“And let a maid thy pity share, *  *  *  * 
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.”—Goldsmith.
Amanda had fainted soon after Colonel Belgrave entered the carriage, and she was reclining on his bosom in a state of insensibility when Lord Mortimer passed. In this situation she continued till they had gained a solitary road, when the carriage stopped, and water, procured from an adjacent cottage, being sprinkled on her face, she recovered; but either by arguments or actions she was now unable to oppose Belgrave. She felt a weakness through her whole frame, which she be[Pg 288]lieved the forerunner of death, and a languor on her mind that almost deprived it of the perception of misery.
The refreshments offered to her she could only refuse by a motion of her hand; and in this manner they proceeded till about nine o’clock at night, when they entered an extensive wood, in the very centre of which stood Colonel Belgrave’s mansion. He carried Amanda himself into it, and laid her upon a sofa in a large parlor. Some female domestics appeared with drops and cordials, to try and recover her from the almost lifeless state in which she lay. One of them presented a letter to the colonel, which excited no little perturbation in his mind. It came express to inform him that his uncle, whose estate and title he was heir to, lay at the point of death, and that his presence was immediately required.
The colonel was not so absolutely engrossed by love as to be incapable of attending to his interest. An addition of fortune was extremely agreeable, as his affairs were somewhat deranged; and, as Amanda was not in a situation at present to comply with any overtures he should make, his resolution was immediately formed to set off without delay, and against his return he trusted Amanda would be not only recovered, but willing to accede to his wishes.
He dismissed the woman who had brought her a little to herself, and taking her hand informed her of the painful necessity he was under of departing for a short time. He also mentioned his hopes, that on his return he should have no obstacle thrown in the way of his happiness by her. “You must be sensible, my dear Amanda,” said he, with coolness, “that your reputation is as much gone as if you had complied with my wishes; since it is sacrificed, why not enjoy the advantages that may, that will certainly attend the reality of that sacrifice?” “Monster!” cried Amanda, “your arts may have destroyed my fame, but my innocence bids defiance to your power.” “Conquer your obstinacy, Amanda,” replied he, “against I return, or I shall not promise but what I may be at last irritated. As you will have no occasion for money here, you must excuse me, my dear creature, if I take your purse into my own keeping. My domestics may be faithful, when they have no inducement to the contrary; but no bribery, no corruption, you know.” He then very deliberately took Amanda’s purse and watch from her pocket, and deposited them in his own. He had already given directions to his servants concerning their treatment of Amanda, and now ordered them to carry her to a chamber, and make her take some refreshment.
[Pg 289] “Reflect, Amanda,” said he, ere she retired, “on your present situation, and timely estimate the advantages I offer to your acceptance; wealth, pleasure, the attentions of a man who adores you, are not to be despised. Upon my soul it grieves me to leave you, but the joys of meeting will, I trust, pay the pangs of absence.”
As he spoke, he attempted to embrace her, but she faintly shrieked, and shrunk from his grasp. He looked provoked; but as he had no time to lose, he reserved a declaration of his anger for another opportunity, and directly set off for his uncle’s.
Amanda was supported to a chamber, and lay down in her clothes on a bed. They offered her bread and wine, but she was too sick to touch any. To remonstrate with the insolent looking creatures who surrounded her she knew would be unavailing, and she turned her face on the pillow to stifle her sobs, as she believed they would exult in her distress. Death she thought approaching, and the idea of being separated from the dear objects who would have soothed its last pangs, was dreadful. Her father in agony, and Oscar, her beloved brother, bewailing her with tears of sorrow, were the images fancy presented to her view.
“Dear objects of my love,” she softly exclaimed, “Amanda shall no more behold you, but her last sigh will be breathed for you. Ah! why, why,” she cried, “did I suffer myself to be separated from my father?”
A young woman leaned over Amanda, and surveyed her with the most malignant scrutiny. She was daughter to Belgrave’s steward, and neither she nor her father possessed sufficient virtue to make them reject the offers Belgrave made them on her account. His attachment to her was violent, but transient, and in the height of it he made her mistress of the mansion she now occupied, which character she maintained with tyrannic sway over the rest of the domestics. Belgrave was really ignorant of the violence of her temper, and had no idea she would dare dispute his inclinations, or disobey his orders. He believed she would be subservient to both, and from this belief, gave Amanda particularly into her charge.
But scarcely had he departed, ere she swore, “that let the consequence be what it would, the vile wretch he had brought into the house to insult her should never remain in it. She shall tramp,” cried she, “though I follow her myself when he returns; for such a little hussey shall never triumph over me.”
The servants, ignorant and timorous, did not attempt to oppose her.
[Pg 290] “Come, madam,” said she, suddenly seizing Amanda’s arm, and pulling her from the pillow, “have done with these languishing airs, and march.” “What do you mean?” cried Amanda, trembling at her inflamed countenance. “Why, I mean you shall quit this house directly; and I wonder Colonel Belgrave could have the assurance to bring such a creature as you into it.” “You mistake, indeed,” said Amanda; “treachery, not inclination, brought me into it, and I am not what you suppose. If, as you say, you will allow me to depart, I shall ever regard you as my friend; and in every prayer I offer up to Heaven for myself, you shall be remembered.” “Oh, dear! but you shall not impose upon me so easily. Come,” continued she, turning to a maid, “and help me to conduct this fine lady to the hall door.” “Gracious Heaven!” said Amanda, who by this time was taken, or rather dragged from the bed, “what are you about doing with me? Though I rejoice to quit the house, yet surely, surely,” she cried, and her soul recoiled at the idea, “without a guide at this hour of the night, you will not turn me from it.”
She then mentioned Colonel Belgrave’s having deprived her of her purse and watch, and besought the woman in the most pathetic terms, to supply her with a small sum, which she solemnly assured her should be returned as soon as she reached her friends; and ended with saying, she should depart with gratitude and joy if she complied with her request, and allowed some one to guide her to a place where she might procure a carriage.
“Such madams as you,” replied the imperious woman, “are never at a loss for means of procuring money, or a place to go to. I see through your art well enough; you want me to pity you, that I may let you stay till your colonel returns. But who would be fool then, I wonder? The tables, I warrant, would soon be turned upon me. No, no; out you go this moment.” So saying, she rudely seized Amanda, and assisted by another woman, hurried her down stairs, and out of the house directly: they carried her to an intricate part of wood, and then ran back, leaving the helpless mourner leaning against a tree.
Amanda looked around her. Dark and awful were the shades of the wood. No light appeared but what came from a few wandering stars, which only served to render darkness visible. “Have mercy upon me, Heaven!” groaned Amanda, as she felt herself sinking to the earth. The cold acted as a kind of restorative, and almost immediately revived her. She rested her head against a little bank, and as she thus reclined, tender sadness pervaded her soul the idea of her father’s [Pg 291] sorrow when he heard of her fate. “When he hears,” cried she, “that I was driven from the house, as unworthy of pity or protection from any being, that his Amanda, whom he cherished in his bosom, as the darling of his age, was denied the pity he would have shown the greatest wretch that crawls upon the earth, and that she perished without shelter, it will break his heart entirely. Poor Oscar, too—alas! I shall be a source of wretchedness to both. Will Lord Mortimer lament when he hears of my fate? Alas! I cannot believe that he will. He that could leave me in the arms of insensibil............