Invites my steps?”—Pope.
The next evening Amanda’s patience was put to the test; for after tea Mrs. Duncan proposed a walk, which seemed to cut off her hopes of visiting the chapel2 that evening; but after strolling some time about the valley, complaisance3 for her aunt made Mrs. Duncan return to the parlor4, where she was expected to take her usual hand at piquet. The hour was late, and the sky so gloomy, that the moon, though at its full, could scarcely penetrate5 the darkness; notwithstanding all this, Amanda resolved on going to the chapel, considering this, in all probability, the only opportunity she would have of visiting the apartments her mother had occupied (which she had an irrepressible desire to enter), as in two days she was to accompany Mrs. Duncan to lodgings7 in the neighboring town; she accordingly said she had a mind to walk a little longer. Mrs. Bruce bade her beware of catching8 cold, and Mrs. Duncan said she was too fond of solitary9 rambles10; but no opposition11 being made to her intention, she hurried to the chapel, and, entering the little arched door, found herself in a lofty hall, in the centre of which was a grand staircase, the whole enlightened by a large gothic window at the head of the stairs. She ascended12 them with trepidation13, for her footsteps produced a hollow echo, which[Pg 422] added something awful to the gloom that enveloped14 her. On gaining the top of the stairs she saw two large folding doors on either side, both closed. She knew the direction to take, and, by a small exertion15 of strength, pulled the one on the left side open, and perceived a long gallery, which she knew was terminated by the apartments she wanted to visit. Its almost total darkness, however, nearly conquered her wish, and shook her resolution of proceeding16; but ashamed, even to herself, to give way to superstitious17 fears, or turn back without gratifying her inclination18 after going so far, she advanced into the gallery, though with a trembling step, and as she let the door out of her hand, it shut to with a violence that shook the whole building. The gallery on one side had a row of arched doors, and on the other an equal number of windows; but so small, and placed so high, as scarcely to admit a ray of light. Amanda’s heart began to beat with unusual quickness, and she thought she should never reach the end of the gallery. She at last came to a door, it was closed, not fastened; she pushed it gently open, and could just discern a spacious19 room. This, she supposed, had been her mother’s dressing-room. The moonbeams, as if to aid her wish of examining it, suddenly darted20 through the casements21. Cheered by the unexpected light, she advanced into the room: at the upper end of it something in white attracted her notice. She concluded it to be the portrait of Lady Malvina’s mother, which she had been informed hung in this room. She went up to examine it; but her horror may be better conceived than described, when she found herself not by a picture, but by the real form of a woman, with a death-like countenance22! She screamed wildly at the terrifying spectre, for such she believed it to be, and quick as lightning flew from the room. Again was the moon obscured by a cloud, and she involved in utter darkness. She ran with such violence, that, as she reached the door at the end of the gallery, she fell against it. Extremely hurt, she had not power to move for a few minutes; but while she involuntarily paused, she heard approaching footsteps. Wild with terror, she instantly recovered her faculties23, and attempted opening it; but it resisted all her efforts. “Protect me, Heaven!” she exclaimed, and at the moment felt an icy hand upon hers! Her senses instantly receded24, and she sunk to the floor. When she recovered from her insensibility she perceived a glimmering25 light around her. She opened her eyes with fearfulness, but no object appeared, and to her great joy she saw the door standing6 open, and found that the light proceeded from the large window. She instantly[Pg 423] rose, and descended26 the staircase with as much haste as her trembling limbs could make; but again, what was her horror when, on entering the chapel, the first object she beheld27 was the same that had already alarmed her so much! She made a spring to escape through the entrance, but the apparition28, with a rapidity equal to her own, glided29 before her, and with a hollow voice, as she waved an emaciated30 hand, exclaimed, “Forbear to go.”
A deadly faintness again came over Amanda; she sunk upon a broken seat, and put her hand over her eyes to shut out the frightful31 vision.
“Lose,” continued the figure, in a hollow voice, “lose your superstitious fears, and in me behold32 not an airy inhabitant of the other world, but a sinful, sorrowing, and repentant33 woman.”
The terrors of Amanda gave way to this unexpected address; but her surprise was equal to what these terrors had been; she withdrew her hand, and gazed attentively34 on the form before her.
