Heal my unquiet mind, and tune¹ my soul.”—Otway.

The fatigue², distress³, and agitation⁴ of Amanda could no longer be struggled with; she sunk beneath their violence, and for a week was confined to her bed by the fever which had seized her in England, and ever since lurked⁵ in her veins⁶. The whole sisterhood, who took it in turn to attend her, vied with each other in kindness and care to the poor invalid⁷. Their efforts for her recovery were aided by a skilful⁸ physician from the next town, who called, without being sent for, at the convent. He said he had known Captain Fitzalan, and that, hearing that Miss Fitzalan was indisposed, he had come in hopes he might be of service to the daughter of a man he so much esteemed¹¹. He would accept of no fee, and the prioress, who was a woman of sagacity, suspected, as well as Amanda, that he came by the direction of Lord Mortimer. Nor were they mistaken, for, distracted by apprehensions¹² about her, he had taken this method of lightening his fears, flattering himself, by the excellent advice he had procured¹³, her recovery would be much expedited, and, of course, his suspense¹⁴ at least terminated. The doctor did not withdraw his visits when Amanda was able to rise; he attended her punctually, and often paid her long visits, which were of infinite service to her spirits, as he was a man of much information and cheerfulness. In a few days she was removed from her

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