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 NOV ?.?. 4^0 
 JUL 6 
 
 .nm 1 2 
 
 m 
 
 
 •:;a^':':'«a
 
 CHHANDLUl 
 ANTIQUARIA 
 
 " [ICH
 
 #
 
 ADELINE MOWBRAY, 
 
 OR THE 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 a Cale, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES, 
 
 BY MRS, OP IE. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, & ORME^ 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW 5 
 
 AND A, CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH. 
 
 1805.
 
 
 R. TatioR and Co. Printers, 
 Black-Horse Court, Fleet-Street,
 
 
 ADELINE MOWBRAY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 As soon as Adeline beheld Glenmurray, 
 *' See !" she exclaimed in a hoarse and 
 agitated tone, " there is my letter to my 
 mother, returned unopened, and here is a 
 letter from Dr. Norberry which has bro- 
 ken my heart : — however, we must go to 
 England directly.'* 
 
 The letter was as follows : 
 
 '^ You have made a pretty fool of me, 
 deluded but still dear girl ! for you have 
 made me believe in forebodings, and be 
 hanged to you. You may remember 
 with what a full heart I bade you adituj 
 
 VOL. u. B ' and
 
 2 
 and I recollect what a devilish queer sensa-- 
 tion I had when the park-gates closed oa 
 your fleet carriage. I swore a good oath at 
 the postillions fordiiving so fast, as I wished 
 to see you as long as I could ; and now I 
 protest that I believe I was actuated by a; 
 foreboding that at that house, and on that 
 spot, I should nerer behold you again. 
 (Here a tear had fallen on the paper, and 
 the word ' again' v/as nearly bloued out.) 
 Dear, lost Adeline, I prayed for you too I 
 I prayed that you might return as innocent 
 and happy as you left me. Lord have 
 mercy on us \ v/ho should have thought 
 it ! — But this is nothing ta the purpose, 
 and I suppose you think you have done 
 nought but what is right and clever." 
 
 He then proceeded to inform Adeline, 
 who had written to him to implore his 
 mediation between her and her mother, 
 " that the latter had sent express for him 
 
 oa
 
 S 
 
 ©n finding, by the hasty scrawl Vv^hich came 
 the day after Adeline's departure from the 
 fanii-house, that she had eloped, and 
 who was the companion of her flight : that 
 he found her in violent agitation, as sir Pa- 
 trick, stung- to madness at the success of 
 his rival, had with an ingenuousness wor- 
 thy a better cause avovv^ed to her his ardent 
 passion for her daughter, his resolution "to 
 follow the fugitives, and by every means 
 possible separate Adeline from her lover"; 
 and that, after having thanked lady 
 O' Carrol for her great generosity to him, 
 he had taken his pistols, mounted his 
 horse, attended by his groom also well 
 armed, and vowed that he would never 
 return unless accompanied by the v/oman 
 whom he adored." 
 
 " No wonder therefore," continued the 
 doctor, " that I was an unsuccessful advo- 
 cate for you, — :sp€cially as I was not in- 
 u 2 ' clined
 
 4 
 
 clined to manage the old bride's self-love ; 
 for I was so provoked at her cursed folly 
 in marrying the handsome profligate, that, 
 if she had not been in distress, I never meant 
 to see her again. But., poor silly soul ! 
 she suffers enough for her folly, and so 
 do you ; — for her affections and her self- 
 love, being equally wounded by sir 
 Patrick's confession, you are at present 
 the object of her aversion. To you she 
 attributes all the misery of having lost 
 the man on whom she still dotes ; (an 
 old blockhead I) and when she found from 
 your last letter to me that you are not 
 the wife but the mistress of Glenmurray, 
 (by the bye,^ your letter to her from Lis- 
 bon she desires me to return unopened,) 
 and that the child once her pride is be- 
 come her disgrace, she declared her solemn 
 resoludon never to see you more, and to 
 renounce you for ever— (Terrible words, 
 
 Adeline,
 
 5 
 
 Adeline, I tremble to wiite them). But 
 a circumstance has since occurred which 
 gives me hopes that she may yet forgive, 
 and receive you on certain conditions. 
 About a fortnight after sir Patrick's de- 
 parture, a letter from Ireland, directed to 
 him in a vvoman's hand, arrived at the 
 Pavilion. Your mother opened it, and 
 found it was from a wife of her amiable 
 husband, whom he had left in the north 
 of Ireland, and who, having heard of 
 his second marriage, WTOte to tell him 
 that, unless he came quickly back to her, 
 she would prosecute him for bigamy, as 
 he knew very well that undoubted proofs 
 of the marriage were in her possession. 
 At first this new proof of her beautiful 
 spouse's villany drove your mother almost 
 to phrensy, and I was again sent for ; but 
 time, reflection, and perhaps my argu- 
 ments, convinced her, that to be able to 
 free herself from this rascal for ever, and 
 
 consequently
 
 consequently her fortune, losing only the 
 ten thousand pounds which she had given 
 him to pay his debts, was in reality a con- 
 soling circumstance. Accm-dingly, she 
 wrote to the real lady O' Carrol, promising 
 to accede quietly to her claim, and wishing 
 that she would spare her and herself 
 the disgrace of a public trial ; especially 
 as it must end in the conviction of sir 
 Patrick. She then, on hearing from him 
 that he had traced you to Falmouth, and 
 was going to embark for Lisbon when the 
 wind was favourable, enclosed him a copy 
 of his wife's letter, and bade him an eter- 
 nal farewell! — But be not alarmed lest 
 this insane profligate should overtake and 
 distress you. He is gone to his final ac- 
 count. In his hurry to get on board, 
 overcome as he was with the great quan- 
 tity of liquor which he had drunk to 
 banish care, he sprung from the boat 
 before it was near enough to reach the 
 
 vessel J
 
 7 
 
 vessel ; his foot slipped ngainst the side, he 
 fell into the water, and, going under the 
 ship, never rose again. I leave you to 
 imagine how the complicated distresses of 
 the last three months, and this awful cli- 
 max to them, hav e affected your mother's 
 mind'; even I cannot scold her, now, for 
 the life of me : she is not yet, I believe, 
 disposed in your favour ; but v/ere you 
 here, and were you to meet, it is possible 
 that, forlorn, lonely, and deserted as 
 she now feels, the tie between you might 
 be once more cemented ; and much as I 
 resent your conduct, you may depend on 
 my exerdons. — O Adeline, child of my 
 affection, why must I blush to subscribe 
 myself 
 
 Your sincere friend, 
 
 J. N.?*' 
 
 Words cannot describe the feelings of 
 anguish which this letter excited in Ade- 
 line :
 
 line: nor could she make known her sen- 
 sations otherwise than by reiterated re- 
 quests to be alio wed to set off for England 
 directly,— requests to which Glenmurray, 
 alarmed for her intellects, immediately 
 assented. Therefore, leaving a hasty note 
 for the Douglases, they soon bade farewell 
 to Perpignan ; and after a long laborious 
 journey, but a short passage, they landed 
 at Brighton. 
 
 It was a fine evening ; and numbers of 
 the gay and fashionable of both sexes 
 were assembled on the beach, to see 
 the passengers land. Adeline and 
 Glenmurray were amongst the first : and, 
 while heart-sick, fatigued, and melan- 
 choly, Adeline took the arm of her 
 lover, and turned disgusted^ from the 
 brilliant groups before her, she saw, 
 walking along the shore. Dr. Norberry, 
 his wife, and his two daughters. 
 
 Instantly, unmindful of every thing but 
 
 the
 
 9 
 
 the delight of seeing old acquaintance^, 
 and of being able to gain some immediate 
 tidings of her mother, she ran up to 
 them ; and just as they turned round, she 
 met them, extending her hand in friend- 
 ship as she was wont to do. — But in vain ; 
 — no hand was stretched out to meet 
 hers, nor tongue nor look proclaimed a 
 welcome to her ; Dr. Norberry himself 
 coldly touched his hat, and passed on, 
 while his wife and daughters looked 
 scornfully at her, and, without deigning to 
 notice her, •pursued their walk. 
 
 Astonished and confounded, Adeline 
 had not power to articulate a word ; and, 
 had not Glenmurray caught her in his 
 arms, she would have fallen to the ground. 
 
 " Then now I am indeed an outcast ! 
 even my oldest and best friend renounces 
 me,*' she exclaimed. 
 
 " But I am left to you,'' cried Glen- 
 murray. 
 
 Adeline
 
 10 
 
 Adeline sighed. She could not say, as 
 she had formerly done, " and you are all to 
 me.'* The image of her mother, happy 
 as the wife of a man she loved, could not 
 long rival Glenmurray ; but the image of 
 her mother, disgraced and wretched, 
 awoke all the habitual but donnant ten- 
 derness of years; every feeling of filial gra- 
 titude revived in all its force ; and, even 
 while leaning on the shoulder of her lover, 
 she sighed to be once more clasped to the 
 bosom of her mother. 
 
 demur ray felt the change, but, 
 though grieved, was not offended: — " I 
 shall die in peace," he cried, " if I can 
 but see you restored to your mother's 
 affection, even though the surrender of 
 my happiness is to be the purchase,*' 
 
 '* You shall die in peace!" replied 
 A deline -shuddering. The phrase was well- 
 timed, though perhaps undesignedly so. 
 Adeline clung close to his arm, her eyes 
 
 filled
 
 11 
 
 filled with tears, and all the way to the 
 inn she thought only of Glenmurray 
 with anapprehension which she could not 
 conquer. 
 
 " What do you mean to do now ?" said 
 Glenmurray. 
 
 " Write to Dr. Norberry. I think he 
 will at least have humanity enough to let 
 me know where to find my mother." 
 
 " No doubt J and you had better write 
 directly." 
 
 Adeline took up her pen. A letter was 
 written, — and as quickly torn. Letter 
 succeeded to letter ; but not one of them 
 answered her wishes. The dark hour ar- 
 rived, and the letter remained unwritten. 
 
 *' It is too soon to ring for candles," 
 said Glenmurray, putting his arm round 
 her waist and leading her to the window. 
 The sun v/as below the horizon, but the 
 reflection of his beams still shone beauti- 
 fully
 
 12 
 
 fully on the surrounding objects. Ade- 
 line, reclining her cheek on Glenmurray's 
 arm, gazed in silence on the scene 
 before her ; when the door suddenly 
 opened, and a gentleman was an- 
 nounced. It was now so dark that all 
 objects were indistinctly seen, and the 
 gentleman had advanced close to Adeline 
 before she knew him to be Dr. Norberr}^ : 
 and 5 before she could decide howshe should 
 receive him, she felt herself clasped to his 
 bosom Vv'ith the affection of a father. 
 