“If my eye, if my ear deceives me not,” it continued, “you are a descendant of the Dunreath family. I heard you last night, when you imagined no being near, call yourself the unfortunate orphan35 of Lady Malvina Fitzalan.” “I am indeed her child,” replied Amanda. “Tell me, then, by what means you have been brought hither. You called yourself a stranger, and a dependant36 in the house of your ancestors.” “I am both,” said Amanda; “my real name is concealed37, from circumstances peculiarly distressing39, and I have been brought to the Abbey as an instructress to two children related to the person who takes care of it.” “My prayers at length,” exclaimed the ghastly figure, raising her hollow eyes and emaciated hands,—"my prayers have reached the Throne of Mercy, and, as a proof that my repentance41 is accepted, power is given me to make reparation for the injuries I have committed. Oh! thou,” she cried, turning to Amanda, “whose form revives in my remembrance the youth and beauty blasted by my means, if thy mind as well as face, resembles Lady Malvina’s, thou wilt42, in pity to my sufferings, forbear to reproach my crimes. In me,” she continued, “you behold the guilty but contrite43 widow of the Earl of Dunreath.”
Amanda started. “Oh, gracious Heaven!” she exclaimed, “can this be possible?” “Have you not been taught to execrate44 my name?” asked the unhappy woman. “Oh! no,” replied Amanda. “No,” replied Lady Dunreath, “because your mother was an angel. But did she not leave a son?” “Yes,”[Pg 424] said Amanda. “And does he live?” “Alas! I do not know,” replied Amanda, melting into tears; “distress40 separated us, and he is not more ignorant of my destiny than I am of his.” “It is I,” exclaimed Lady Dunreath, “have been the cause of this distress. It is I, sweet and sainted Malvina, have been the cause of calamity45 to your children; but, blessed be the wonder-working hand of Providence46,” she continued, “which has given me an opportunity of making some amends47 for my cruelty and injustice48. But,” she proceeded, “as I know the chance which led you to the chapel, I dread49 to detain you longer, lest it should lead to a discovery. Was it known that you saw me, all my intentions would be defeated. Be secret, then, I conjure50 you, more on your account than my own, and let not Mrs. Bruce have the smallest intimation of what has passed; but return to-morrow night, and you shall receive from me a sacred deposit, which will, if affluence51 can do it, render you completely happy. In the mean time, do you throw upon paper a brief account of your life, that I may know the incidents which so providentially brought you to the Abbey.” Amanda promised to obey her in every respect, and the unfortunate woman, unable longer to speak, kissed her hand, and retired52 through the little arched door. Amanda left the chapel, and, full of wonder, pity, and expectation, moved mechanically to the parlor. Mrs. Bruce and Mrs. Duncan had just risen from cards, and both were instantly struck with her pallid53 and disordered looks. They inquired if she was ill. Their inquiries54 roused her from a deep reverie. She recollected55 the danger of exciting suspicions, and replied, “she was only fatigued56 with walking, and begged leave to retire to her chamber57.” Mrs. Duncan attended her to it, and would have sat with her till she saw her in bed, had Amanda allowed; but it was not her intention, indeed, to go to bed for some time. When left to herself, the surprising and interesting discovery she had made had so agitated58 her that she could scarcely compose herself enough to take up a pen to narrate59 the particulars of her life, as Lady Dunreath had requested. She sketched60 them in a brief yet hasty manner, sufficiently61 strong, however, to interest the feelings of a sympathetic heart; the tender and peculiar38 sorrows of her own she omitted; her life was represented sufficiently calamitous62, without mentioning the incurable63 sorrow which disappointed love had entailed64 upon it. She was glad she had executed her task with haste, as Mrs. Duncan called upon her in the course of the next day to assist in packing for their removal to the neighboring town.[Pg 425] The evening was far advanced ere she had an opportunity of repairing to the chapel, where she found the unfortunate Lady Dunreath resting in an attitude of deep despondence, against the rails of the altar.
