Force through her snowy lids their melting course,
Of starting sighs carry those pearls away,
Bitterly did Amanda regret having been tempted4 from the inn, and gratefully would she have acquitted6 fortune of half its malignancy to her, had she been able to steal back unnoticed. The party that entered engaged in talking to those they found in the drawing-room—laughing and describing their ramble7, which Lady Araminta said was in the style of Will-o’-the-Wisp (over brakes and through briers)—were some time before they observed Amanda; but soon, ah! how much too soon, did she perceive Mrs. Macqueen approaching to introduce those of her family who were just returned.
“The trying moment is come!” cried Amanda. “Oh! let me not by my confusion look as if I really was the guilty thing I’m supposed to be.” She endeavored to collect herself, and[Pg 451] rose to meet the young Macqueens, by a timid glance perceiving that they yet hid her from the eyes she most dreaded9 to encounter. She was unable, however, to return their compliments, except by a faint smile, and was again sinking upon her seat—for her frame trembled universally—when Mrs. Macqueen, taking her hand, led her forward, and presented her to Lady Martha and Lady Araminta Dormer. It may be remembered that Lady Martha had never before seen Amanda. She therefore gave her, as Miss Donald, a benignant smile, which, had she supposed her Miss Fitzalan, would have been lost in a contemptuous frown. Seldom, indeed, had she seen a form more interesting than our heroine’s. Her mourning habit set off the elegance11 of her form and the languid delicacy12 of her complexion13, whilst the sad expression of her countenance14 denoted that habit but the shadow of the unseen grief which dwelt within her soul. Her large blue eyes were half concealed16 by their long lashes17, but the beams which stole from beneath those fringed curtains were full of sweetness and sensibility. Her fine hair, discomposed by the jolting18 of the carriage and the blowing of the wind, had partly escaped the braid on which it was turned under her hat, and hung in long ringlets of glossy19 brown upon her shoulders and careless curls about her face, giving a sweet simplicity20 to it, which heightened its beauty. How different was the look she received from Lady Araminta to that she had received from Lady Martha! In the expressive21 countenance of the former she read surprise, contempt, and anger; her cheeks were flushed with unusual color, her eyes sparkled with uncommon22 lustre23, and their quick glances pierced the palpitating heart of Amanda, who heard her repeat, as if involuntarily, the name of Donald. Ah! how dreadful was the sound to her ear! Ah! how sad a confirmation24 did it convey—that every suspicion to her prejudice would now be strengthened. “Ah! why, why,” said she to herself, “was I tempted to take this hated name? Why did I not prefer incurring25 any danger to which my own might have exposed me, rather than assume anything like deceit?” Happily the party were too much engrossed27 by one another to heed28 the words or manner of Lady Araminta.
Amanda withdrew her hand from Mrs. Macqueen, and moved tremblingly to her seat; but that lady, with a politeness poor Amanda had reason to think officious, stopped her. “Miss Donald—Lord Mortimer!” said she. Amanda raised her head, but not her eyes, and neither saw nor heard his lordship. The scene she had dreaded was over, and she felt a[Pg 452] little relieved at the idea. The haughty29 glance of Lady Araminta dwelt upon her mind, and, when agitation30 had a little subsided31, she stole a look at her, and saw Mrs. Macqueen sitting between her and Lady Martha; and from the altered countenance of the latter, she instantly conjectured32 she had been informed by her niece of her real name. She also conjectured, from the glances directed towards her, that she was the subject of conversation, and concluded it was begun for the purpose of discovering whether Mrs. Macqueen knew anything of her real history.
From these glances she quickly withdrew her own, and one of the young Macqueens, drawing a chair near hers, began a conversation with all that spirit and vivacity33 which distinguished34 his family. The mind of Amanda was too much occupied by its concerns to be able to attend to anything foreign to them. She scarcely knew what he said, and when she did reply it was only by monosyllables. At last a question, enforced with peculiar35 earnestness, roused her from this inattention, and blushing for it, she looked at the young man, and perceived him regarding her with something like wonder. She now, for the first time, considered the strange appearance she must make amongst the company, if she did not collect and compose her spirits. The family, too, to whom she was (she could not help thinking) so unfortunately introduced, from their hospitality, merited attention and respect from her. She resolved, therefore, to struggle with her feelings, and, as an apology for her absent manner, complained, and not without truth, of a headache.
Young Macqueen, with friendly warmth, said he would acquaint his mother, or one of his sisters, with her indisposition, and procure36 some remedy for it; but she insisted he should on no account disturb the company, assuring him she would soon be well; she then endeavored to support a conversation with him; but, ah! how often did she pause in the midst of what she was saying, as the sweet, insinuating37 voice of Mortimer reached her ear, who, with his native elegance and spirit, was participating in the lively conversation then going forward. In hers, with young Macqueen, she was soon interrupted by his father, who, in a good-humored manner told his son he would no longer suffer him to engross26 Miss Donald to himself, and desired him to lead her to a chair near his.
Young Macqueen immediately arose, and taking Amanda’s hand, led her to his father, by whom he seated her; and by whom on the other side sat Lady Martha Dormer; then with a[Pg 453] modest gallantry declared it was the first time he ever felt reluctance39 to obey his father’s commands, and hoped his ready acquiescence40 to them would be rewarded with speedy permission to resume his conversation with Miss Donald. Amanda had hitherto prevented her eyes from wandering, though they could not exclude the form of Lord Mortimer; she had not yet seen his face, and still strove to avoid seeing it. Mr. Macqueen began with various inquiries43 relative to Mrs. Duncan, to which Amanda, as she was prepared for them, answered with tolerable composure. Suddenly he dropped the subject of his relation, and asked Amanda from what branch of the Donalds she was descended44. A question so unexpected shocked, dismayed, and overwhelmed her with confusion. She made no reply till the question was repeated, when, in a low and faltering46 voice, her face covered with blushes, and almost buried in her bosom47, she said she did not know.
“Well,” cried he, again changing his discourse48, after looking at her a few minutes, “I do not know any girl but yourself would take such pains to hide such a pair of eyes as you have. I suppose you are conscious of the mischief49 they have the power of doing, and therefore it is from compassion50 to mankind you try to conceal15 them.”
Amanda blushed yet more deeply than before at finding her downcast looks were noticed. She turned hers with quickness to Mr. Macqueen, who having answered a question of Lady Martha’s thus proceeded: “And so you do not know from which branch of the Donalds you are descended? Perhaps now you only forget, and if I was to mention them one by one, your memory might be refreshed; but first let me ask your father’s surname, and what countrywoman he married, for the Donalds generally married amongst each other?”
Oh! how forcibly was Amanda at this moment convinced (if indeed her pure soul wanted such conviction) of the pain, the shame of deception51, let the motive52 be what it may which prompts it. Involuntarily were her eyes turned from Mr. Macqueen as he paused for a reply to his last question, and at the moment encountered those of Lord Mortimer, who sat directly opposite to her, and with deep attention regarded her, as if anxious to hear how she would extricate53 herself from the embarrassments55 her assumed name had plunged56 her into.
