suppress this tribute of regret. She was firmly convinced, indeed, she should behold him no more. The idea of visiting her she was sure, nay121, she hoped, he would relinquish122, when he found, which she supposed would soon be the case, the schemes or hopes which now buoyed123 up his spirits impossible to be realized.
The prioress sympathized in her sorrow; though not from her own experience, yet from the experience of others, she[Pg 341] knew how dangerous and bewitching a creature man is, and how difficult it is to remove the chains which he twines124 around the female heart. To remove those which lay so heavy upon the delicate and susceptible125 heart of her young friend, without leaving a corrosive126 wound, was her sincere wish, and by strengthening her resolution, she hoped success would crown their endeavors.
Two hours were elapsed since her messenger’s return from the castle, when Sister Mary entered the room with a large packet, which she put into Amanda’s hands, saying, it was given her by Lord Mortimer’s servant, who rode off the moment he delivered it.
Sister Mary made no scruple58 of saying, she should like to know what such a weighty packet contained. The prioress chide127 her in a laughing manner for her curiosity, and drew her into the garden, to give Amanda an opportunity of examining the contents.
She was surprised, on breaking the seal, to perceive a very handsome pocket-book in a blank cover, and found unsealed, a letter to this effect:—
TO MISS FITZALAN.
I have put it out of your power to return this, by departing long ere you receive it. Surely, if you have the laudable pride you profess27, you will not hesitate to use the contents of the pocket-book, as the only means of avoiding a weight of obligations from strangers. Though discarded as a lover, surely I may be esteemed as a friend, and with such a title I will be contented128 till I can lay claim to a tenderer one. You start at this last expression, and I have no doubt you will call me a romantic visionary, for entertaining hopes which you have so positively129 assured me can never be realized; but ere I resign them, I must have something more powerful than this assurance, my sweet Amanda, to convince me of their fallacy. I was inexpressibly shocked this morning to learn by your letter, that your brother had met with misfortune. My blood boils with indignation against the monster who has, to use your emphatical expression, been such a source of misery to you both. I shall make it my particular care to try and discover the place to which Mr. Fitzalan is gone, and in what situation. By means of the agents, or some of the officers belonging to the regiment130, I flatter myself with being able to gain some intelligence of him. I need not add, that, to the utmost extent of my power I will serve him. My success in this affair, as well as in that which concerns a much dearer being, you may be convinced you shall soon hear. Adieu, my Amanda; I cannot say, like Hamlet, “Go, get you to a nunnery;" but I can say, “Stay there, I charge you.” Seriously, I could wish, except you find your present situation very unpleasant and inconvenient131, not to change it for a short time. I think, for a temporary abode132, you could not find a more eligible133 one; and, as I shall be all impatience134 when I return to Ireland to see you, a search after you would be truly insupportable. You have already refused to inform me of[Pg 342] your determination relative to this matter; surely I may venture to request it may be as I wish, when I assure you, that, except I can see you in a manner pleasing to both, I never will force into your presence him, who, let things turn out as they may, must ever continue Your faithful
Mortimer.
“Gracious Heaven!” said Amanda to herself, “what can he mean? What scheme can he have in agitation which will remove the obstacles to our union? He here seems to speak of a certainty of success. Oh, grant, merciful Power!” she continued, raising her meek135 eyes to heaven, while a rosy136 blush stole upon her cheeks, “grant that indeed he may be successful. He talks of returning to Ireland; still,” proceeded she, reading over the letter, “of requiring something more powerful than my assurance to convince him of the fallacy of his hopes. Surely, Lord Mortimer would not be so cruel as to raise expectations in my bosom51 without those in his own were well founded. No, dear Mortimer, I will not call you a romantic visionary, but the most amiable137, the most generous of men, who for poor Amanda encounters difficulties and sacrifices every splendid expectation.” She rejoiced at the intention he had declared of seeking out Oscar. She looked forward either to a speedy interview, or speedy intelligence of this beloved brother, as she knew Lord Mortimer would seek him with the persevering spirit of benevolence138, and leave no means untried to restore him to her.
She now examined the contents of the pocket-book. It contained a number of small bills, to the amount of two hundred pounds,—a large present, but one so delicately presented, that even her ideas of propriety could scarcely raise a scruple against her accepting it. They did, however, suggest one. Uncertain how matters would yet terminate between her and Lord Mortimer, she was unwilling139 to receive pecuniary140 obligations from him. But when she reflected on his noble and feeling heart, she knew she should severely141 wound it by returning his present; she therefore resolved on keeping it, making a kind of compromise with her feelings about the matter, by determining that, except entitled to receive them, she would never more accept favors of this nature from his lordship. The present one, indeed, was a most seasonable relief, and removed from her heart a load of anxiety which had weighed on it. After paying her father’s funeral expenses, the people with whom he lodged142, and the apothecary143 who had attended him, she found herself mistress of but twenty guineas in the whole world, and more than half of this she considered as already due to the benevolent[Pg 343] sisters of St. Catherine’s, who were ill able to afford any additional expense.