 Surprised and affected, she could not 
 speak ; and Glenmurray had ordered 
 candles before Adeline had recovered 
 herself sufficiently to say these words, 
 '' After your conduct cli the beach, 1 little 
 expected this visit." 
 
 " Pshaw !" replied the doctor: "when a 
 man out of regard to society has performed 
 a painful task, surely he may be allowed, 
 -u. out
 
 15 
 
 c>ut of regard to himself, to follow the 
 dictates of his heart. — I obeyed my head 
 when I passed you so cavalierly, and I 
 thought I should never have gone through 
 my task as I did ; — but then for the sake of 
 my daughters, I gave a gulp, and called 
 up a fierce look. But I told madam that I 
 meant to call on you, and she insisted, 
 very properly, that it should be in the 
 dark hour." 
 
 " But what of my mother ?" 
 
 " She is a miserable woman, as she de- 
 serves to be — an old fool." 
 
 " Pray do not call her so ; to hear she 
 is miserable is torment sufficient to me : — 
 where is she r" 
 
 " Still at the Pavilion : but she is going 
 to let Rosevalley, retire to her estate in 
 Cumberland, and live unknown ..d 
 unseen." 
 
 " But win she not allow me to live 
 with her r" 
 
 " What ?
 
 14 
 
 *^ What ? as Mr, GIenmu?ray's mis- 
 tress ? receive under her roof the seducer 
 of her daughter ?" 
 
 " Sir, I am no seducer." 
 
 ^' No," cried Adeline : " I became the 
 mistress of Mr. GlenmuiTay from the 
 dictates of my reason, not my weak- 
 ness or his persuasions." 
 
 " Humph !" replied the doctor, " I 
 should expect to find such reason in 
 Moorhelds : besides, had not Mr. Glen- 
 murray's books turned your head, you 
 would not have thought it pretty and 
 right to becoilie the mistress of any man : 
 so he is your seducer, after all.*' 
 
 '' So far I plead guilty," replied Glen- 
 murray ; " but whatever my opinions are, 
 I have ever been willing to sacrifice thenr 
 to the welfare of miss Mowbray, and 
 have, from the first moment that we were 
 safe from pursuit, been urgent to marry 
 her." 
 
 " Then
 
 15 
 
 ** Then why the devil are you not 
 married ?^' 
 
 " Because I would not consent," said 
 Adeline coldly. 
 
 " Mad, certainly mad/' exclaimed the 
 doctor: "but you, faith, you are an honest 
 fellow after all,'' turning to Glenmurray 
 and shaking him by the hand ; " weak a* 
 the head, not bad in the heart : burn 
 
 your d d books, and I am your friend 
 
 for ever.*' 
 
 '' We will discuss that point another 
 time," replied Glenmurray : "at present 
 the most interesting subject to us is the 
 question whether Mrs. Mowbray will for- 
 give her daughter or not ?" 
 
 " Zounds, man, if I may judge of Mrs. 
 Mowbray by myself, one condition of her 
 forgiveness will be your marrying her 
 daughter." 
 
 " O blest condition!" cried Glen- 
 murray. 
 
 « I should
 
 • 16 
 
 ** I should think/' replied Adeline 
 coldly, " my mother must have had too 
 much of marriage to wish me to marry ; 
 but if she should insist on my marrying, 
 1 will comply, and on no other account." 
 
 '' Strange infatuation ! To me it ap- 
 pears only justice and duty. But yom* 
 reasons, girl, your reasons ?" 
 
 " They are few, but strong. Glen- 
 niurray, philanthropically bent on im- 
 proving the state of society, puts forth 
 opinions counteracting its received usages, 
 backed by arguments which are in my 
 opinion incontrovertible." 
 
 '' In your opinion ! — Pray, child, how 
 old are you ?*' 
 
 " Nineteen." 
 
 " And at that age you set up for a 
 reformer ? Well, — go on." 
 
 " But though it be important to the 
 success of his opinions, and indeed to the 
 
 respecta*
 
 17 
 
 respectability of his character, that he 
 should act according to his precepts, he, 
 for the sake of preserving to me the no- 
 tice of persons whose narrov/ness of mind 
 I despise, would conform to an institution 
 which both he and I think unworthy of 
 regard from a rational being. — And shall 
 not I be as generous as he is ? shall I 
 scruple to give up for his honour and fame 
 the petty advantages which marriage v^^ould 
 give me ? Never — his honour and fame 
 are too dear to me ; but the claims which 
 my mother has on me are in my eyes so 
 sacred that, for her sake, though not for 
 my own, I would accept the sacrifice 
 which Glenmurray offers. If, then, she 
 says that she will never see or pardon me 
 till I am become a wife, I will follow him 
 to the altar directly ; but till then I must 
 insist on remaining as I am. It is neces- 
 sary that I should respect the man I love ; 
 and I should not respect Glenmurray were 
 VOL. II, c he
 
 18 
 
 he not capable of supporting with fortitude 
 the consequences of his opinions; and could 
 he, for motives less strong than those he 
 avows, cease to act up to what he believes 
 to be right. For, never can I respect or be- 
 lieve firmly in the truth of those doctrines, 
 the followers of which shrink from a sort 
 of martyrdom in support of them.'^ 
 
 " O Mr. Glenmurray !" cried the 
 doctor shaking his head, " what have you 
 to answer for ! What a glorious cham- 
 pion would that creature have been in the 
 support of truth, when even error in her 
 looks so like to virtue ! — And then the 
 amiable disinterestedness of you both ! — 
 Zounds ! what a powerful thing must true 
 love be, when it can make a speculative 
 philosopher indifferent to the interests of 
 his system, and ready to act in direct op- 
 position to it, rather than injure the re- 
 spectability of the woman he loves ! Well, 
 well, the Lord forgive you, young man, 
 5 for
 
 19 
 
 for having taken it into your head to set up 
 for a great author." 
 
 Glenmurray answered by a deep-drawn 
 sigh ; and the, doctor continued : " Then 
 there is that girl again, with a heart so 
 fond and true that her love comes in aid 
 of her integrity, and makes her think no 
 sacrifice too great, in order to prove her 
 confidence in the wisdom of her lover, — 
 urging her to disregard all personal incon- 
 veniences rather than let him forfeit, for 
 her sake, his pretensions to independence 
 and consistency of character ! 'Sdeath, 
 girl ! I can't help admiring you. But no 
 more I could a Malabar widow, v;ho with 
 fond and pious enthusiasm, from an idea 
 of duty, throws herself on the funeral 
 pile of her husband. But still I should 
 think you a cursed fool, notv/ithstanding, 
 for professing the opinions that led to such 
 an exertion of duty. And now here are 
 you, possessed of every quality both of 
 c 2 head
 
 20 
 
 head and heart to bless others and to 
 bless yourself — owing to the foolish and 
 pernicious opinions ; — here you are, I 
 say, blasted in reputation in the prime of 
 your days, and doomed perhaps to pine 
 
 through existence in Pshaw ! by the 
 
 Lord I can't support the idea !" added he, 
 gulping down a sob as he spoke, and tra- 
 versing the room in great emotion. 
 
 Adeline and Glenmurray were both of 
 them deeply and painfully affected ; and 
 the latter was going to express what he 
 felt, when the doctor, seizing Adeline's 
 hand, affectionately exclaimed, "Well, my 
 poor child ! I will see your mother once 
 more ; I will go to London tomorrow — 
 by this time she is there — and you had 
 better follow me ; you will hear of me at 
 [he Old Hummums ; and here is a card of 
 address to an hotel near it, where I would 
 advise you to take up your abode." 
 
 So saying, he shook Glenmurray by the 
 4 hand j
 
 21 
 
 hand; when, starting back, he exclaimed 
 '' Odzooks, man ! here is a skin like fire, 
 and a pulse like lightning. My dear fel- 
 low, you must take care of yourself.'* 
 
 Adeline burst into tears. 
 
 "Indeed, doctor, I am only nervous." 
 
 "Nerv^ous!.... What, I suppose you think 
 you understand my profession better than 
 I do. But don't cry, my child : when your 
 mind is easier, perhaps, he will do very 
 well ; and, as one thing likely to- give him 
 immediate ease, I prescribe a visit to the 
 altar of the next parish church." 
 
 So saying he departed; and all other 
 considerations were again swallowed up 
 in Adeline's mind by the idea of Glen- 
 murray's danger. 
 
 " Is it possible that my marrying you 
 would have such a blessed effect on your^ 
 health ?" cried Adeline after a pause." 
 
 " It certainly would make my mind 
 easier than it now is," replied he» 
 
 "If
 
 22 
 
 " If I thought so," said Adeline: "but 
 no — regard for my supposed interest mere- 
 ly makes you say so ; and indeed I should 
 not think so well of you as I now do, if I 
 imagined that you could be made easy by 
 an action by which you forfeited all pre- 
 tensions to that consistency of character 
 so requisite to the true dignity of a philo- 
 sopher." 
 
 A deep sigh from Glenmurray, in an- 
 swer, proved that he was no philosopher. 
 
 In the morning the lovers set off for 
 London, Dr. Norberry having preceded 
 them by a few hours. This blunt but be- 
 nevolent man had returned the evening be- 
 fore slowly and pensively to his lodgings, 
 his heart full of pity for the errors of the 
 well-meaning enthusiasts whom he had 
 left, and his head full of plans for thei;* 
 assistance, or rather for that of Adeline. 
 But he entered his own doors again reluc- 
 tantly—he knew but too well that no sym- 
 pathy
 
 23 
 pathy with his feelings awaited him there* 
 His wife, a woman ©f narrow capacity and' 
 no talents or accomplishments, had. like 
 all women of that sort, a great aversion to;^ 
 those of her sex who united to feminine 
 graces and gentleness, the charms of a 
 cultivated understanding and pretensions 
 to accomplishments or literature. 
 
 Of Mrs. Mowbray, as w^e have before 
 observed, she had always been peculiarly 
 jealous, because Dr. Norberry spoke of her 
 knowledge v/ith wonder, and of her under- 
 standing with admiration ; not that he en- 
 tertained one moment a feeling of prefe- 
 rence towards her, inconsistent with an al- 
 most idolatrous love of his v/ife, whose 
 skill in all the domestic duties, and whose 
 very pretty face and person, were the da'Iy 
 themes of his praise. But Mrs. Norberry 
 wished to engross all his panegyrics to her- 
 self, and she never failed to expatiate on Mrs. 
 
 Mowbray's
 
 124 
 
 Mowbray's foibles and fllghtiness as long 
 as the doctor had expatiated on her charms. 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, this last subject 
 was sooner exhausted than the one which 
 she had chosen ; but when Adeline grew 
 up, and became as it were the rival of her 
 daughters in the praises of her husband, she 
 found it difficult, as we have said before, 
 to bring faults in array against excellencies. 
 