Her confusion, her blushes, her too evident distress57, were all imputed58 by Mrs. Macqueen to fatigue59 at listening to such tedious inquiries. She knew her husband’s only foible was an eager desire to trace every one’s pedigree. In order, therefore,[Pg 454] to relieve Amanda from her present situation, she proposed a party of whist, at which Mr. Macqueen often amused himself, and for which the table and cards were already laid before him. As she took up the cards to hand them to those who were to draw, she whispered Amanda to go over to the tea-table.
Amanda required no repetition now, and thanking Mrs. Macqueen in her heart for the relief she afforded her, went to the table around which almost all the young people were crowded; so great was the mirth going on amongst them, that Miss Macqueen, the gravest of the set, in vain called upon her sisters to assist her in serving the trays, which the servants handed about, and Mrs. Macqueen had more than once called for. Miss Macqueen made room for Amanda by herself, and Amanda, anxious to do anything which could keep her from encountering the eyes she dreaded, requested to be employed in assisting her, and was deputed to fill out the coffee. After the first performance of her task, Miss Macqueen, in a whispering voice, said to Amanda, “Do you know we are all here more than half in love with Lord Mortimer. He is certainly very handsome, and his manner is quite as pleasing as his looks, for he has none of that foppery and conceit60 which handsome men so generally have, and nothing but the knowledge of his engagement could keep us from pulling caps about him. You have heard, to be sure, of Lady Euphrasia Sutherland, the Marquis of Roslin’s daughter; well, he is going to be married to her immediately; she and the marquis and the marchioness were here the other day. She is not to be compared to Lord Mortimer, but she has what will make her be considered very handsome in the eyes of many—namely, a large fortune. They only stopped to breakfast here, and ever since we have been on the watch for the rest of the party, who arrived this morning, and were, on Lady Martha’s account, whom the journey had fatigued61, prevailed on to stay till to-morrow. I am very glad you came while they were here. I think both ladies charming women, and Lady Araminta quite as handsome as her brother; but see,” she continued, touching62 Amanda’s hand, “the conquering hero comes!” Lord Mortimer with difficulty made his way round the table, and accepted a seat by Miss Macqueen, which she eagerly offered him, and which she contrived63 to procure by sitting closer to Amanda. To her next neighbor, a fine, lively girl, Amanda now turned, and entered into conversation with her; but from this she was soon called by Miss Macqueen, requesting her to pour out a cup of coffee for Lord Mortimer.
Amanda obeyed, and he rose to receive it; her hand[Pg 455] trembled as she presented it. She looked not in his face, but she thought his hand was not quite steady. She saw him lay the cup on the table, and bend his eyes to the ground. She heard Miss Macqueen address him twice ere she received an answer, and then it was so abrupt64 that it seemed the effect of sudden recollection. Miss Macqueen now grew almost as inattentive to the table as her sisters, and Mrs. Macqueen was obliged to come over to know what they were all about. At length the business of the tea-table was declared over; and almost at the same moment the sound of a violin was heard from an adjoining room, playing an English country dance, in which style of dancing the Macqueens had been instructed in Edinburgh, and chose this evening in compliment to their guests. The music was a signal for universal motion—all in a moment was bustle67 and confusion. The young men instantly selected their partners, who seemed ready to dance from one room to another. The young Macqueen, who had been so assiduous about Amanda, now came, and taking her hand, as if her dancing was a thing of course, was leading her after the rest of the party, when she drew back, declaring she could not dance. Surprised and disappointed, he stood looking on her in silence, as if irresolute69 whether he should not attempt to change her resolution. At last he spoke70, and requested she would not mortify71 him by a refusal.
Mrs. Macqueen hearing her son’s request came forward and joined it. Amanda pleaded her headache.
“Do, my dear,” said Mrs. Macqueen, “try one dance; my girls will tell you dancing is a sovereign remedy for everything.” It was painful to Amanda to refuse; but, scarcely able to stand, she was utterly72 unable to dance; had even her strength permitted her so to do, she could not have supported the idea of mingling73 in the set with Lord Mortimer, the glance of whose eye she never caught without a throb74 in her heart, which shook her whole frame. One of the Miss Macqueens ran into the room, exclaiming: “Lord, Colin, what are you about? Lord Mortimer and my sister have already led off; do, pray, make haste and join us,” and away she ran again.
“Let me no longer detain you,” said Amanda, withdrawing her hand. Young Macqueen finding her inflexible75, at length went off to seek a partner. He was as fond of dancing as his sisters, and feared he should not procure one; but luckily there were fewer gentlemen than ladies present, and a lady having stood up with his youngest sister, he easily prevailed on her to change her partner.
[Pg 456]
“We will go into the dancing room, if you please,” said Mrs. Macqueen to Amanda; “that will amuse without fatiguing76 you.” Amanda would rather not have gone, but she could not say no; and they proceeded to it. Lord Mortimer had just concluded the dance, and was standing77 near the door in a pensive78 attitude, Miss Macqueen being too much engrossed by something she was saying to the young lady next to her, to mind him. The moment he perceived Amanda enter, he again approached his partner, and began chatting in a lively manner to her. Amanda and Mrs. Macqueen sat down together, and in listening to the conversation of that lady, Amanda found herself insensibly drawn79 from a too painful attention to surrounding objects. On expressing the pleasure which a mind of sensibility must feel on witnessing such family happiness as Mrs. Macqueen possessed80, that lady said she had reason indeed to be grateful to Heaven, and was truly so for her domestic comforts. “You see us now,” she continued, “in our gayest season, because of my sons’ company; but we are seldom dull. Though summer is delightful81, we never think the winter tedious. Yet though we love amusement, I assure you we dislike dissipation. The mornings are appropriated to business, and the evenings to recreation. All the work of the family goes through the hands of my daughters, and they wear nothing ornamental82 which they do not make themselves. Assisted by their good neighbors, they are enabled to diversify83 their amusements: the dance succeeds the concert; sometimes small plays, and now and then little dramatic entertainments. About two years ago they performed the Winter’s Tale; their poor father was not then in his present situation.” Mrs. Macqueen sighed, paused a minute, and then proceeded—"Time must take something from us: but I should and do bless, with heartfelt gratitude84, the power which only, by its stealing hand, has made me feel the lot of human nature. Mr. Macqueen,” continued she, “at the time I mentioned, was full of spirits, and performed the part of Autolycus. They made me take the character of the good Paulina. By thus mixing in the amusements of our children, we have added to their love and reverence85 perfect confidence and esteem86, and find, when our presence is wanting, the diversion, let it be what it may, wants something to render it complete. They are now about acting87 the Gentle Shepherd. Several rehearsals88 have already taken place in our great barn, which is the theatre. On these occasions one of my sons leads the band, another paints the scenes, and Colin, your rejected partner, acts the part of prompter.” Here this con[Pg 457]versation, so pleasing to Amanda, and interesting to Mrs. Macqueen, was interrupted by a message from the drawing-room, to inform the latter the rubber was over, and a new set wanted to cut in.