She had resolved to force them to accept, what indeed she deemed a poor return for their kindness to her, and she then intended to retire to some obscure hovel in the neighborhood, as better suited to the state of her finances, and continue there till her health was sufficiently144 restored to enable her to make exertions for her livelihood145. But she shuddered146 at the idea of leaving St. Catherine’s and residing amongst a set of boors147. She felt sensations something similar to those we may suppose a person would feel who was about being committed to a tempestuous148 ocean without any means of security.
Lord Mortimer had prevented the necessity which had prompted her to think of a removal, and she now resolved to reside, at least for the time he had mentioned, in the convent, during which she supposed her uncertainties149 relative to him would be over, and that, if it was not her fate to be his, she should, by the perfect re-establishment of her health, be enabled to use her abilities in the manner her situation required. Tears of heartfelt gratitude and sensibility flowed down her cheeks for him who had lightened her mind of the care which had so oppressed it.
She at length recollected150 the prioress had retired into the garden from complaisance151 to her, and yet continued in it, waiting no doubt to be summoned back to her. She hastily wiped away her tears, and folding up the precious letter which was bedewed with them, repaired to the garden, resolving not to communicate its contents, as the divulgement of expectations (considering how liable all human ones are to be disappointed) she ever considered a piece of folly152.
She found the prioress and Sister Mary seated under a broken and ivy-covered arch. “Jesu! my dear,” said the latter, “I thought you would never come to us. Our good mother has been keeping me here in spite of my teeth, though I told her the sweet cakes I made for tea would be burned by this time, and that, supposing you were reading a letter from Lord Mortimer, there could be no harm in my seeing you.” Amanda relieved the impatient Mary, and she took her seat. The prioress cast her piercing eyes upon her. She perceived she had been weeping, and that joy rather than sorrow caused her tears. She was too delicate to inquire into its source; but she took Amanda’s hand, and gave it a pressure, which seemed to say, “I see, my dear child, you have met with something which pleases you, and my heart sympathizes as much in your happiness as in your grief.”
[Pg 344] Amanda returned the affectionate pressure with one equally tender and a starting tear. They were soon called by Sister Mary to partake of her hot cakes, which she had made indeed in hopes of tempting153 Amanda to eat after her bad dinner. The whole community were assembled at tea when the doctor entered the parlor. Amanda blushed and looked grave at his first entrance; but he soon rallied her out of her gravity. And when the prioress and the nuns, according to custom, had withdrawn154 to evening vespers, he said, with a significant smile, “he feared she had not attended as much as he wished she should to the contents of the book he had last brought her.” She saw by his manner he was acquainted with her situation relative to Lord Mortimer, and therefore replied by saying, “that perhaps, if he knew the motives which influenced her conduct, he would not think her wrong in disregarding what he had just mentioned.” She also said, “she detested155 all kinds of stratagem32, and was really displeased156 with him for practising one upon her.” “In a good cause,” he said, “he should never hesitate using one. Lord Mortimer was the finest young fellow he had ever seen, and had won his favor, and the best wishes of his heart, from the first moment that he beheld157 him. He made me contrive,” continued the doctor, “a story to gain admission to your ladyship, and when I found him so dreadfully anxious about you, I gave you credit (as I had then no opportunity of judging for myself) for all the virtues158 and graces he ascribed to you, and which I have since perceived you to possess. You smile, and look as if you would call me a flatterer; seriously, I assure you I am not one. I really think you worthy of Lord Mortimer, and I assure you that is as great a compliment as could be paid any woman. His mind was troubled with grief; he revealed his troubles and perplexities to me, and after hearing them, no good Christian159 ever prayed more devoutly160 for another than I prayed for your recovery, that all your sorrows, like a novel, might terminate in marriage.” “You are obliging in your wishes,” said Amanda, smiling. “Faith, I am sincere in them,” exclaimed he, “and do not know when I have been so disconcerted as at things not turning out smoothly161 between you and his lordship; but I will not despair. In all my troubles, and Heaven has given me my share, I ever looked to the bright side of things, and shall always do so for my friends. I yet expect to see you settled at Castle Carberry, and to be appointed myself physician-general to your ladyship’s household.” The mention of an event yet so uncertain greatly agitated Amanda; she blushed and turned pale alternately, and[Pg 345] convinced her good-natured but loquacious162 friend, he had touched a chord which could not bear vibration163. He hastily changed the discourse164, and as soon as he saw her composed, rose to take his leave. Amanda detained him for a minute, to try and prevail on him to take a ten-guinea note; but he was inflexible, and said with some archness, “till the disorder165 which preyed166 upon Lord Mortimer’s heart was in some degree alleviated167, he would receive no recompense for his visits, which he assured Amanda, from time to time, he would continue to pay her, adding, a certain person had enjoined168 him now and then to take a peep within the holy walls of St. Catherine’s.”