 Mrs. Norberry could with propriety ob- 
 .serve, when the doctor was exclaiming, 
 '^ What a charming essay Mrs. Mowbray 
 has just written !^' 
 
 " Aye, — but I dare say she can't write 
 a market bill." 
 
 When he said, " How well she compre- 
 hends the component parts of the animal 
 system i" 
 
 She could with great justice reply, 
 '* But she knov/s nothing of the compo*- 
 nent parts of a plum pudding.'^ 
 
 But
 
 25 
 
 But when Adeline became the object of 
 the husband's admiration and the wife's 
 enmity, Mrs. Norberry could not make 
 these pertinent remarks, as Adeline was 
 as conversant with all branches of house** 
 wifery as herself ; and, though as learned 
 in all systems as her mother, was equally 
 learned in the component parts of pud- 
 dings and pies. She was therefore at a loss 
 what to say when Adeline was praised by 
 the doctor ; and all she could observe on 
 the occasion was^ that the girl might be 
 clever, but was certainly very ugly, very 
 affected, and very conceited. 
 
 It is not to be wondered at, therefore, 
 that Mrs. Mowbray's degrading and un- 
 happy marriage, and Adeline's elopement, 
 should have been sources of triumph to 
 Mrs. Norberry and her daughters ; who, 
 though they liked Mrs. Mowbray very 
 well, could not bear Adeline. 
 
 " So,
 
 ^6 - 
 
 '^^ So, Dr. Norberry, these are your 
 uncommon folks!" — exclaimed Mrs. Nor- 
 berry on hearing of the marriage and of 
 the subsequent elopement'; — "I suppose 
 you are now well satisfied at not having 
 a genius for your wife, or geniuses for 
 your daughters ?'' 
 
 '* I always was, my dear," meekly re- 
 plied the mordfied and afflicted doctor, 
 and dropped the subject as soon as possi- 
 ble I nor had it been resumed for some 
 time when Adeline accosted them on the 
 beach at Brighton. But her appearance 
 called forth their dormant enmity ; and 
 the whole way to their lodgings the good 
 doctor heard her guilt expatiated upon 
 with as much violence as ever : but just as 
 they got home he coldly and firmly ob- 
 served, " I shall certainly call on the poor 
 deluded girl this evening." 
 
 And Mrs. Norberry, knowing by the 
 
 tone
 
 27 
 tone and manner in which he spoke, that 
 this was a point which he would not give 
 up, contented. herself with requiring only 
 that he should go in the dark hour. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 i2S 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 It was to a wife and daughters such as 
 these that he was returning, with the 
 benevolent wish of interesting tl;eni for 
 the guilty Adeline. 
 
 *' So, Dr. Norberry, you are come 
 back at last!" was his first salutation, 
 *' and what does the creature say for her- 
 self?" 
 
 " The creature ? — Your feUow-crez-^ 
 ture, my dear, says very little — grief is not 
 wordy." 
 
 " Grief! — So then she is unhappy, is 
 she?" cries miss Norberry j " I am mon- 
 strous glad of it." 
 
 The doctor started ; and an oath nearly 
 escaped his lips. He did say, " Why, 
 zounds, Jane ! — " but then he added, in 
 
 a softer
 
 29 . 
 
 a softer tone, " Why do you rejoice m the 
 poor girl's affliction ?" 
 
 " Because I think it is ,for the good of 
 her soul." 
 
 " Good girl !" replied the father :— 
 " but God grant, Jane, (seizing her hand) 
 that your soul may not need such a me- 
 dicine !" 
 
 " It never will," said her mother 
 proudly : " she has been differently 
 brought up." 
 
 " She has been well brought up, you 
 might have added," observed the doctor, 
 " had modesty permitted it. Mrs. Mow- 
 bray, poor woman, had good intentions ; 
 but she was too flighty. Had Adeline, 
 my children, had such a mother as yours, 
 she would have been like you." 
 
 " But not half so handsome," inter- 
 rupted the mother in a low voice. 
 
 " But as our faults and our virtues, my 
 , dear, depend so much on the care and 
 
 instruction
 
 30 
 
 Instruction of others, we should look witH 
 pity as well as aversion on the faults of 
 those less fortunate in instructors than we 
 have been." 
 
 " Certainly; — very true," said Mrs. 
 Norberry, flattered and affected by this 
 compliment from her husband : " but 
 you know, James Norberry," laying her 
 hand on his, " 1 always told you you 
 over-rated Mrs. Mowbray ; and that she 
 was but a dawdle, after all." 
 
 " You always did, my good woman," 
 replied he, raising her hand to his lips. 
 
 " But you men think yourselves so 
 much wiser than we are 1" 
 
 " We do so," replied the doctor. 
 
 The tone was equivocal— Mrs. Nor- 
 berry felt it to be so, and looked up in 
 his face. — ^The doctor understood the 
 look : it was one of doubt and inquiry; 
 and, as it was his interest to sooth her 
 in order to carry his point, he exclaimed, 
 
 "We
 
 Si 
 
 " We men are, indeed, too apt to pride 
 ourselves in our supposed superior wisdom: 
 but I, you will own, my dear, have al- 
 ways done your sex justice ; and you in 
 particular." 
 
 " You have been a good husband, in- 
 deed, James Norberry," replied his wife 
 in a faltering voice ; " and I believe you to 
 be, to every one, a just and honourable 
 
 man." 
 
 *' And I dare say, dame, I do no more 
 than juflice to you, when I think you will 
 approve and further a plan for Adeline 
 Mowbray's good, which I am going to 
 propose to you." 
 
 Mrs. Norberry withdrew her hand; 
 but returning it again : — *' To be sure, 
 my dear," she cried. " Any thing you 
 wish ; that is, if I see right to " 
 
 " I will explain myself," condnued the 
 doctor gently. 
 
 " I have promised this poor girl to en- 
 deavour
 
 deavour to bring about a reconciliation 
 between her and her mother : but though 
 Adeline wishes to receive her pardon on 
 any terms, and even, if it be required, to 
 renounce her lover, I fear Mrs. Mowbray 
 is too much incensed against her, to see 
 or forgive her." 
 
 " Hard-hearted woman !'^ cried Mrs. 
 Norberry. 
 
 " Cruel, indeed 1" cried her daughters. 
 
 " But a mother ought to be severe, 
 very severe, on such occasions, young 
 ladies," haftily added Mrs. Norberry : 
 " but go on, my dear." 
 
 " Now it is but too probable," conti- 
 nued the doctor, " that Glenmurray will 
 not live long, and then this young crea- 
 ture will be left to struggle unprotected 
 with the difficulties of her situation ; and 
 who knows but that she may, from poverty 
 and the want of a protector, be tempted to 
 continue in the paths of vice ?" 
 
 " Well,
 
 33 
 
 *' Well, Dr. Norberry, and what then ? 
 ■ — Who or what is to prevent it ? — You 
 know we have three children to provide 
 for ; and I am a young woman as yet." 
 
 " True, Hannah," giving her a kiss, 
 " and a very pretty v/oman too." 
 
 '' Well, my dear love, any thing v/e 
 can do with prudence I am ready to do ; 
 I can say no more." 
 
 "You have said enough," cried the dec- 
 tor exultingly; " then hear my plan: Ade- 
 line shall, in the event of Glenmurray's 
 death, which though not certain seems 
 
 likelv to be sure, I could not inquire 
 
 into the nature of his nocturnal perspira- 
 tions, his expectoration, and so forth " 
 
 " Dear papa, you are so professional!" 
 affectedly exclaimed his youngest daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " Well, child, I have done ; and to 
 return to my subject : —if Glenmurray 
 lives or dies, I think it advisable that Ade- 
 
 VOL. 1!. D liie
 
 34 
 
 line should go into retirement to lie-in. 
 And where can she be better than in my 
 little cottage now empty, within a four 
 miles ride of our house ? If she wants 
 protection, I can protect her ; and if she 
 wants money before her mother forgives 
 her, you can give it to her." 
 
 " Indeed, papa," cried both the girls, 
 *' we shall not grudge it." 
 
 The doctor started from his chair, and 
 embraced his daughters with joy mixed 
 with wonder ; for he knev/ they had al- 
 . ways disliked Adeline. — True; but then 
 she was prosperous, and their superior. 
 Little minds love to bestow protection ; 
 and it was easy to be generous to the fallen 
 Adeline Mowbray : had her happiness 
 continued, so would their hatred. 
 
 *' Then it is a settled point, is it not, 
 dame ?" asked the doctor, chucking his 
 wife under the chin ; when, to hiL^ great 
 surprise and consternation, she threw his 
 
 hand
 
 liand indignantly from her, and vociferated, 
 " She shall never live within a ride £)f our 
 house, I can assure you, Dr. Norberry." 
 
 The doctor was petrified into silence, 
 and the girls could only articulate " La 1 
 mamma!'* But what could produce this 
 -sudden and violent change ? Nothing 
 but a simple and natural operation of the 
 human mind. Though a very kind hus- 
 band, and an indulgent father, Dr. Nor- 
 berry was suspected of being a very gallant 
 man : and some of Mrs. Norberry's good- 
 natured friends had occasionally hinted to 
 her their sorrow at hearing such .and such 
 reports ; reports which were indeed desti- 
 tute of foundation : but which served to 
 excite suspicions in the mind of the tena- 
 cious Mrs. Norberry. And what more likely 
 to re-awaken them than the voung and 
 frail Adeline Mowbray living in a cottage 
 of her husband's, protected, supported, 
 and visited by him ! The moment this 
 D 2 ijra 
 
 m
 
 36 
 idea occurred, irs influence was uncon* 
 querable ; and with a voice and manner 
 of determined hostility she made knowri 
 her resolves in consequence of it. 
 
 After a pause of dismay and astonish- 
 ment the doctor cried, " Zounds, dame, 
 what have you gotten in your head ? 
 What, aii on a sudden, has had such a 
 cursed ugly effect on you?" 
 
 " vSecond thoughts are best, doctor ; 
 and I now feel that it would be highly 
 improper for you, with daughters grown 
 wyj, to receive with such marked kindness, 
 a young wom.an at a cottage of yours, 
 who is going to lie-in of a bastard child." 
 
 " But, sdeath, my dear, it is a difler- 
 ent case, when I do it to keep her out of 
 the way of having any more." 
 
 " That is more than I know. Dr. Nor- 
 berry," replied the wife bridling, and 
 fanniiig herself. ^^ j|^ 
 
 " Whew!' whiflied' the doctor ; and 
 
 then
 
 S7 
 
 then addressing his daughters, " Girls, you 
 had better go to bed ; it grows late." 
 