“I will return as soon as possible,” said Mrs. Macqueen, as she was quitting her seat. If Amanda had not dreaded the looks of Lady Martha almost as much as those of Lord Mortimer or Lady Araminta, she would have followed her to the drawing-room. As this was the case, she resolved on remaining in her present situation. It was some time ere she was observed by the young Macqueens. At last Miss Macqueen came over to her—"I declare,” said she, “you look so sad and solitary89, I wish you could be prevailed on to dance. Do try this; it is a very fine lively one, and take Flora90 for your partner, who, you see, has sat in a corner quite discomposed since she lost her partner, and by the next set Colin will be disengaged.”
Amanda declared she could not dance, and Miss Macqueen being called to her place at the instant, she was again left to herself. Miss Macqueen, however, continued to come and chat with her whenever she could do so without losing any part of the dance. At last Lord Mortimer followed her. The eyes of Amanda were involuntarily bent91 to the ground when she saw him approach:—"You are an absolute runaway,” cried he to Miss Macqueen; “how do you suppose I will excuse your frequent desertions?”
“Why, Miss Donald is so lonely,” said she.
“See,” cried he, with quickness, “your sister beckons92 you to her. Suffer me (taking her hand) to lead you to her.”
Amanda looked up as they moved from her, and saw Lord Mortimer’s head half turned back; but the instant she perceived him he averted93 it, and took no further notice of her. When the set was finished, Miss Macqueen returned to Amanda, and was followed by some of her brothers and sisters. Some of the gentlemen also approached Amanda, and requested the honor of her hand, but she was steady in refusing all. Rich wines, sweetmeats, and warm lemonade, were now handed about in profusion94, and the strains of the violin were succeeded by those of the bagpipe95, played by the family musician, venerable in his appearance, and habited in the ancient Highland96 dress. With as much satisfaction to himself as to his Scotch97 auditors98, he played a lively Scotch reel, which in a moment brought two of the Miss Macqueens and two gentlemen forward, and they continued the dance till politeness induced them to[Pg 458] stop, that one might be begun in which the rest of the party could join. Dancing continued in this manner with little intermission, but whenever there was an interval99, the young Macqueens paid every attention to Amanda; and on her expressing her admiration100 of the Scotch music, made it a point that she should mention some favorite airs that they might be played for her; but these airs, the lively dances, the animated101 conversation, and the friendly attentions paid her, could not remove her dejection, and with truth they might have said—
“That nothing could a charm impart
The entrance of Mrs. Macqueen was the signal for the dance being ended. She made the young people sit down to refresh themselves before supper, and apologized to Amanda for not returning to her; but said Lady Martha Dormer had engaged her in a conversation which she could not interrupt. At last they were summoned to supper, which, on Mr. Macqueen’s account, was laid out in a room on the same floor. Thither104 without ceremony whoever was next the door first proceeded. Mr. Macqueen was already seated at the table in his arm-chair, and Lady Martha Dormer on his right hand. The eldest105 son was deputed to do the honors of the foot of the table. The company was checkered106, and Amanda found herself between Lord Mortimer and Mr. Colin Macqueen; and in conversing107 with the latter, Amanda sought to avoid noticing, or being noticed by Lord Mortimer; and his lordship, by the particular attention which he paid Miss Macqueen, who sat on the other side, appeared actuated by the same wish. The sports of the morning had furnished the table with a variety of the choicest wild fowl108, and the plenty and beauty of the confectionery denoted at once the hospitable109 spirit and elegant taste of the mistress of the feast. Gayety presided at the board, and there was scarcely a tongue, except Amanda’s, which did not utter some lively sally. The piper sat in the lobby, and if his strains were not melodious110, they were at least cheerful. In the course of supper, Lord Mortimer was compelled to follow the universal example in drinking Amanda’s health. Obliged to turn her looks to him, oh! how did her heart shrink at the glance, the expressive glance of his eye, as he pronounced Miss Donald. Unconscious whether she had noticed in the usual manner his distressing111 compliment, she abruptly112 turned to young Macqueen, and addressed some scarcely articulate question to him. The supper things removed, the strains of the piper were silenced, and[Pg 459] songs, toasts, and sentiments succeeded. Old Mr. Macqueen set the example by a favorite Scotch air, and then called upon his next neighbor. Between the songs, toasts were called for. At last it came to Lord Mortimer’s turn. Amanda suddenly ceased speaking to young Macqueen. She saw the glass of Lord Mortimer filled, and in the next moment heard the name of Lady Euphrasia Sutherland. A feeling like wounded pride stole into the soul of Amanda. She did not decline her head as before, and she felt a faint glow upon her cheek. The eyes of Lady Martha and Lady Araminta she thought directed to her with an expressive meaning. “They think,” cried she, “to witness mortification113 and disappointment in my looks, but they shall not (if, indeed, they are capable of enjoying such a triumph) have it.”
At length she was called upon for a song. She declined the call; but Mr. Macqueen declared, except assured she could not sing, she should not be excused. This assurance, without a breach114 of truth, she could not give. She did not wish to appear ungrateful to her kind entertainers, or unsocial in the midst of mirth, by refusing what she was told would be pleasing to them and their company. She also wished, from a sudden impulse of pride, to appear cheerful in those eyes she knew were attentively115 observing her, and therefore, after a little hesitation116, consented to sing. The first song which occurred to her was a little simple, but pathetic air, which her father used to delight in, and which Lord Mortimer more than once had heard from her; but indeed she could recollect65 no song which at some time or other she had not sung for him. The simple air she had chosen seemed perfectly117 adapted to her soft voice, whose modulations were inexpressibly affecting. She had proceeded through half the second verse, when her voice began to falter45. The attention of the company became, if possible, more fixed118; but it was a vain attention; no rich strain of melody repaid it, for the voice of the songstress had suddenly ceased. Mrs. Macqueen, with the delicacy of a susceptible119 mind, feared increasing her emotion by noticing it, and, with a glance of her expressive eye, directed her company to silence. Amanda’s eyes were bent to the ground. Suddenly a glass of water was presented to her by a trembling hand—by the hand of Mortimer himself. She declined it with a motion of hers, and, reviving a little, raised her head. Young Macqueen then gave her an entreating120 whisper to finish the song. She thought it would look like affectation to require farther solicitation121, and, faintly smiling, again began in strains of liquid melody, strains that[Pg 460] seemed to breathe the very spirit of sensibility, and came over each attentive66 ear,
“Like a sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets
Stealing and giving odor.”