The next morning Amanda set about a temporary arrangement of her affairs. She presented thirty guineas to the sisterhood, which, with much difficulty, she forced them to accept, though, in reality, it was much required by them. But when she came to speak of paying for a continuance, they positively declared they would agree to no such thing, as she had already so liberally rewarded them for any expense they had incurred169 on her account. She told them that if they would not agree to be paid for lodging170 and board, she would certainly leave them, though such a step was contrary to her inclinations171; she assured them also she was at present well able to pay.
At last it was settled she should give them at the rate of forty pounds a-year—a salary they thought extremely ample, considering the plain manner in which they lived. She then had all the things which belonged to her father and herself brought to the convent, and had the former, with whatever she did not immediately want, nailed up in a large chest, that on a short notice they might be removed. Her harp172 and guitar she had, in her distress, proposed sending back to the person in Dublin from whom they were purchased, to sell for her; but she now determined173 to keep those presents of her beloved father, except again urged by necessity to part with them. She had a variety of materials for painting and working, and proposed employing herself in executing pieces in each way, not only as a means of amusing her time, but as a resource on an evil day; thus wisely making use of the present sunshine, lest another storm should arise which she should not be so well able to struggle against.
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tune
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fatigue
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distress
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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13
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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18
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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19
err
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| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
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20
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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21
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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25
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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26
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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27
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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28
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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29
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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30
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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31
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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32
stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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33
stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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34
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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35
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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36
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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38
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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39
chimerical
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| adj.荒诞不经的，梦幻的 | |
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40
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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41
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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42
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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43
licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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44
accrue
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| v.(利息等)增大，增多 | |
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45
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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46
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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47
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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48
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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49
arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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50
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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51
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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52
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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53
ratification
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| n.批准，认可 | |
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54
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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55
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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56
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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57
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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58
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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59
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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60
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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61
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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62
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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63
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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64
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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65
infringement
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| n.违反；侵权 | |
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66
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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67
importunity
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| n.硬要，强求 | |
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68
sophistry
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| n.诡辩 | |
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69
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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70
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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72
indignities
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| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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73
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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74
frustrate
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| v.使失望；使沮丧；使厌烦 | |
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75
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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76
donor
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| n.捐献者；赠送人；(组织、器官等的)供体 | |
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77
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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78
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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79
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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80
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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81
rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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82
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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83
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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84
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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85
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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86
behooves
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| n.利益，好处( behoof的名词复数 )v.适宜( behoove的第三人称单数 ) | |
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87
circumspection
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| n.细心，慎重 | |
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88
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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89
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
perfidious
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| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
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91
trespassed
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| （trespass的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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92
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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93
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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94
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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95
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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96
wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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97
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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98
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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99
eradicate
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| v.根除，消灭，杜绝 | |
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100
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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102
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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103
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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104
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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106
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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107
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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108
laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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109
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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110
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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111
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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112
accede
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| v.应允，同意 | |
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113
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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114
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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115
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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116
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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117
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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118
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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119
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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120
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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121
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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122
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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123
buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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124
twines
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| n.盘绕( twine的名词复数 )；麻线；捻；缠绕在一起的东西 | |
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125
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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126
corrosive
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| adj.腐蚀性的；有害的；恶毒的 | |
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127
chide
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| v.叱责；谴责 | |
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128
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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129
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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130
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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131
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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132
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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133
eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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134
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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135
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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136
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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137
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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138
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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139
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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140
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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141
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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142
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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143
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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144
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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145
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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146
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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147
boors
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| n.农民( boor的名词复数 )；乡下佬；没礼貌的人；粗野的人 | |
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148
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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149
uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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152
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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153
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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154
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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155
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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157
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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158
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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159
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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160
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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161
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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163
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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164
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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166
preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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167
alleviated
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| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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168
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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169
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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170
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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171
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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172
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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173
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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