 The young ladies obeyed ; but first 
 hung round their mother's neck, as they 
 bade her good night, and hoped she would 
 not be so cruel to the poor deluded Ade- 
 line. 
 
 Mrs. Norberry angrily shook them ofF, 
 with a peevish — " Get along, girls." The 
 doctor cordially kissed, and bade God 
 bless them ; while the door closed and left 
 the loving couple alone. 
 ^ What passed it were tedious to repeat : 
 suffice that after a long altercation, conti- 
 nued even after they were retired to rest, 
 the doctor found his wife, on this subject, 
 incapable of listening to reason, and that, 
 as a finishing stroke, she exclaimed " It 
 does not signify talking. Dr. Norberry," 
 (pushing her pillow vehemently towards 
 the valance as she spoke,) " while I have 
 my senses, and can see mto a mill-stone 
 
 a little,
 
 58 
 
 a little, the hussey shall never come near 
 us/' 
 
 The doctor sighed deeply ; turned him- 
 self round, not to sleep but to think, and 
 rose unrefreshed the next morning to go 
 in search of Mrs. Mowbray, dreading 
 the interview which he was afterwards to 
 have with Adeline ; for he did not expect 
 to succeed in his application to her mo- 
 ther, and he could not now soften his in- 
 telligence with a ' but,' as he intended. 
 " True," he meant to have said to h 
 *' your mother will not receive you ; but 
 if you ever want a home or a place of 
 retirement, I have a cottage, and so 
 forth." 
 
 " Pshaw!" cried the doctor to himself, 
 as these thoughts came across him on the 
 road, and made him hastily let down the 
 front window of the post-chaise for air. 
 
 " Did your honour speak?" cries the 
 post-boy. 
 ,A « Not 
 
 .ik
 
 ^9 
 
 ^' Not I. But can't you drive faster 
 and be hanged to you ?" 
 
 The boy whipped his horses. — The doc- 
 tor then found that it was up hill — down 
 went the glass again: — " Zounds, you 
 brute, why, do you not see it is up hill ?' ' — 
 For find fault he must ; and with his wife 
 he could not, or dared not, even in fancy. 
 
 " Dear me ! Why, your honour bade 
 me put on." 
 
 " Devilishly obedient," muttered the 
 doctor : " I wish every one was like you 
 '•*' in that respect." — And in a state of mind 
 not the pleasantest possible the doctor 
 drove into town, and to the hotel where 
 Mrs. Mowbray was to be found. 
 
 Dr. Norberry was certainly now not in 
 a humour to sc^th any woman whom he 
 thought in the wrong, except his wife ; 
 and, whether from carelessness or design, 
 . he did not, unfo]^unately for Adeline, ma- 
 nage the self-love of her unhappy mother. 
 
 He
 
 40 
 
 He found Mrs. Mowbray with her 
 heart shut up, not softened by sorrow. 
 The hands once stretched forth with kind- 
 ness to welcome him, w^re now stiffly laid 
 one upon the other ; and " How are you, 
 sir ?" coldly articulated, was followed by 
 as cold a " Pray sit down.'' 
 
 " Zounds ! —Why, how ill you look I** 
 exclaimed the doctor bluntly, 
 
 " I attend more to my feelings than my 
 looks," with a deep sigh answered Mrs. 
 Mowbray. 
 
 " Your feelings are as bad as youf'*. 
 looks, I dare say." 
 
 " They are worse, sir,'' said Mrs. Mow- 
 bray, piqued. 
 
 " There was no need of that^*' re- 
 plied the doctor : " but I am come to 
 point out to you one way of getting rid 
 of some of your unpleasant feelings : — see, 
 and forgive your daughter.'* 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray started, changed colour, 
 
 and
 
 41 
 
 and exclaimed with quickness, " Is she 
 in England?" but added instantly, " I 
 have no daughter: — she, who was my 
 child, is my most inveterate foe ; she has 
 involved me in disgrace and misery." 
 
 " With a litde of your own help she 
 has,'* replied the doctor. " Come, come, 
 my old friend, you have both of you 
 something to forget and forgive ; and the 
 sooner you set about it the better. Now 
 do write, and tell Adeline, who is by 
 this time in London, that you forgive 
 her." 
 
 '' Never : — after having promised me 
 not to hold converse with that villain with- 
 out my consent ? Had I no other cause of 
 complaint against her ; — had she not by 
 her coquettish arts seduced the affecdons 
 of the man I loved ; — never, never would 
 I forgive her having violated the sacred 
 promise which she gave me." 
 
 *^ A promise,'* interrupted the doctor, 
 
 *^ which
 
 42 
 ** which she would never have violated,' 
 had not you first violated that sacred com- 
 pact which you entered into at her birth." 
 
 " What mean you, sir ?" 
 
 " I mean, that though a parent does 
 riot, at a child's birth, solemnly make a 
 vow to do all in his or her power to pro^^ 
 mote the happiness of that child, — still, as 
 he has given it birth, he has tacitly bound 
 himself to make it happy. This tacit 
 agreement you broke, when at the age of 
 forty, you, regardless of your daughter's- 
 welfare, played the fool and married it 
 pennyless profligate, merely because he 
 had a fine person and a handsome leg.'' 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray was too angry and too 
 agitated to interrupt him, and he went 
 on : 
 
 " Well ; what was the consequence ? 
 The young fellow very naturally preferred 
 the daughter to the mother ; and, as he 
 could not have her by fair, was resolved 
 
 to
 
 
 
 
 
 4S 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 to 
 
 have 
 
 hef 
 
 by 
 
 foul 
 
 means ; 
 
 and 
 
 so 
 
 he- 
 
 '» 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 " I beg, Dr. Norberry,'* interrupted 
 Mrs. Mowbray in a faint voice, " that 
 you would spare the disgusting recital." 
 
 " Well, well, I will. Now do con- 
 sider the dilemma your child v(^as in : she 
 must either elope, or by her presence keep 
 alive a criminal passion in her father-in- 
 law, which you sooner or later must dis- 
 cover; and be besides exposed to fresh 
 insults. — Well, Glenmurray by chance 
 happened to be on the spot just as 
 she escaped from that villanous fellow's 
 clutches, and " 
 
 " He is dead. Dr. Norberry,*' inter- 
 rupted Mrs. Mowbray ; " and you know 
 the old adage. Do not speak ill of the 
 dead." 
 
 " And a devilish silly adage it is. I 
 had rather speak ill of the dead than the 
 living, for my part : but let me go on. — 
 
 Well,
 
 44 
 
 Well, love taking the name and habit of 
 prudence and filial piety, (for she thought 
 she consulted your happiness, and not her 
 own,) bade her fly to and with her lover j 
 and now there she is, owing to the pretty 
 books which you let her read, living with 
 , him as his mistress, and glorying in it, 
 as if it was a notable praise-worthy 
 action." 
 
 *' And you would have me forgive 
 her r 
 
 "-Certainly : a fault which both your 
 precepts and conduct occasioned. Not but 
 what the girl has been wrong — terribly 
 wrong: — no one ought to do evil that 
 good may come. You had forbidden her 
 to have any intercourse with Glenmurray; 
 and she therefore knew that disobeying 
 you would make you unhappy — that w^as 
 a certainty. That fellow's persevering in 
 his attempts, after the fine rebuff which she 
 had givea him, was an uncertainty j and 
 
 she
 
 45 
 
 she ouglit to have run the risk of it, and 
 not committed a positive fault to avoid a 
 possible evil. But then hers was a fault 
 which she could not have committed had 
 not you married that d — d dog. And as 
 to her not being married to Glenmurray^ 
 that is no fault of his : the good lad looks 
 as ashamed of what. he has done as any 
 modest miss in Christendom ; and, with 
 your consent, will man-y your daughter 
 to-morrow morning. Lord ! Lord ! that 
 ever so good, cleanly-hearted a youth 
 should have poked his nose into the filthy 
 mess of eccentric philosophy V* 
 
 " Have you done, doctor?" cried Mrs. 
 Mowbray haughtily : " have you said all 
 that miss Mov^^bray and you have invented 
 to insult me ?'' 
 
 " Your child send me to insult you !— 
 She! — Adeline! — Why, the poor soul 
 came broken-hearted and post haste from 
 
 France,
 
 46 
 
 France when she heard of your misfor- 
 tunes, to offer her services to console you." 
 " She console me? — she, the first 
 occasion of them?— But for her, I mioht 
 still have indulged the charming delusion, 
 even if it vi^ere delusion, that love of me, 
 not of my wealth, induced the man I 
 doted upon to commit a crime to gain 
 possession of me/' 
 
 " Why, zounds!" hastily interrupted 
 the do£tor, " every one saw that he 
 loved her long before he married you." 
 
 The storm, long gathering, now burst 
 forth; and rising, with the tears, high 
 colour, and vehement voice of unbridled 
 passion, Mrs. Mowbray exclaimed, raising 
 her arm and clenching her fist as she 
 spoke, " And it is being the object of 
 that cruel preference, w^hich 1 never, ne- 
 ver will forgive her !" 
 
 The doctor, after ejaculating '* Whew !" 
 
 as
 
 47 
 
 as much as to say " The murder is out^*' 
 instantly took his hat and departed, con- 
 vinced his labour was vain. *^ Zounds 1" 
 muttered he as he went down stairs, 
 " two instances in one day ! Ah, ah ! — 
 that jealousy is the devil." He then slovviy 
 walked to the hotel, where he expected 
 to find Adeline and Glenmurray. 
 
 They had ariived about two hours be- 
 fore ; and Adeline in a frame of mind but 
 ill fitted to bear the disappointment which 
 av/aited her. For, with the sanguine ex- 
 pectations natural to her age, she had been 
 castle-building as usual ; and their journey 
 to London had been rendered a very short 
 one, by the delightful plans, for the fu- 
 ture, which she had been forming and 
 imparting to Glenmurray. 
 
 " When I consider," said she, " the 
 love which my mother has always shovm 
 for me, I cannot think it possible that she 
 can persist in renouncing mej and however 
 
 her
 
 4S 
 
 her respect for the prejudices of the world, 
 a world which she intended to live in at the 
 time of her unfortunate connexion, might 
 make her angry at my acting in defiance 
 of its laws, — now that she herself, from a 
 sense of injury and disgrace, is about to 
 retire from it, she will no longer have a 
 motive to act contrary to the dictates of 
 reason herself, or to wish me to do so." 
 '^ But your ideas of reason and hers 
 
 may be so different '' 
 
 '' No. Our practice may be different, 
 but our theory is the same, and 1 have 
 no doubt but that my mother will now for- 
 give and receive us ; and that, living in a 
 romantic solitude, being the whole world 
 to each other, our days will glide away 
 in uninterrupted felicity." 
 