The plaudits she received from her singing gave to her cheeks such a faint tinge122 of red as is seen in the bosom of the wild rose. She was now authorized123 to call for a song, and, as if doomed124 to experience cause for agitation, Lord Mortimer was the person from whom, in the rotation125 of the table, she was to claim it. Thrice she was requested to do this ere she could obey. At last she raised her eyes to his face, which was now turned towards her, and she saw in it a confusion equal to that she herself trembled under. Pale and red by turns, he appeared to her to wait in painful agitation for the sound of her voice. Her lips moved, but she could not articulate a word. Lord Mortimer bowed, as if he had heard what they would have said, and then turning abruptly to Miss Macqueen, began speaking to her.
“Come, come, my lord,” said Mr. Macqueen, “we must not be put off in this manner.”
Lord Mortimer laughed, and attempted to rally the old gentleman; but he seemed unequal to the attempt, for, with a sudden seriousness, he declared his inability of complying with the present demand. All farther solicitation on the subject was immediately dropped. In the round of toasts, they forgot not to call upon Amanda for one. If she had listened attentively when Lord Mortimer was about giving one, no less attentively did he now listen to her. She hesitated a moment, and then gave Sir Charles Bingley. After the toast had passed, “Sir Charles Bingley,” repeated Miss Macqueen, leaning forward, and speaking across Lord Mortimer. “Oh! I recollect him very well. His regiment126 was quartered about two years ago at a little fort some distance from this—and I remember his coming with a shooting party to the mountains, and sleeping one night here. We had a delightful dance that evening, and all thought him a charming young man. Pray, are you well acquainted with him?” “Yes—No,” replied Amanda.
“Ah! I believe you are, sly girl,” cried Miss Macqueen, laughing. “Pray, my lord, does not that blush declare Miss Donald guilty?” “We are not always to judge from the countenance,” said he, darting127 a penetrating128 yet quickly-withdrawn129 glance at Amanda. “Experience,” continued he, “daily proves how little dependence130 is to be placed on it.” Amanda[Pg 461] turned hastily away, and pretended, by speaking to young Macqueen, not to notice a speech she knew directly pointed68 at her; for often had Lord Mortimer declared that, “in the lineaments of the human face divine, each passion of the soul might be well traced.”
Miss Macqueen laughed, and said she always judged of the countenance, and that her likings and dislikings were always the effects of first sight.
The company broke up soon after this, and much earlier than their usual hour, on account of the travellers. All but those then immediately belonging to the family having departed, some maids of the house appeared, to show the ladies to their respective chambers131. Lady Martha and Lady Araminta retired133 first. Amanda was following them, when Mrs. Macqueen detained her, to try and prevail on her to stay two or three days along with them. The Miss Macqueens joined their mother; but Amanda assured them she could not comply with their request, though she felt with gratitude its friendly warmth. Old Mr. Macqueen had had his chair turned to the fire, and his sons and Lord Mortimer were surrounding it. “Well, well,” said he, calling Amanda to him, and taking her hand, “if you will not stay with us now, remember, on your return, we shall lay an embargo134 on you. In the mean time, I shall not lose the privilege which my being an old married man gives me.” So saying, he gently pulled Amanda to him, and kissed her cheek. She could only smile at this innocent freedom but she attempted to withdraw her hand to retire. “Now,” said Mr. Macqueen, still detaining it, “are all these young men half mad with envy?” The young Macqueens joined in their father’s gallantry, and not a tongue was silent except Lord Mortimer’s. His head rested on his hand, and the cornice of the chimney supported his arm. His hair, from which the dancing had almost shaken all the powder, hung negligently135 about his face, and added to its paleness and sudden dejection. One of the young Macqueens, turning from his brothers, who were yet continuing their mirth with their father, addressed some question to his lordship, but received no answer. Again he repeated it. Lord Mortimer then suddenly started, as if from a profound reverie, and apologized for his absence.
“Ay, ah, my lord,” exclaimed old Mr. Macqueen, jocosely136, "we may all guess where your lordship was then travelling in idea—a little beyond the mountains, I fancy. Ay, we all know where your heart and your treasure now lie.” “Do you?” said[Pg 462] Lord Mortimer, with a tone of deep dejection, and a heavy sigh, with an air, also, which seemed to declare him scarcely conscious of what he said. He recollected137 himself, however, at the instant, and began rallying himself, as the surest means of preventing others doing so. The scene was too painful to Amanda. She hastily withdrew her hand, and, faintly wishing the party a good-night, went out to the maid, who was waiting for her in the lobby, and was conducted to her room. She dismissed the servant at the door, and, throwing herself into a chair, availed herself of solitude138 to give vent41 to the tears whose painful suppression had so long tortured her heart. She had not sat long in this situation when she heard a gentle tap at the door. She started, and believing it to be one of the Miss Macqueens, hastily wiped away her tears, and opened the door. A female stranger appeared at it, who curtseying, respectfully said, “Lady Martha Dormer, her lady, desired to see Miss Donald for a few minutes, if not inconvenient139 to her.” “See me!” repeated Amanda, with the utmost surprise; “can it be possible?” She suddenly checked herself, and said she would attend her ladyship immediately. She accordingly followed the maid, a variety of strange ideas crowding upon her mind. Her conductress retired as she shut the door of the room into which she showed Amanda. It was a small ante-chamber132 adjoining the apartment Lady Martha was to lie in. Here, with increasing surprise, she beheld140 Lord Mortimer pacing the room in an agitated141 manner. His back was to the door as she entered, but he turned round with quickness, approached, looked on her a few moments, then, striking his hand suddenly against his forehead, turned from her with an air of distraction142.
Lady Martha, who was sitting at the head of the room, and only bowed as Amanda entered it, motioned for her to take a chair; a motion Amanda gladly obeyed, for her trembling limbs could scarcely support her.
All was silent for a few minutes. Lady Martha then spoke in a grave voice:—"I should not, madam, have taken the liberty of sending for you at this hour, but that I believe so favorable an opportunity would not again have occurred of speaking to you on a subject particularly interesting to me—an opportunity which has so unexpectedly saved me the trouble of trying to find you out, and the necessity of writing to you.”
Lady Martha paused, and her silence was not interrupted by Amanda. “Last summer,” continued Lady Martha—again she paused. The throbbings of Amanda’s heart became more[Pg 463] violent. “Last summer,” she said again, “there were some little gifts presented to you by Lord Mortimer. From the events which followed their acceptance, I must presume they are valueless to you: from the events about taking place, they are of importance elsewhere.” She ceased, but Amanda could make no reply.
“You cannot be ignorant,” said Lady Martha, with something of severity in her accent, as if offended by the silence of Amanda,—"you cannot be ignorant, I suppose, that it is the picture and ring I allude143 to. The latter, from being a family one of particular value, I always destined144 for the wife of Lord Mortimer; I therefore claim it in my own name. The picture, I have his lordship’s approbation145 and authority to demand; and to convince you I have,—indeed, if such a conviction be necessary,—have prevailed on him to be present at this conversation.” "No, madam, such a conviction was not necessary,” cried Amanda. “I should——" She could utter no more at the moment, yet tried to suppress the agonizing146 feeling that tumultuously heaved her bosom.