Her pale and woe-worn countenance—her emaciated form—her solitary situation—all inspired Amanda with the tenderest compassion65, and she dropped a tear upon the cold and withered66 hand which was extended to hers, as she approached. “I merit not the tear of pity,” said the unhappy woman, “yet it casts a gleam of comfort on my heart to meet with a being who feels for its sorrows. But the moments are precious.” She then led Amanda to the altar, and, stooping down, desired her assistance in removing a small marble flag beneath it. This being effected, with difficulty, Amanda perceived an iron box, which she also assisted in raising. Lady Dunreath then took a key from her bosom67, with which she opened it, and took from thence a sealed paper. “Receive,” said she, presenting it to Amanda, “receive the will of your grandfather, a sacred deposit, intrusted to your care for your brother, the rightful heir of the Earl of Dunreath. Oh! may its restoration, and my sincere repentance, atone68 for its long detention69 and concealment70. Oh! may the fortune it will bestow71 upon you, as well as your brother, be productive to both of the purest happiness.” Trembling with joyful72 surprise, Amanda received the paper. “Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed she, “is it possible? Do I really hold the will of my grandfather—a will which will entitle my brother to affluence? Oh! Providence, how mysterious are thy ways! Oh! Oscar, beloved of my heart,” she continued, forgetting at that moment every consideration of self, “could thy sister have possibly foreseen her sorrows would have led to such a discovery, half their bitterness would have been allayed73. Yes, my father, one of thy children may at least be happy, and in witnessing that happiness the other will find a mitigation of misery74.” Tears burst from her as she spoke75, and relieved the strong emotions that swelled76 her heart, almost to bursting.
“Oh! talk not of your misery,” said Lady Dunreath, with a convulsive sigh, “lest you drive me to despair. Forever must I accuse myself of being the real source of calamity to Lady Malvina and her children.” “Excuse me,” cried Amanda, wiping her eyes, “I should be ungrateful to Heaven and to you if I dwelt upon my sorrows; but let me not neglect this opportunity,” she continued, “of inquiring if there is any way in which I can possibly serve you. Is there no friend to[Pg 426] whom I could apply in your name, to have you released from this cruel and unjustifiable confinement77?” “No,” said Lady Dunreath, “no such friend exists. When I had the power to do so, I never conciliated friendship; and if I am still remembered in the world, it is only with contempt and abhorrence78. The laws of my country would certainly liberate79 me at once; but if things turn out as I expect, there will be no occasion for an application to them, and any step of that kind at present might be attended with the most unpleasant consequences. Your future prosperity, my present safety, all depend on secrecy80 for a short period. In this paper (drawing one from her pocket and presenting it to Amanda) I have explained my reason for desiring such secrecy.” Amanda put it with the will into her bosom, and gave in return the little narrative81 she had sketched. They both assisted in replacing the box and flag, and then seated themselves on the steps of the altar. Amanda informed Lady Dunreath of her intended departure the next day from the Abbey, and the occasion of it. Lady Dunreath expressed the utmost impatience82 to have everything put in a proper train for the avowal83 of the will, declaring that the sight of the rightful heir in possession of the Abbey would calm the agitations84 of a spirit which, she believed, would soon forsake85 its earthly habitation. Tears of compassion fell from Amanda at these words, and she shuddered86 to think that the unfortunate woman might die abandoned, and bereft87 of comfort. Again she urged her to think of some expedient88 for procuring89 immediate90 liberty, and again Lady Dunreath assured her it was impossible. Absorbed in a kind of sympathetic melancholy91, they forgot the danger of delay till the Abbey clock chimed half an hour past ten—which was later than Mrs. Bruce’s usual hour of supper—startled and alarmed them both. "Go! go!” cried Lady Dunreath, with a wild expression of fear; “go! or we are undone92!” Amanda pressed her hand in silence, and, trembling, departed from the chapel. She stopped at the outside to listen; for by her ear alone could she now receive any intimation of danger, as the night was too dark to permit any object to be discerned; but the breeze sighing amongst the trees of the valley, and the melancholy murmur93 of waterfalls, were the only sounds she heard. She groped along the walls of the chapel to keep in the path, which wound from it to the entrance of the Abbey, and in doing so passed her hand over the cold face of a human being. Terrified, an involuntary scream burst from her, and she faintly articulated: “Defend me, Heaven!” In the next moment[Pg 427] she was seized round the waist, and her senses were receding94, when Mrs. Duncan’s voice recalled them. She apologized to Amanda for giving her such a fright; but said, “that her uneasiness was so great at her long absence that, attended by a servant, she had come in quest of her.”