 " And how shall we employ our- 
 selves ?'* said Glenmurray smiling. 
 
 " You shall continue to write for the 
 instruction of your fellow-creatures j while 
 
 my
 
 49 
 
 my mother and I shall be employed in en- 
 deavouring to improve the situation of the 
 poor around us, and perhaps in educating 
 our children." 
 
 Adeline, when animated by any pro« 
 spect of happiness, was irresistible : she 
 was really Hope herself, as described by 
 Collins — 
 
 '* But thou, oh Hope ! with eyes so fair. 
 What was thy dehghted measure !'* 
 
 and Glenmurray, as he listened to her, for- 
 got his illness; forgot every thing, but what 
 Adeline chose to imagine. The place of 
 their retreat was fixed upon. It was to be 
 a little village near Falmouth, the scene of 
 their first happiness. The garden was laid 
 out ; Mrs, Mov/bray's library planned ; 
 and so cc)nipletely were they lost in their 
 charming prospects for the future, that 
 every tarnpike-man had to wait a longer 
 time than b.e w^as accustomed to for his 
 money ; and the postillion had driven 
 VOL. II. E into
 
 50 
 
 into London In the way to the hotel, be- 
 fore Adelme recollected that she was, for 
 the first time, in a city which she had long 
 wished most ardently to see. 
 . They had scarcely taken up their abode 
 at the hotel recommended to them by Dr. 
 Norberry, when he knocked at the door. 
 Adeline from the window had seen him 
 coming ; and sure as she thought her- 
 self to be of her mother's forgiveness, 
 she turned sick and faint when the deci- 
 sive moment was at hand ; and, hurrying 
 out of the room, she begged Glenmurray 
 to receive the doctor, and apologize for 
 her absence. 
 
 Glenmurray awaited him with a beating 
 heart. He listened to his step on the stairs: 
 it was slow and heavy ; unhke that of a 
 benevolent man coming to communicate 
 good news. Glenmurray began Immedi- 
 ately to tremble for the peace of Adeline j 
 and, hastily pouring out a glass of wine^ 
 
 was
 
 51 
 
 was on the point of drinking it when 
 Dr. NorbeiTy entered. 
 , " Gadzooks, give me a glass," cried 
 he: ^' I want one, I am sure, to recruit 
 my ' spiritG." Glenmurray in silence com- 
 plied with his desire. " Come, I'll give 
 
 you a toast/' cried the doctor: " here 
 
 » '.1 
 
 IS 
 
 At this moment Adeline entered. She 
 had heard the doctor's last words, and she 
 thought he was going to drink to the re- 
 conciliation of her mother and herself; and 
 hastily opening thedoor she came to recon- 
 ceive the good news which awaited her. 
 But, at sight of her, the toast died unfi- 
 nished on her old friend's lips ; he swal- 
 lowed down the wine in silence, and 
 then taking her hand led her to the 
 sofa. 
 
 Adeline's heart began to die within her ; 
 
 and before the doctor, after having taken 
 
 a pinch of snuff, and blowed his nose full 
 
 E 2 three
 
 5^ 
 
 three times, was prepared to speak, she 
 was convinced that she had nothing but 
 unwelcome intelligence to receive \ and 
 $he awaited in trembling expectation an 
 answer to a " Well, sir," from Glen- 
 murray spoken in a tone of fearful emo- 
 tion, 
 
 " No,, it is not well, sir," replied the 
 doctor ; " it is d d ill, sir." 
 
 " You have seen my mother," said 
 Adeline, catching hold of the arm of the 
 sofa for support ; and in an instant Glen- 
 Riurray was by her side. 
 
 " 1 have seen Mrs. Mowbray, but not 
 ycur mother : for I have seen a wom.an 
 dead to every graceful impulse of mater- 
 nal afTectlor, and alive only to a selfish 
 sense of rivalship and hatred. My poor 
 child ! Goi forgive the deluded woman ! 
 But I declare she detests you !" 
 
 " Detests m^ ?"' exclaimed Adeline. 
 
 " Yes f she swears that she can never 
 
 forgive
 
 53 
 
 forgive the preference which that vile fel- 
 low gave you, and I am convinced that 
 she will keep her word ; and— Lord have 
 mercy upon us !" cried the doctor, turn- 
 ing round and seeing the situation into 
 which his words had thrown Adeline, who 
 was then lying immoveable in Glenmur- 
 ray's arms. But she did not long remain 
 so, and with a frantic scream kept re- 
 peating the words " She detests me I" till, 
 unable to contend any longer with the 
 acuteness of her feelings, she sunk, sob- 
 bing convulsively, exhausted on the bed 
 to which they carried her. 
 
 <« My good friend, my only friend," 
 cried Glenmurray, " what is to be done ? 
 Will she scream again, think you, in 
 that most dreadful and unheard-of man- 
 ner ? For, if she does, I must run out of 
 the house." 
 
 *^ What, theRj she never treated you in 
 this pretty way before, heh ?'' 
 
 " Never,
 
 54 
 
 ■ " Never, never. Her self-commantl 
 has always been exemplary." 
 
 " Indeed ? — Lucky fellow } My wife 
 and daughters often scream just as loud, 
 on very triBlng occasions : but that scream 
 went to my heart j for I well know how 
 to distinguish between the shriek of agony 
 and that of passion."' 
 
 When Adeline recovered, she ardently 
 conjured Dr. Norberry to procure her an 
 interview with her mother ; contending 
 that it was absolutely impossible to sup- 
 pose, that the sight of a child so long and 
 tenderly loved should not renew a little 
 of her now dormant affection. 
 
 " But you were her rival, as well as 
 her child : remxeimber that. However, you 
 look £0 ill, that now, if ever, she will 
 forgive you, I think : therefore I will go 
 back to Mrs. Mowbray ; and while I am 
 there do you come, ask for me, and foU 
 low the servant into the room." 
 
 « I will/*
 
 55 
 
 " I will," replied Adeline : and lean- 
 ing on the arm of her lover, she slowly 
 followed the doctor to her mother's ho- 
 tel. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 56 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ^ 1 HIS IS the most awful moment of my 
 life,*' said Adeline. 
 
 *^ And the most anxious one of mine," 
 replied Glenmurray. " If Mrs. Mowbray 
 forgives you, it will be probably on con- 
 dition that *' 
 
 *' Whatever be the conditions, I must 
 accept them," said Adeline. 
 
 " True," returned Glenmurray, wiping 
 the cold dews of weakness from his fore- 
 head : " but no matter — at any rate, I 
 should not have been with you long." 
 
 Adeline, with a look of agony, pressed 
 the arm she held to her bosom. 
 
 Glenmurray's heart smote him imme- 
 diately—he felt he had been ungene- 
 rous ; and, while the hectic of a moment 
 passed across his cheek, he added, " But 
 
 I do
 
 SI 
 
 I do not do myself justice in saying so. I 
 believe my best chance of recovery is the 
 certainty of your being easy. Let me but 
 see you happy, and so disinterested is my 
 affection, as I have often told you, that I 
 shall cheerfully assent to any thing that 
 may ensure your happiness." 
 
 *' And can you think,*' answered Ade- 
 line, *'that my happiness can be inde- 
 pendent of yours ? Do you not see that 
 I am only trying to prepare my mind for 
 being called upon to surrender my incli- 
 nations to my duty V 
 
 At this moment they found themselves 
 at the door of the hotel. Neither of 
 them spoke ; the moment of trial was 
 come ; and both were unable to encoun- 
 ter it firmly. At last Adeline grasped her 
 lover's hand, bade him wait for her at the 
 end of the sjifeet, and with some degree 
 of firmness she entered the vestibule, and 
 asked for Dr. Norberry-. 
 
 Dr.
 
 58 
 
 Dr. ' Norbeny, meanwhile, with the 
 best intentions in the world, had but ill 
 prepared Mrs. Mowbray's mind for the 
 intended visit. He had again talked to 
 her of her daughter, and urged the pro- 
 priety of forgiving her ; but he had at the 
 same time renewed his animadversions on 
 her own conduct. 
 
 " You know not, Dr. Norberry,'^ ob- 
 served Mrs. Mowbray, " the pains I took 
 with the education of that girl ; and I ex- 
 pected to be repaid for it by being styled 
 the happiest as well as best of mothers." 
 
 " And so you would, perhaps, had you 
 not wished to be a wife as well as mother.'* 
 
 " No more on that subject, sir," haugh- 
 tily returned Mrs. Mowbray. — " Yes,— 
 Adeline was indeed my joy, my pride." 
 
 " Aye, and pride will have a fail ; and 
 a devilish tumble yours has had, to be sure, 
 my old friend. Zounds, it has broke its 
 knees — never to be sound again." 
 
 At
 
 59 
 
 At this unpropitlous moment " a lady 
 to Dr. Norberry" was announced, and 
 Adeline tottered into the room. 
 
 " What strange intrusion is this ?" cried 
 Mrs. Mowbray : " who is this woman ?*' 
 
 Adeline threw back her veil, and, fall- 
 ing on her knees, stretched out her arms 
 in an attitude of entreaty : speak she could 
 not, but her countenance was sufficiently 
 expressive of her meaning ; and her pale 
 sunk cheek spoke forcibly to the heart of 
 her mother. — At this moment, when a 
 struggle which might have ended favour^ 
 ably for Adeline was taldng place in the 
 mmd of Mrs. Mowbray, Dr. Norberry 
 injudiciously exclaimed, 
 
 " There, — there she is ! Look at her, 
 poor soul ! There is little fear, I think, of 
 her ever rivalling you again." 
 
 At these words Mrs. Mowbray darted 
 an angry look at the doctor, and desired 
 him to take away that woman , who came, 
 
 no
 
 60 
 
 tio doubt instigated by him, to insult her. 
 ^' Take her away," she cried, " and never 
 let me see her again." 
 
 " O my mother, hear me, in pity hear 
 me!" exclaimed Adeline. 
 
 ** As it is for the last time, I will hear 
 you," replied Mrs. Mowbray ; "for ne- 
 ver, no never will I behold you more ! 
 Hear me vow '* 
 
 " Mother, for God's sake, make not 
 a vow so terrible !" cried Adeline, gather- 
 ing courage from despair, and approaching 
 her : " I have grievously erred, and will 
 cheerfully devote the rest of my life to en- 
 deavour, by the most submissive obedience 
 and attention, to atone for my past guilt." 
 