“If not convenient to restore them immediately,” said Lady Martha, “I will give you a direction where they may be left in London, to which place Mrs. Macqueen has informed me you are going.” “It is perfectly convenient now to restore them, madam,” replied Amanda, with a voice perfectly recovered, animated with conscious innocence147 and offended pride, which always gave her strength. “I shall return,” continued she, moving to the door, “with them immediately to your ladyship.”
The picture was suspended from her neck, and the ring in its case lay in her pocket; but by the manner in which they had been asked, or rather demanded from her, she felt amidst the anguish148 of her soul a sudden emotion of pleasure that she could directly give them back. Yet, when in her own room she hastily untied149 the picture from her neck, pulled the black ribbon from it, and laid it in its case, her grief overcame every other feeling, and a shower of tears fell from her. “Oh, Mortimer! dear Mortimer!” she sighed, “must I part even with this little shadow! must I retain no vestige150 of happier hours! Yet, why—why should I wish to retain it, when the original will so soon be another’s ? Yes, if I behold151 Mortimer again, it will be as the husband of Lady Euphrasia.”
She recollected she was staying beyond the expected time, and wiped away her tears. Yet, still she lingered a few minutes in the chamber, to try to calm her agitation. She called her pride to her aid; it inspired her with fortitude152, and she[Pg 464] proceeded to Lady Martha, determined153 that lady should see nothing in her manner which she could possibly construe154 into weakness or meanness. Never did she appear more interesting than at the moment she re-entered the apartment. The passion she had called to her aid gave a bright glow to her cheeks, and the traces of the tears she had been shedding appeared upon those glowing cheeks like dew on the silken leaves of the rose ere the sunbeams of the morning have exhaled155 it. Those tears left an humble156 lustre in her eyes, even more interesting than their wonted brilliancy. Her hair hung in rich and unrestrained luxuriance—for she had thrown off her hat on first going to her chamber—and gave to the beauty of her face, and the elegance of her form, a complete finishing.
“Here, madam, is the ring,” cried she, presenting it to Lady Martha, “and here is the picture,” she would have added, but her voice faltered157, and a tear started from her eye. Determined to conceal, if possible, her feelings, she hastily dashed away the pearly fugitive158. Lady Martha was again extending her hand when Lord Mortimer suddenly started from a couch on which he had thrown himself, and snatching the picture from the trembling hand that held it, pulled it from its case, and flinging it on the floor, trampled159 it beneath his feet. “Thus perish,” exclaimed he, “every memento160 of my attachment161 to Amanda! Oh, wretched, wretched girl!” cried he, suddenly grasping her hand, and as suddenly relinquishing163 it, “Oh, wretched, wretched girl! you have undone164 yourself and me!” He turned abruptly away, and instantly quitted the room. Shocked by his words, and terrified by his manner, Amanda had just power to gain a chair. Lady Martha seemed also thunderstruck; but, from the musing165 attitude in which she stood, the deep convulsive suffocating166 sobs167 of Amanda soon called her. She went to her, and finding her unable to help herself, loosened her cravat168, bathed her temples with lavender, and gave her water to drink. These attentions, and the tears she shed, revived Amanda. She raised herself in her chair, on which she had fallen back, but was yet too much agitated to stand.
“Poor, unhappy young creature!” said Lady Martha, “I pity you from my soul! Ah! if your mind resembled your person, what a perfect creature had you been! How happy had then been my poor Mortimer!”
Now, now was the test, the shining test of Amanda’s virtue169, agonized170 by knowing she had lost the good opinion of those whom she loved with such ardor171, esteemed172 with such reverence. She knew by a few words she could explain the appearances[Pg 465] which had deprived her of his good opinion, and fully5 regain173 it—regain, by a few words, the love, the esteem of her valued, her inestimable Mortimer—the affection, the protection, of his amiable174 aunt and sister. She leaned her head upon her hand, the weight on her bosom became less oppressive; she raised her head. “Of my innocence I can give such proofs,” cried she. Her lips closed, a mortal paleness overspread her face; the sound of suicide seemed piercing through her ear; she trembled; the solemn, the dreadful declaration Lord Cherbury had made of not surviving the disclosure of his secret, her promise of inviolably keeping it, both rushed upon her mind. She beheld herself on the very verge175 of a tremendous precipice176, and about plunging177 herself and a fellow-creature into it, from whence, at the tribunal of her God, she would have to answer for accelerating the death of that fellow-creature. “And is it by a breach of faith?” she asked herself, “I hope to be reestablished in the opinion of Lord Mortimer and his relations. Ah! mistaken idea, and how great is the delusion178 passion spreads before our eyes, even if their esteem could be thus regained179? Oh! what were that, or what the esteem, the plaudits of the world, if those of my own heart were gone forever! Oh! never!” cried she, still to herself, and raising her eyes to Heaven. “Oh! never may the pang180 of self-reproach be added to those which now oppress me!” Her heart at the moment formed a solemn vow181 never, by any wilful182 act, to merit such a pang. “And, oh, my God!” she cried, “forgive thy weak creature who, assailed183 by strong temptation, thought for a moment of wandering from the path of truth and integrity, which can alone conduct her to the region where peace and immortal184 glory will be hers.”
Amanda, amidst her powerful emotions, forgot she was observed, except by that Being to whom she applied185 for pardon and future strength. Lady Martha had been a silent spectator of her emotions, and, thinking as she did of Amanda, could only hope that they proceeded from contrition186 for her past conduct, forcibly awakened187 by reflecting on the deprivations188 it had caused her.
When she again saw Amanda able to pay attention, she addressed her: “I said I was sorry for witnessing your distress; I shall not repent189 the expression, thinking as I now do; I hope that it is occasioned by regret for past errors: the tears of repentance190 wash away the stains of guilt8, and that heart must indeed be callous191 which the sigh of remorse192 will not melt to pity.” Amanda turned her eyes with earnestness on Lady[Pg 466] Martha as she spoke, and her cheeks were again tinged193 with a faint glow.
“Perhaps I speak too plainly,” cried Lady Martha, witnessing this glow, and imputing194 it to resentment195; “but I have ever liked the undisguised language of sincerity196. It gave me pleasure,” she continued, “to hear you had been in employment at Mrs. Duncan’s, but that pleasure was destroyed by hearing you were going to London, though to seek your brother; Mrs. Duncan has informed Mrs. Macqueen. If this were indeed the motive, there are means of inquiring without taking so imprudent a step.” “Imprudent!” repeated Amanda, involuntarily. “Yes,” cried Lady Martha, “a journey so long, without a protector, to a young, I must add, a lovely woman, teems197 with danger, from which a mind of delicacy would shrink appalled198. If, indeed, you go to seek your brother, and he regards you as he should, he would rather have you neglect him (though that you need not have done by staying with Mrs. Duncan), than run into the way of insults. No emergency in life should lead us to do an improper199 thing; as trying to produce good by evil is impious, so trying to produce pleasure by imprudence is folly200; they are trials, however flatteringly they may commence, which are sure to end in sorrow and disappointment.