Mrs. Duncan’s voice relieved Amanda from the horror of thinking she had met with a person who would insult her; but it had given rise to a new alarm. She feared she had been traced to the chapel, that her discourse95 with Lady Dunreath had been overheard, and of course the secret of the will discovered, and that Mrs. Duncan, amiable96 as she was, might sacrifice friendship to interest and consanguinity97. This idea overwhelmed her with anguish98; her deep and heavy sighs, her violent trembling, alarmed Mrs. Duncan, who hastily called the servant to assist her in supporting Amanda home; drops were then administered, but they would have wanted their usual efficacy with the poor night wanderer had she not soon been convinced by Mrs. Duncan’s manner she had not made the dreaded99 discovery.
Amanda would have retired to her chamber before supper, but that she feared distressing Mrs. Duncan by doing so, who would have imputed100 her indisposition to her fright. She accordingly remained in the parlor, but with a mind so occupied by the interesting events of the evening, that she soon forgot the purpose for which she sat down to table, and neither heeded101 what was doing or saying. From this reverie she was suddenly roused by the sound of a name forever dear and precious, which in a moment had power to recall her wandering ideas. She raised her eyes, and with a sad intenseness fixed102 them on Mrs. Bruce, who continued to talk of the approaching nuptials103 of Lord Mortimer. Tears now fell from Amanda in spite of her efforts to restrain them, and while drooping104 her head to wipe them away, she caught the eyes of Mrs. Duncan fastened on her with an expression of mingled105 pity and curiosity. A deep crimson106 suffused107 the face of Amanda, at the consciousness of having betrayed the secret of her heart; but her confusion was inferior to her grief, and the rich suffusion108 of the one soon gave place to the deadly hue109 of the other. “Ah!” thought she, “what is now the acquisition of wealth, when happiness is beyond my reach!” Yet scarcely had she conceived the thought ere she wished it buried in oblivion. “Is the comfort of independence, the power of dispensing110 happiness to others, nothing?” she asked herself. “Do they not merit gratitude111 of the most pure thankfulness, of the most fer[Pg 428]vent nature to Providence? They do,” she cried, and paid them at the moment in the silence of her heart. It was late ere the ladies separated for the night, and as soon as Amanda had secured the door of her chamber, she drew from her bosom the papers so carefully deposited there, and sat down to peruse112 the narrative of Lady Dunreath.
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1
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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2
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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4
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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5
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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6
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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7
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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8
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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10
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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11
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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12
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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14
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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16
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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17
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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18
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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19
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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20
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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21
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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22
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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23
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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24
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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25
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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26
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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27
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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28
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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29
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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30
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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31
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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32
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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35
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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36
dependant
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| n.依靠的，依赖的，依赖他人生活者 | |
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37
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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38
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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39
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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40
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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41
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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42
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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43
contrite
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| adj.悔悟了的，后悔的，痛悔的 | |
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44
execrate
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| v.憎恶；厌恶；诅咒 | |
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45
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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46
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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47
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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48
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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49
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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50
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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51
affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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52
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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53
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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54
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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55
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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56
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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57
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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58
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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59
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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60
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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61
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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62
calamitous
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| adj.灾难的，悲惨的；多灾多难；惨重 | |
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63
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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64
entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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65
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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66
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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67
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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68
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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69
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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70
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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71
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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72
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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73
allayed
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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75
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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76
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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77
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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78
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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79
liberate
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| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
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80
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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81
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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82
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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83
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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84
agitations
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| （液体等的）摇动( agitation的名词复数 )； 鼓动； 激烈争论； （情绪等的）纷乱 | |
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85
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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86
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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87
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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88
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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89
procuring
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的现在分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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90
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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91
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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93
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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94
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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95
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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96
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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97
consanguinity
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| n.血缘；亲族 | |
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98
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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99
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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100
imputed
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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103
nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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104
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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105
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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106
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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107
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
suffusion
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| n.充满 | |
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109
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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110
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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111
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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112
peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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