 " Atone for it ! Impossible; for the mi- 
 sery which I owe to you, no submission, 
 no future conduct can make me amends. 
 Away ! I say : your presence conjures up 
 recollections which distract me, and I so- 
 lemnly swear——*"'* 
 
 « Hold,
 
 61 
 
 '^ Hold, hold, if you have any mercy 
 in your nature," cried Adeline almost 
 frantic : " this is, I feel but too sensibly, 
 the most awful and important moment of 
 my life ; on the result of this interview 
 depends my future happiness or misery. 
 Hear me, O my mother ! You, who can 
 «o easily resolve to tear the heart of a 
 child that adores you, hear me ! reflect 
 that, if you vow to abandon me for ever, 
 you blast all the happiness and prospects 
 of my life ; and at nineteen 'tis hard to 
 be deprived of happiness for ever. True, 
 I may not long survive the anguish of 
 being renounced by my mother, a mo- 
 ther whom I love with even enthusiastic 
 fondness ; but then could you ever know 
 peace again with the conviction of having 
 caused my death ? Oh ! no. Save then 
 yourself and me from these miseries, by 
 forgiving my past error?, and deigning 
 sometimes to see and coaverse with me 1" 
 
 The
 
 62 
 
 ITie eager and animated volubility with 
 which Adeline spoke made it impossible to 
 interrupt her, even had Mrs. Mowbray been 
 inclined to do so: but she was not j nor, 
 \vhen Adeline had done speaking, could 
 she find in her heart to break silence. 
 
 It w^as evident to Dr. Norberry that 
 Mrs. Mowbray's countenance expressed a 
 degree of softness w^hich augured w^ll 
 for her daughter; and, as if conscious that 
 it did so, she covered her face suddenly 
 with her handkerchief. 
 
 " Now then is the time," thought the 
 doctor. " Go nearer her, my child," said 
 he in a low voice to Adeline, " embrace 
 her knees.'^ 
 
 Adeline rose, and approached Mrs. 
 Mowbray : she seized her hand, she pres- 
 sed it to her lips. Mrs. Mowbray's bosom 
 heaved violently : she almost returned the 
 pressure of Adeline's hand. 
 
 " Victory, victory !" muttered the doc- 
 tor
 
 65 
 
 tor to himself, cutting a caper behind Mrs. 
 Mowbray's chair. 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray took the handkerchief 
 from her face. 
 
 " My mother, my dear mother! look 
 on me, look on me with kindness only one 
 moment, and only say that you do not hate 
 me!" 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray turned round and fixed 
 her eyes on Adeline with a look of kind- 
 ness, and Adeline's began to sparkle with 
 delight ; when, as she threw back her cloak, 
 which, hanging over her arm, embarrassed 
 her as she knelt to embrace her mother's 
 knees, Mrs. Mowbray's eyes glanced from 
 her face to her shape. 
 
 In an instant the fierceness of her look 
 returned : " Shame to thy race, disgrace 
 to thy family!" she exclaimed, spurnino- 
 her kneeling child from her : " and canst 
 tliou, while conscious of carrying in thy 
 
 bosom
 
 64 
 
 !>osom the proof of thy infamy, dare to 
 solicit and expect my pardon ? — Hence ! 
 ere I load thee with maledictions.'* 
 
 Adeline wrapped her cloak round her, 
 and sunk terrified and desponding on the 
 ground. 
 
 " Why, what a ridiculous caprice is 
 this I" cried the doctor. " Is it a greater 
 €rime to be in a family w^ay, than to live 
 with a man as his mistress ? — You knew 
 your daughter had done the last : therefore 
 'tis nonsense to be so affected at the for- 
 mer. — Come, come, forget and forgive !" 
 
 " Never: and if you do not leave the 
 house with her this moment, I will not 
 stay in it» My injuries are so great that 
 they cannot admit forgiveness.'' 
 
 " What a horrible, unforgiving spirit 
 yours must be !" cried Dr. Norberry : 
 " and after all, I tell you again, that Ade- 
 line has something to forgive and forget 
 
 too ;
 
 65 
 
 too ; and she sets you an exaniple of 
 christian chanty in coming hither to con- 
 sole and comfort you, poor forsaken wo- 
 man as you are !" 
 
 " Forsaken!" exclaimed Mrs. Mow- 
 bray : " aye ; why, and for. u'hom, was I 
 forsaken ? There's the pang I and yet 
 you wonder rhat I cannot instantly forgive 
 and receive the woman v/ho injured me 
 where I was most vulnerable." 
 
 " O my mother!" cried Adeline, al- 
 most indignantly, " and can that w'retch, 
 though dead, still have power to influence 
 my fete in this dreadful manner ? and can 
 you still regret the loss of the affection of 
 that man, w^hose addresses were a dis- 
 grace to you ?" 
 
 At these unguarded words, and too just 
 reproaches, Mrs. Mowbray lost all self- 
 command ; and, in a voice almost in- 
 articulate with rage, exclaimed: — " I 
 loved that wretch, as you are pleased to 
 
 VOL. II. r call
 
 call him. I gloried in the addresses whicli 
 you are pleased to call my disgrace. But 
 he loved you — he left me for you — and 
 on your account he made me endure the 
 pangs of being forsaken, and despised by 
 the man whom I adored. Then mark my 
 words: I solemnly swear," dropping on her 
 knees as she spoke, " and I call on God ta 
 witness my oath, by all my hopes of hap- 
 piness hereafter, that until you shall have 
 experienced the anguish of being forsaken 
 and despised as I have been, till you shaU 
 be as wretched in love, and as disgraced in 
 the eye of the world, I never will see you 
 more, or pardon your many sins against me 
 — No — not even were you on your death- 
 bed. Yet, no ; I am wrong there — Yes; 
 on your death-bed,'* she added, her voice 
 faltering as she spoke, and passion giving 
 way in a degree to the dictates of returning 
 nature, — " yes, there ; there I should— 
 I should forgive you." 
 
 « Then
 
 67 
 
 *' Then I feel that you will forgive me 
 soon/' fliintly articulated Adeline sinking- 
 on the ground ; while Mrs. Mowbray was 
 leaving the room, and Dr. Norberry was 
 standing motionless with horror, from 
 the rash oath which he had just heard. 
 But Adeline's fall aroused him from his 
 stupor. 
 
 " For God's sake, do not go and leave 
 your daughter dying !" cried he : " your 
 vow does not forbid you to continue to 
 see her now." Mrs. Mowbray turned 
 back, and started with horror at beholding 
 the countenance of Adeline. 
 
 " Is she really dying ?" cried she 
 eagerly, " and have I killed her ?" These 
 words, spoken in a faltering tone, and 
 with a look of anxiety, seemed to recall 
 the fleeting spirit of Adeline. She looked 
 up at her mother, a sort of smile quivered 
 on her lip ; and faintly articulating " I am 
 better," she burst into a convulsive flood 
 F 2 of
 
 68 
 
 ef tears, and laid her head on the bosom 
 of her compassionate friend. 
 
 " She will do now," cried he exult- 
 ingly to Mrs. Mowbray : " you need 
 alarm yourself no longer." 
 
 But alarm was perhaps a feeling of 
 enjoyment, to the sensations which then 
 took possession of Mrs. Mowbray. The 
 apparent danger of Adeline had awakened 
 her long dormant tenderness : but she 
 had just bound herself by an oath not to 
 give way to it, except under circumstances 
 the most unwelcome and affecting, and 
 had therefore embittered her future 
 days with remorse and unavailing regret. 
 — ^For some minutes she stood look- 
 ing wildly and mournfully on Adeline, 
 longing to clasp her to her bosom, and 
 pronounce her pardon, but not daring to 
 violate her oath. At length, " I cannot 
 bear this torment," slie exclaimed, and 
 rushed out of the room : and when in 
 
 another
 
 69 
 
 another apartment, she recollected, and 
 uttered a scream of agony as she did so, 
 that she had seen Adeline probably for 
 the last time; for, voluntarily, she was now 
 to see her no more. 
 
 The same recollection occurred to Ade- 
 line ; and as the door closed on her 
 mother, she raised herself up, and looked 
 eagerly to catch the last ghmpse of her 
 gown, as the door shut it from her sight. 
 *' Let us go away directly now," said she, 
 '' for the air of this room is not good for 
 me." 
 
 The doctor, affected beyond measure 
 at the expression of quiet despair with 
 which she spoke, went out to order a 
 coach ; and Adeline instantly rose, and 
 kissed with fond devotion the chair on 
 which her mother had sat. Suddenly she 
 heard a deep sigh — it came from the 
 next room — perhaps it came from her 
 mother j perhaps she could still see her 
 
 again
 
 again : and with cautious step she knelt 
 down and looked through the key-hole of 
 the door. 
 
 She did see her mother once more. 
 Mrs. Mowbray was lying on the bed, 
 beating the ground with her foot, and 
 sighing as if her heart would break. 
 
 *^' O ! that I dare go in to her!" said 
 Adeline to herself: " but I can at least bid 
 her farewell here.'' She then put her 
 mouth to the aperture, and exclaimed, 
 *' Mother, dearest mother! since we 
 meet now for the last time — " (Mrs. 
 Mowbray started from the bed) " let 
 me thank you for all the affection, all 
 the kindness which you lavished on me 
 during eighteen happy years. I shall 
 never cease to love and pray for you." 
 (Mrs. Mowbray sobbed aloud.) "Perhaps, 
 you will some day or other think you 
 have been harsh to me, and may wish 
 that you had not taken so cruel a vow.'* 
 
 (Mrs.
 
 71 
 (Mrs. Mowbray beat her breast in agony : 
 the moment of repentance was already 
 come.) " It may therefore be a comfort 
 to you at such moments to know that I 
 sincerely, and from the bottom of my 
 heart, forgive this rash action : — and now, 
 my dearest m^other, hear my parting 
 prayers for your happiness !*' 
 
 At this moment a noise in the next 
 room convinced Adeline that her mother 
 had fallen down in a fainting fit, and the 
 doctor entered the room. 
 
 ^' What have I done ?" she exclaimed. 
 ^' Go to her this instant.'* — He obeyed. 
 Raising up Mrs. Mowbray in his arms, he 
 laid her on the bed, while Adeline bent 
 over her in silent anguish, with all the 
 sorrow of filial anxiety. But when the 
 remedies which Dr. Norberry administer- 
 ed began to take effect, she exclaimed, 
 " For the last time ! Cruel, but most dear 
 mother!" and pressed her head to her 
 
 bosom,
 
 72 
 
 bosom, and kissed her pale lips with almost 
 frantic emotion. , 
 
 Mrs. Mowbray opened her eyes : they 
 met those of Adeline, and instantly closed 
 again. 
 