“You will,” continued Lady Martha, “if indeed anxious to escape from any farther censure201 than what has already fallen upon you, return to Mrs. Duncan, when I inform you (if indeed you are already ignorant of it) that Colonel Belgrave passed this road about a month ago, on his way from a remote part of Scotland to London, where he now is.” “I cannot help,” said Amanda, “the misconstructions which may be put on my actions; I can only support myself under the pain they inflict202 by conscious rectitude. I am shocked, indeed, at the surmises203 entertained about me, and a wretch162 whom my soul abhorred204 from the moment I knew his real principles.”
“If,” said Lady Martha, “your journey is really not prompted by the intention of seeing your brother, you heighten every other by duplicity.” “You are severe, madam,” exclaimed Amanda, in whose soul the pride of injured innocence was again reviving.
“If I probe the wound,” cried Lady Martha. “I would also wish to heal it. It is the wish I feel of saving a young creature from further error, of serving a being once so valued by him who possesses my first regard, that makes me speak as I now do. Return to Mrs. Duncan’s, prove in one instance at least you do not deserve suspicion. She is your friend, and in[Pg 467] your situation a friend is too precious a treasure to run the risk of losing it with her; as she lives retired, there will be little danger of your history or real name being discovered, which I am sorry you dropped, let your motive for doing so be what it may, for the detection of one deception makes us suspect every other. Return, I repeat, to Mrs. Duncan’s, and if you want any inquiries made about your brother, dictate205 them, and I will take care they shall be made, and that you shall know their result.”
Had Amanda’s motive for a journey to London been only to seek her brother, she would gladly have accepted this offer, thus avoiding the imputation206 of travelling after Belgrave, or of going to join him, the hazard of encountering him in London, and the dangers of so long a journey; but the affair of the will required expedition, and her own immediate38 presence—an affair the injunction of Lady Dunreath had prohibited her disclosing to any one who could not immediately forward it, and which, if such an injunction never existed, she could not with propriety207 have divulged208 to Lady Martha, who was so soon to be connected with a family so materially concerned in it, and in whose favor, on account of her nephew’s connection with them, it was probable she might be biased209.
Amanda hoped and believed that in a place so large as London, and with her assumed name (which she now resolved not to drop till in a more secure situation), she should escape Belgrave. As to meeting him on the road she had not the smallest apprehension210 concerning that, naturally concluding that he never would have taken so long a journey as he had lately done, if he could have stayed but a few weeks away. Time, she trusted, would prove the falsity of the inference, which she already was informed would be drawn from her persevering211 in her journey. She told Lady Martha “that she thanked her for her kind offer, but must decline it, as the line of conduct she had marked out for herself rendered it unnecessary whose innocence would yet be justified,” she added. Lady Martha shook her head; the consciousness of having excited suspicions which she could not justify212, had indeed given to the looks of Amanda a confusion when she spoke which confirmed them in Lady Martha’s breast. “I am sorry for your determination,” said she, “but notwithstanding it is so contrary to my ideas of what is right, I cannot let you depart without telling you that, should you at any time want or require services, which you would, or could not, ask from strangers, or perhaps expect them to perform, acquaint me, and command mine; yet, in doing justice to my own feelings, I must not do[Pg 468] injustice213 to the noble ones of Lord Mortimer. It is by his desire, as well as my own inclination214, I now speak to you in this manner, though past events, and the situation he is about entering into, must forever preclude215 his personal interference in your affairs. He could never hear the daughter of Captain Fitzalan suffered inconveniency of any kind, without wishing, without having her, indeed, if possible, extricated216 from it.” “Oh! madam,” cried Amanda, unable to repress her gushing217 tears, “I am already well acquainted with the noble feelings of Lord Mortimer, already oppressed with a weight of obligations.” Lady Martha was affected218 by her energy; her eyes grew humid, and her voice softened219. “Error in you will be more inexcusable than in others,” cried Lady Martha, “because, like too many unhappy creatures, you cannot plead the desertion of all the world. To regret past errors, be they what they may, is to insure my assistance and protection, if both, or either, are at any time required by you. Was I even gone, I should take care to leave a substitute behind me who should fulfil my intentions towards you, and by so doing at once soothe and gratify the feelings of Lord Mortimer.” “I thank you, madam,” cried Amanda, rising from her chair, and, as she wiped away her tears, summoning all her fortitude to her aid, “for the interest you express about me; the time may yet come, perhaps, when I shall prove I never was unworthy of exciting it—when the notice now offered from compassion may be tendered from esteem—then,” continued Amanda, who could not forbear this justice to herself, “the pity of Lady Martha Dormer will not humble but exalt221 me, because then I shall know that it proceeded from that generous sympathy which one virtuous222 mind feels for another in distress.” She moved to the door. “How lamentable,” said Lady Martha, “to have such talents misapplied!” “Ah! madam,” cried Amanda, stopping, and turning mournfully to her, “I find you are inflexible.”
Lady Martha shook her head, and Amanda had laid her hand upon the lock, when Lady Martha said suddenly, “There were letters passed between you and Lord Mortimer.” Amanda bowed. “They had better be mutually returned,” said Lady Martha. “Do you seal up his and send them to Lord Cherbury’s house in London, directed to me, and I will pledge myself to have yours returned.” “You shall be obeyed, madam,” replied Amanda, in a low, broken voice, after the pause of a moment. Lady Martha then said she would no longer encroach upon her rest, and she retired.