 " She has looked at me for the last 
 time," said Adeline -, " and now this one 
 kiss, my mother, and farewell for ever !'* 
 So saying she rushed out of the room, 
 and did not stop till she reached the 
 coach, and, springing into it, was received 
 into the arms of Glenmurray. 
 
 '^ You are my all now,'' said she. 
 *' You have long been mine," replied he : 
 but respecting the anguish and disappoint- 
 nient depicted on her countenance, he 
 forbore to ask for an explanation ; and 
 resting her pale cheek on his bosom, they 
 reached the inn in silence. 
 
 Adeline had walked up and down the 
 
 room a number of times, had as often 
 
 looked out of the window, before Dr. 
 
 3 Norberry,
 
 Norberry, whom she had been anxiously 
 expecting and looking for, made his ap- 
 pearance. " Thank God, you are come 
 at last !'* said she, seizing his hand as he 
 entered. 
 
 " I left Mrs. Mowbray," replied he, 
 '' much better both in mind and body." 
 
 " A blessed hearing !** replied Ade- 
 line. 
 
 *^ And you, my child, how are you ?" 
 asked the doctor aifectionately. 
 
 " I know not yet," answered Adeline 
 mournfully : "as yet I am stunned by the 
 blow which I have received : but pray tell 
 me what has passed between you and my 
 mother since we left the hotel." 
 
 " What has passed?'' cried Dr. Nor- 
 berry, starling from his chair, taking two 
 hasty strides across the room, pulling 
 up the cape of his coat, and muttering an 
 oath between his shut teeth — " Why, 
 this passed : — The deluded woman re- 
 nounced
 
 74 
 
 'nounced her daughter; and her friend, 
 her old and faithful friend, has renounced 
 her." 
 
 " Oh ! my poor modier !" exclaimed 
 Adeline. 
 
 " Girl ! girl ! don't be foolish," re- 
 plied the doctor ; " keep your pity for 
 more deserving objects ; and, as the wisest 
 thing you can do, endeavour to forget 
 your mother." 
 
 " Forget her ! Never." 
 
 "** Well, well, you will be wiser In time ; 
 and now you shall hear all that passed. 
 When she recovered entirely, and found 
 that you were gone, she gave way to an 
 agony of sorrow, such as I never before 
 witnessed ; for I believe that I never be- 
 held before the agony of remorse." 
 
 '' My poor mother!" cried Adeline, 
 again bursting into tears. 
 
 " What ! again 1" exclaimed the doc- 
 tor. (Adeline motioned to him to go on, 
 
 and
 
 is 
 
 and h-e continued.) " At sight of this, I 
 was weak enough to pity her ; and, with 
 the greatest simplicity, I toid her, that 
 I was glad to see that she felt penitent for 
 her conduct, since penitence paved the 
 way to amendment ; when, to my great 
 surprise, all the vanished fierceness and 
 haughtiness of her look returned, and 
 she told me, that so far from repenting 
 she approved of her conduct ; and that 
 remorse had no share in her sorrow ; that 
 she wept from consciousness of misery, 
 but of misery inflicted by the faults of 
 others, not her own/' 
 
 ". Oh ! Dr. Norberry," cried Adeline 
 reproachfully, " I doubt, by awakening 
 her pride, you destroyed the tenderness 
 returning tov/ards me." 
 
 " May be so. However, so much the 
 better ; for anger is a less painful state 
 of mind to endure than that of remorse ; 
 and while she thinks herself only injured 
 
 and
 
 70 
 
 and aggrieved, she will be less un- 
 happy.'* 
 
 " Then," continued Adeline in a fal- 
 tering voice, " I care not how long she 
 hates me/' 
 
 Dr. Norberry looked at Adeline a mo- 
 ment with tears in his eyes, and evident- 
 ly gulped down a rising sob. " Good 
 child ! good child V he at length ard- 
 culated. " Yet — no. Girl, girl, your 
 virtue only heaps coals of fire on that de- 
 voted woman's head." 
 
 " For pity's sake, Dr. Norbeny!'* 
 cried Adeline. 
 
 " Well, well, I have done. But she'll 
 forget and forgive all in time, I do not 
 doubt." 
 
 " Impossible : remember her oath.^* 
 
 ^' And do you really suppose that she 
 will think herself bound to keep so silly 
 and rash an oath -, an oath made in the 
 heat of passion ?"
 
 77 
 
 " Undoubtedly I do ; and I know, 
 that were she to break it, she would never 
 be otherwise than wretched ail her life 
 after. Therefore, unless Glenmurray for- 
 sakes me (she added, trying to smile archly 
 as she spoke), and this I am not happy 
 enough to expect, I look on our separation 
 in this world to be eternal." 
 
 " You do ? — Then, poor devil, how 
 miserable she will be, when her present 
 resentment shall subside ! Well } when 
 that time comes I may perhaps see her 
 again,'' added the doctor, gulping again. 
 
 " Heaven bless you for that intention !'* 
 cried Adeline. " But how could you 
 ever have the heart to renounce her ?" 
 
 *' Zounds, girl ! you are almost as 
 provoking as your mother. Why, how 
 could I have the heart to do otherwise, 
 when she whitewashed herself and black- 
 ened you ? To be sure, it did cause me 
 - a twinge or two to do it j and had she 
 
 been
 
 78 
 been an iota less haughty, I should have 
 turned back and said, ' Kiss, and be friends 
 again.' But she seemed so provokiugly 
 anxious to get rid of me, and waved me 
 with her hand to the door in such a 
 d — d tragedy queen sort of a manner^ 
 that, having told her very civilly to go 
 to the devil her own way, I gulped down- 
 a sort of a tender choking in my throat, 
 and made as rapid an exit as possible. 
 And now another trial awaits me. I came 
 to town, at some inconvenience to myself, 
 to try to do you service. I have failed, 
 and I have now no further business here : 
 so we must part, and God knows when we 
 shall meet again. For I rarely leave home, 
 and may not see you again for years." 
 
 " Indeed!'' exclaimed Adeline. " Sure- 
 ly,'' looking at Glenmurray, " we might 
 settle in Dr. Norberry's neighbour- 
 hood ?" 
 
 Glenmurray said nothing, but looked 
 
 at
 
 79f 
 
 ■at the doctor ; who seemed confused, and 
 was silent. 
 
 " Look ye, my dear girl," said he at 
 length : " the idea of your settling near 
 me had occurred to me, but — " here 
 he took two hasty strides across the 
 room — ^' in short, that's an impossible 
 thing ; so I beg you to think no more 
 jabout it. If, indeed, you mean to marry 
 Mr. Glenmurray — " 
 
 ^' Which I shall not do," replied Ade- 
 line coldly. 
 
 " There again, now I" cried the doc- 
 tor pettishly : " you, in your way, are 
 quite as obstinate and ridiculous as your 
 mother. However, I hope you will 
 know better in time. But it grows late 
 —'tis time I should be in my chaise, and 
 I hear it driving up. Mr. GlenmuiTay," 
 continued he in an altered tone of voice, 
 " to your care and your tenderness I 
 leave this poor child : and, zounds, man ! 
 
 if
 
 80 
 
 if you will but burn your books before 
 her face, and swear they are d — d stuff, 
 why, 'sdeath, I say, I would come to 
 town on purpose to do you homage. — 
 Adeline, my child, God bless you ! I 
 have loved you from your infancy, and I 
 wish, from my soul, that I left you in a 
 better situation. But you will write to 
 me, heh ?'* 
 
 '' Undoubtedly." 
 
 " Well, one kiss : — don't be jealous, 
 Glenmurray. Your hand, man. — Woons, 
 what a hand ! My dear fellow, take care 
 of yourself, for that poor child's sake: 
 get the advice which I recommended, 
 and good air." A rising sob interrupted 
 him — he hemmed it off, and ran into his 
 chaise. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 SI 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ** JNow, then/' said Adeline, her tears 
 dropping fast as she spoke, " now, then, 
 we are alone in the world ; henceforward 
 we must be ail to each other." 
 
 " Is the idea a painful one, Adeline ?" 
 replied Glenmurray reproachfully. 
 
 " Not so," returned Adeline. "Still 
 I can't yet forget that I had a mother, and 
 a kind one too." 
 
 " And niay have again." ^ 
 
 " impossible : — there is a vow in hea- 
 ven against it. No — My plans for fu- 
 ture happiness must be laid unmindful 
 and independent of her. They must have 
 you and your happiness for their sole ob- 
 ject ; I must live for you alone : and you,'* 
 added she in a faltering voice, " must 
 live for me." 
 
 VOL. II, a. " I win
 
 ^* I will live as long as I can/' replied 
 Glenmurray sighing, " and as one step 
 towards it I shall keep early- hours : so- 
 to rest, dear Adeline, and let us forget our 
 sorrows as soon as possible." 
 
 The next morning Adeline's and Glen- 
 murray's first care was to determine on 
 their future residence. It w^as desirable 
 that it should be at a sufficient distance 
 from London, to deserve the name and 
 have the conveniencies of a country abode, 
 yet sufficiently near it for Glenmurray to^ 
 have the advice of a London physician if 
 necessary. 
 
 " Suppose we fix at Richmond ?" said 
 Glenmurray : and Adeline, to whom the 
 idea of dwelling on a spot at once so clas- 
 sical and beautiful was most welcome,, 
 joyfully consented ; and in a few days 
 they were settled there in a pleasant but 
 expensive lodging. 
 
 But here, as when abroad, Glenmur- 
 ray
 
 83 
 
 i^ay occasionally saw old acquaintances, - 
 many of whom were willing to renew 
 their intercourse with him for the sake 
 of being introduced to Adeline , and who, 
 from a knowledge of her situation, pre- 
 sumed to pay her that sort of homage, 
 which, though not understood by her, 
 gave pangs unutterable to the delicate 
 mind . of Glenmurray . " Were she my 
 wife, they dared not pay her such marked 
 attention,*' said he to himself ; and again, 
 as delicately as he could, he urged Ade- 
 line to sacrifice her principles to the pre- 
 judices of society. 
 
 " I thought," replied Adeline gravely,' 
 "that, as wfe lived for each other, we 
 might act independent of society, and 
 serve it by our example even against its 
 will." 
 
 Glenmurray was silent. — He did not 
 
 like to own how painful and mischievous 
 
 he found in practice the principles which 
 
 G 2 he
 
 84 
 
 he admired in theory — and Adeline con- 
 tinued : 
 
 '* Believe me, Glenmurray, ours is 
 the very situation calculated to urge us on 
 in the pursuit of truth. We are answer- 
 able to no one for our conduct ; and v/e 
 can make any experiments in morals that 
 we choose. I am wholly at a loss to com- 
 prehend why you persist in urging me to 
 marry you. Take care, my dear Glen- 
 murray — ^the high respect I bear your cha. 
 racter was shaken a little by your fighting 
 a duel in defiance of your principles ; and 
 your eagerness to marry, in further defi- 
 ance of them, may weaken my esteem, if 
 not my love." 
 