[Pg 469]
In her chamber, the feelings she had so long, so painfully tried to suppress, broke forth223 without again meeting opposition224. The pride which had given her transient animation225 was no more; for, as past circumstances arose to recollection, she could not wonder at her being condemned226 from them. She no longer accused Lady Martha in her mind of severity—no longer felt offended with her; but, oh! Mortimer, the bitter tears she shed fell not for herself alone; she wept to think thy destiny, though more prosperous, was not less unhappy than her own; for in thy broken accents, thy altered looks, she perceived a passion strong and sincere as ever for her, and well she knew Lady Euphrasia not calculated to soothe a sad heart, or steal an image from it which corroded227 its felicity. Rest, after the incidents of the evening, was not to be thought of, but nature was exhausted228, and insensibly Amanda sunk upon the bed in a deep sleep—so insensibly, that when she awoke, which was not till the morning was pretty far advanced, she felt surprised at her situation. She felt cold and unrefreshed from having lain in her clothes all night, and when she went to adjust her dress at the glass, was surprised at the pallidness229 of her looks. Anxious to escape a second painful meeting, she went to the window to see if the chaise was come, but was disappointed on finding that she had slept at the back of the house. She heard no noise, and concluded the family had not yet risen after the amusements of the preceding night, sat down by the window which looked into a spacious230 garden, above which rose romantic hills that formed a screen for some young and beautiful plantations232 that lay between them and the garden; but the misty233 tops of the hills, the varied234 trees which autumn spread over the plantations, nor the neat appearance of the garden, had power to amuse the imagination of Amanda. Her patience was exhausted after sitting some time, and going to the door she softly opened it, to try if she could hear any one stirring. She had not stood long, when the sound of footsteps and voices rose from below. She instantly quitted her room, and descended the stairs into a small hall, across which was a folding-door; this she gently opened, and found it divided the hall she stood in from the one that was spacious and lofty, and which her passing through the preceding night before it was lighted up had prevented her taking notice of. Here, at a long table, were the men servants belonging to the family, and the guests assembled at breakfast, the piper at the head, like the king of the feast. Amanda stepped back the moment she perceived them, well knowing Lord Mortimer’s servants would recollect[Pg 470] her, and was ascending235 the stairs to her room to ring for one of the maids, when a servant hastily followed her, and said the family were already in the breakfast-room. At the same moment, Mr. Colin Macqueen came from a parlor236 which opened into the little hall, and paying Amanda, in a lively and affectionate manner, the compliments of the morning, he led her to the parlor, where not only all the family guests who had lain in the house, but several gentlemen, who had been with them the preceding night, were assembled. Doctor Johnson has already celebrated237 a Scotch breakfast, nor was the one at which Mrs. Macqueen and her fair daughters presided inferior to any he had seen. Beside chocolate, tea, and coffee, with the usual appendages238, there were rich cakes, choice sweetmeats, and a variety of cold pastry239, with ham and chickens, to which several of the gentlemen did honor. The dishes were ornamented240 with sweet herbs and wild flowers, gathered about the feet of the mountains and in the valley, and by every guest was placed a fine bouquet241 from the green-house, with little French mottoes on love and friendship about them, which, being opened and read, added to the mirth of the company.
“I was just going to send one of the girls for you,” said Mrs. Macqueen, when Amanda had taken a place at the table, “and would have done so before, but wished you to get as much rest as possible, after your fatiguing journey.” “I assure you, madam,” said Amanda, “I have been up this long time, expecting every moment a summons to the chaise.” “I took care of that last night,” said Mrs. Macqueen, “for I was determined you should not depart, at least without breakfasting.” Amanda was seated between Mr. Colin Macqueen and his eldest sister, and sought, by conversing with the former, for the latter was too much engrossed by the general gayety to pay much attention to any one, to avoid the looks she dreaded to see. Yet the sound of Lord Mortimer’s voice affected her as much almost as his looks.
“Pray, Lady Martha,” said the second Miss Macqueen, a lively, thoughtless girl, “will your ladyship be so good as to guarantee a promise Lord Mortimer has just made me, or rather that I have extorted242 from him, which is the cause of this application?” “You must first, my dear,” answered Lady Martha, “let me know what the promise is.” “Why, gloves and bridal favors; but most unwillingly243 granted, I can assure your ladyship.” Amanda was obliged to set down the cup she was raising to her lips, and a glance stole involuntarily from her towards Lord Mortimer—a glance instantly withdrawn when[Pg 471] she saw his eyes in the same direction. “I declare,” continued Miss Ph?be Macqueen, “I should do the favor all due honor.” “I am sure,” cried Lord Mortimer, attempting to speak cheerfully, “your acceptance of it will do honor to the presenter244.” “And your lordship may be sure, too,” said one of her brothers, “it is a favor she would wish with all her heart to have an opportunity of returning.” “Oh! in that she would not be singular,” said a gentleman. “What do you think, Miss Donald,” cried Colin Macqueen, turning to Amanda, “do you imagine she would not?” Amanda could scarcely speak. She tried, however, to hide her agitation, and, forcing a faint smile, with a voice nearly as faint, said, “that was not a fair question.” The Miss Macqueens took upon themselves to answer it, and Amanda, through their means, was relieved from farther embarrassment54.
Breakfast over, Amanda was anxious to depart, and yet wanted courage to be the first to move. A charm seemed to bind245 her to the spot where, for the last time, she should behold Lord Mortimer, at least the last time she ever expected to see him unmarried.
Her dread10 of being late on the road—and she heard the destined stage for the night was at a great distance—at last conquered her reluctance to move, and she said to Mr. Colin Macqueen it was time for her to go. At that moment Lord Mortimer rose, and proposed to the young Macqueens going with them to see the new plantations behind the house, which old Mr. Macqueen had expressed a desire his lordship should give his opinion of.
All the young gentlemen, as well as the Macqueens, Colin excepted, attended his lordship; nor did they depart without wishing Amanda a pleasant journey.
Silent and sad, she continued in her chair for some minutes after they quitted the room, forgetful of her situation, till the loud laugh of the Miss Macqueens restored her to a recollection of it. She blushed, and, rising hastily, was proceeding246 to pay her farewell compliments, when Mrs. Macqueen, rising, drew her to the window, and in a low voice repeated her request for Amanda’s company a few days. This Amanda again declined, but gratefully expressed her thanks for it, and the hospitality she had experienced. Mrs. Macqueen said, on her return to Scotland, she hoped to be more successful. She also added, that some of her boys and girls would gladly have accompanied Amanda a few miles on her way, had not they all agreed, ere her arrival, to escort Lord Mortimer’s party to an[Pg 472] inn at no great distance, and take an early dinner, with them. She should write that day, she said, to Mrs. Duncan, and thank her for having introduced to her family a person whose acquaintance was an acquisition. Amanda, having received the affectionate adieus of this amiable woman and her daughters, curtseyed, though with downcast looks, to Lady Martha and Lady Araminta, who returned her salutation with coolness.
Followed by two of the Miss Macqueens, she hurried through the hall, from which the servants and the breakfast things were already removed, but how was she distressed247 when the first object she saw outside the door was Lord Mortimer, by whom stood Colin Macqueen—who had left the parlor to see if the chaise was ready—and one of his brothers. Hastily would she have stepped forward to the chaise, had not the gallantry of the young men impeded248 her way. They expressed sorrow at her not staying longer among them, and hopes on her return she would.
“Pray, my lord,” cried the Miss Macqueens, while their brothers were thus addressing Amanda, “pray, my lord,” almost in the same breath, “what have you done with the gentlemen?” “You should ask your brother,” he replied; “he has locked them up in the plantation231.” A frolic was at all times pleasing to the light-hearted Macqueens, and to enjoy the present one off they ran directly, followed by their brothers, all calling, as they ran, to Amanda not to stir till they came back, which would be in a few minutes; but Amanda, from the awkward, the agitating249 situation in which they had left her, would instantly have relieved herself, could she have made the postilion hear her; but, as if enjoying the race, he had gone to some distance to view it, and none of the servants of the house were near. Conscious of her own emotions, she feared betraying them, and stepped a few yards from the door, pretending to be engrossed by the Macqueens. A heavy sigh suddenly pierced her ears. “Amanda,” in the next moment said a voice to which her heart vibrated. She turned with involuntary quickness and saw Lord Mortimer close by her. “Amanda,” he repeated; then suddenly clasping his hands together, exclaimed, with an agonized expression, while he turned abruptly from her, “Gracious Heaven! what a situation! Amanda,” said he, again looking at her, “the scene which happened last night was distressing. I am now sorry on your account that it took place. Notwithstanding past events, I bear you no ill-will. The knowledge of your uneasiness would give me pain. From my heart I forgive you all that you have caused—that you have entailed250 upon me.[Pg 473] At this moment I could take you to my arms, and weep over you—like the fond mother over the last darling of her hopes—tears of pity and forgiveness.”
Amanda, unutterably affected, covered her face to hide the tears which bedewed it.
“Let me have the pleasure of hearing,” continued Lord Mortimer, “that you forgive the uneasiness and pain I might have occasioned you last night.” “Forgive!” repeated Amanda. “Oh, my lord,” and her voice sunk in the sobs which heaved her bosom. “Could I think you were, you would be happy—" Lord Mortimer stopped, overcome by strong emotions.
“Happy!” repeated Amanda! “oh! never—never!” continued she, raising her streaming eyes to heaven; “oh, never—never in this world!”
At this moment the Macqueens were not only heard but seen running back, followed by the gentlemen whom they had been prevailed on to liberate251. Shocked at the idea of being seen in such a situation, Amanda would have called the postilion, but he was too far off to hear her weak voice, had she then even been able to exert that voice. She looked towards him, however, with an expression which denoted the feelings of her soul. Lord Mortimer, sensible of those feelings, hastily pulled open the door of the chaise, and taking the cold and trembling hand of Amanda with one equally cold and trembling, assisted her into the chaise, then pressing the hand he held between both his, he suddenly let it drop from him, and closing the door without again looking at Amanda, called to the driver, who instantly obeyed the call, and had mounted ere the Macqueens arrived. Oh, what a contrast did their looks, blooming with health and exercise, their gayety, their protected situation, form to the wan42, dejected, desolate252 Amanda! With looks of surprise they were going up to the chaise, when Lord Mortimer, still standing by it, and anxious to save his unhappy, lost Amanda the pain of being noticed in such agitation, gave the man a signal to drive off, which was instantly obeyed.
Thus did Amanda leave the mansion253 of the Macqueens, where sorrow had scarcely ever before entered without meeting alleviation254, a mansion, where the stranger, the wayfaring255 man, and the needy256, were sure of a welcome, cordial as benevolence257 and hospitality themselves could give; and where happiness, as pure as in this sublunary state can be experienced, was enjoyed. As she drove from the door, she saw the splendid equipages of Lord Mortimer and Lady Martha driving to it. She turned from them with a sigh, at reflecting they would soon[Pg 474] grace the bridal pomp of Lady Euphrasia. She pursued the remainder of her journey without meeting anything worthy220 of relation. It was in the evening she reached London. The moment she stopped at the hotel she sent for a carriage, and proceeded in it to Mrs. Connel’s, in Bond Street.
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1
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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3
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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6
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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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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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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11
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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incurring
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| 遭受，招致，引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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engross
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| v.使全神贯注 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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29
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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30
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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31
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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32
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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34
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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35
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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36
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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37
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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38
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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39
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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40
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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41
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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42
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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43
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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44
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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45
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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46
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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47
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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48
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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49
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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50
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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51
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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52
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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53
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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54
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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55
embarrassments
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| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
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56
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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57
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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58
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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59
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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60
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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61
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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62
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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63
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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64
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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65
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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66
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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67
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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68
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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69
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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70
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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71
mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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72
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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73
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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74
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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75
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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76
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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77
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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78
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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79
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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80
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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81
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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82
ornamental
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|
| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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83
diversify
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| v.（使）不同，（使）变得多样化 | |
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84
gratitude
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|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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85
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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86
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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87
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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88
rehearsals
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| n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 )；排练；复述；重复 | |
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89
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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90
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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91
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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92
beckons
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的第三人称单数 ) | |
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93
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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94
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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95
bagpipe
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| n.风笛 | |
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96
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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97
scotch
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|
| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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98
auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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99
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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100
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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101
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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102
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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103
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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104
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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105
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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106
checkered
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|
| adj.有方格图案的 | |
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107
conversing
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|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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108
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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109
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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110
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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111
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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112
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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113
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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114
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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115
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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116
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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117
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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118
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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119
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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120
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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121
solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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122
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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123
authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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124
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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125
rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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126
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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127
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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128
penetrating
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|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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129
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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130
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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131
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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132
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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133
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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134
embargo
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| n.禁运（令）；vt.对...实行禁运，禁止（通商） | |
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135
negligently
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136
jocosely
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| adv.说玩笑地，诙谐地 | |
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137
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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138
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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139
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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140
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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141
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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142
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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143
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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144
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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145
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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146
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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147
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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148
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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149
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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150
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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151
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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152
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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153
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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154
construe
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| v.翻译，解释 | |
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155
exhaled
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|
| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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156
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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157
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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158
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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159
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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160
memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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161
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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162
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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163
relinquishing
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的现在分词 )； 放弃 | |
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164
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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165
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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166
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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167
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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168
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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169
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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170
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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171
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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172
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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173
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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174
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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175
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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176
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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177
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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178
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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179
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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180
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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181
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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182
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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183
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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184
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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185
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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186
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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187
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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188
deprivations
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| 剥夺( deprivation的名词复数 )； 被夺去； 缺乏； 匮乏 | |
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189
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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190
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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191
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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192
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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193
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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194
imputing
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的现在分词 ) | |
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195
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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196
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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197
teems
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| v.充满( teem的第三人称单数 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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198
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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199
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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200
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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201
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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202
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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203
surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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204
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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205
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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206
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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207
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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208
divulged
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| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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209
biased
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| a.有偏见的 | |
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210
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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211
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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212
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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213
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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214
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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215
preclude
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| vt.阻止，排除，防止；妨碍 | |
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216
extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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217
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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218
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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219
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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220
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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221
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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222
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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223
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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224
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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225
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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226
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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227
corroded
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| 已被腐蚀的 | |
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228
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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229
pallidness
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230
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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231
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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232
plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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233
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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234
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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235
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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236
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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237
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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238
appendages
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| n.附属物( appendage的名词复数 )；依附的人；附属器官；附属肢体（如臂、腿、尾等） | |
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239
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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240
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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241
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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242
extorted
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| v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 )；曲解 | |
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243
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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244
presenter
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| n.（电视、广播的）主持人，赠与者 | |
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245
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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246
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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247
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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248
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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249
agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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250
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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251
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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252
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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253
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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254
alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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255
wayfaring
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| adj.旅行的n.徒步旅行 | |
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256
needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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257
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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