 Adeline smiled as she said this : but 
 Glenmurray thought she spoke more in 
 earnest than she was willing to allow; and, 
 alarmed at the threat, he only answered, 
 " You know it is for your sake merely 
 that I speak," and dropped the subject ; 
 5 secretly
 
 83 
 
 secretly ^resolving, however, that he would 
 not walk with Adeline in the fashionable 
 -promenades, at the hours commonly spent 
 there by the beau monde. 
 
 But, in spite of this precaution, they 
 Gould not escape the assiduities of some 
 gay men of fashion, who knew Glen- 
 murray and admired his companion ; and 
 Adeline at length suspected that Glcn- 
 murray was jealous. But in this she 
 wronged him ; it was not the attention 
 paid her, but the nature of it, that dis- 
 turbed I'lim. Nor is it to be wondered at 
 that Adeline herself was eager to avoid 
 the public Walks, when it is known that 
 o>ie of her admirers at Richmond was 
 the colonel Mordaunt whom she had be- 
 come acquainted with at Bath. 
 
 Colonel Mordaunt, " curst with every 
 granted prayer," v/as just beginning to 
 feel the tedium of life, when he saw Ade- 
 line unexpectedly at Richmond; and 
 
 though
 
 ^6 
 
 though he felt shocked at first, at behold- 
 ing her in so dijfferent a situation from 
 that in which he had first beheld her, still 
 that very situation, by holding forth to 
 him a prospect of being favoured by her 
 in his turn, revived his admiration with 
 more than its original violence, and he 
 resolved to be, if possible, the lover of 
 .Adeline, after Glenmurray should have 
 fallen a victim, as he had no doubt but 
 he would, to his dangerous illness. 
 
 But the opportunities which he had of 
 seeing her suddenly ceased. She no 
 longer frequented the public walks ; and 
 him, though he suspected it not, she 
 most studiously avoided ; for she could 
 not bear to behold the alteration in his 
 manner when he addressed her, an alte- 
 ration perhaps unknown to himself. True, 
 it was not insulting ; but Adeline, who 
 had admired him too much at Bath not 
 to have examined with minute attention 
 
 the
 
 87 
 the almost timid expression of his counte- 
 nance, and the respectfulness of his man- 
 ner when he addressed her, shrunk a- 
 bashed from the ardent and impassioned 
 expression with which he now met her,— 
 an expression which Adeline used to call 
 *' looking like sir Patrick ;" and which 
 indicated even to her inexperience, that 
 the admiraricn which he then felt was of 
 a nature less pure and flattering than the 
 one which she excited before ; and though 
 in her own eyes she appeared as worthy 
 of respect as ever, she was forced to own 
 even to herself, that persons in general 
 would be of a contrary opinion. 
 
 But in vain did she resolve to walk 
 very early in a morning only, being fully 
 persuaded that she should then meet 
 with no one. Colonel Mordaunt was 
 as wakeful as she was ; and being con- 
 vinced that she walked during some part 
 
 of
 
 88 
 
 of the day, and probably early in a morning, 
 he resolved to watch near the door of her 
 lodgings, in hopes to obtain an hour's con- 
 versation with her. The consequence was, 
 that he saw Adeline one morning walk pen- 
 sively and alone, down the shady road that 
 leads from the terrace to Petersham. 
 
 This opportunity was not to be over- 
 looked; and he overtook and accosted her 
 with such an expression of pleasure on 
 his countenance, as was sufficient to alarm 
 the now suspicious delicacy of Adeline ; 
 and, conscious as she was that Glenmur- 
 ray beheld colonel Mordaunt's attentions 
 with pain, a deep blush overspread her. 
 cheek at his approach, while her eyes were 
 timidly cast down. 
 
 • Colonel Mordaunt saw her emotion, and 
 attributed it to a cause flattering to his 
 vanity ; it even encouraged him to seize 
 her hand ; and, while he openly congra- 
 tulated
 
 E9 
 
 tuiated himself on his good fortune in 
 meeting her alone, he presumed to press 
 her hand to his lips, Adeline indignantly 
 withdrew it, and replied very coldly to his 
 inquiries concerning her health. 
 
 " But where have you hidden yourself 
 ktely ?" cried he, — " O miss Mowbray ! 
 loveliest and, I may add, most beloved of 
 women, how havel longed to see you alone, 
 and pour out my whole soul to you !'^ 
 
 Adeline answered this rhapsody by a 
 look of astonishment only — being silent 
 from disgust and consternation, — while in- 
 voluntarily she quickened her pace, as if 
 wishing to avoid him. 
 
 " O hear me, and hear me patiently i" 
 he resumed. " You must have noticed the 
 effect which your charms produced on me 
 at Bath ; and may I dare to add that my 
 attendons then did not seem displeasing to 
 you ?" 
 
 *^ Sir !" interrupted Adeline, sighing 
 
 deeply,
 
 90 
 
 fSeepiy, ^' my situation is now changed 9 
 and " 
 
 ^'It is so, I thank Fortune that it is so," re- 
 plied colonel Mordaunt; " and I am happy 
 to say, it is changed by no crime of mine." 
 (Here Adeline started and turned pale.) 
 " But I were unworthy all chance of hap- 
 piness, were I to pass by the seeming oppor- 
 tunity of being blest, which the alteration 
 -to which you allude holds forth to me." 
 
 Here he paused^ as if in embarrassment, 
 but Adeline was unable to interrupt him. 
 
 " Miss Mowbray," he at length conti- 
 nued, " I am told, that you are not on 
 good terms with your mother; nay, I 
 have heard that she has renounced you : 
 may I presume to ask if this be true ?" 
 
 "It is," answered Adeline trembling 
 with emotion. 
 
 " Then, as before long it is probable 
 that you will be without — without a protec- 
 tor——" (Adeline turned round and fix* 
 
 ed
 
 91 
 
 ^d her eyes wildly upon him.) "To be 
 sure," continued he, avoiding her steadfast 
 gaze, " I could wish to call you mine this 
 moment; but, unhappy as you appear to be 
 ;in your present situation, I know, unlike 
 many women circumstanced as you are, 
 you are too generous and noble-minded 
 to be capable of forsaking in his last ill- 
 ness the man whom in his happier mo- 
 ments you honoured with your love." As 
 he said this, Adeline, her lips parched with 
 agitation, and breathing short, caught hold 
 of his arm ; and pressing her cold hand, he 
 went on : " Therefore, I will not venture 
 even to wish to be honoured with a kind 
 look from you till Mr. Glenmurray is re- 
 moved to a happier world. But then, dear- 
 est of women, you whom I loved without 
 hope of possessing you, and whom now I 
 dote upon to madness, I conjure you to 
 admit my visits, and let my attentions pre- 
 vail on you to accept my protecdon, and 
 
 allow
 
 92 
 
 ^llow me to devote the r-emalnder of my 
 days to love and you I" 
 
 " Merciful heaven !" exclaimed Ade- 
 Kne clasping her hands together, " to 
 what insults am I reserved !" 
 
 " Insults !'* echoed colonel Mordaunt. 
 
 " Yes sir," replied Adeline: " you have 
 insulted me, grossly insulted me, and 
 know not the woman whom you have tor* 
 tured to the very soul." 
 
 "Hear me,, hear me, miss Mowbray!" 
 exclaimed colonel Mordaunt, almost as 
 much agitated as herself : " by heaven I 
 meant not to insult you ! and perhaps I — 
 perhaps I have been misinformed — No ! — 
 Yes, yes, it must be so; — your indignation 
 proves that I have — Yau are, no doubt — 
 and on my knees I implore your pardon— 
 you are the wife of Mr. Glenmurray." 
 
 "And suppose I am not his wife," 
 cried Adeline, "is it then given to a wife 
 only to be secure ixom being insulted by 
 
 offers
 
 93 
 
 offers horrible to the delicacy, and wound- 
 ing to the sensibility, like those which I 
 have heard from you ?" But before co- 
 lonel Mordaunt could reply, Adeline's 
 thoughts had reverted to what he had 
 said of Glenmurray's certain danger ; 
 and, unable to bear this confirmation of 
 her fears, with the speed of phrensy she 
 ran towards home, and did not stop till 
 she was in sight of her lodging, and the 
 sdll closed curtain of her apartment met 
 her view. 
 
 " He is still sleeping, then," she ex- 
 claimed, " and I have time to recover 
 myself, and endeavour to hide from him 
 the emodon of which I could not tell the 
 reason." So saying, she softly entered the 
 house, and by the time Glenmurray rose 
 she had regained her composure. Still 
 there was a look of anxiety on her fine 
 countenance, which could not escape the 
 penetrating eye of love. 
 
 Why 
 
 a
 
 9$' 
 
 " WHy are you so grave this morn- 
 ing?-' said Glenmurray, as Adeline seated' 
 herself at the breakfast table : — " I feel 
 much better and more cheerful to-dav." 
 
 " But are you, indeed, better ?'' replied 
 Adeline, fixing her tearful eyes on him. 
 
 " Or I much deceive myself," said 
 Glenmurray. 
 
 " Thank God !" devoutly replied Ade- 
 line. " I thought— I thought—'' Here 
 tears choked her utterance, and Glenmur- 
 ray drew from her a confession of her anxi- - 
 ous fearsfor him, though she prudently re- 
 solved not to agitate him by telling .him 
 of the rencontre with colonel Mordaunt. 
 
 But when the continued assurances of 
 Glenmurray that he was better, and the 
 animation of his countenance, had in a de- 
 gree removed her fears for his life, she had 
 leisure to revert to another source of un- 
 easiness, and to dwell on the insult which 
 
 she
 
 95 
 
 she had experienced from colonel Mor- 
 daunt's offer of protection. 
 
 " How strange andr-irrational/' thought- 
 Adeline, " are the prejudices- of society ! 
 Because an idle ceremony has not been- 
 mutteredover me at the altar, I am liable 
 to be thought a woman of vicious inclina- 
 tions, and to be exposed to the most 
 daring insults." 
 
 As these reflections occurred to her, she 
 could scarcely help regretting that her- 
 principles would not allow her delicacy 
 and virtue to be placed under the sacred 
 shelter bestowed by that ceremony which 
 she was pleased to call idle. And she 
 was not long without experiencing still 
 further hardships from the situation in 
 which she had perislsted so obstinately to 
 remain. Their establishment consisted of 
 a footman and a maid servant ; but the 
 latter had of late been so remiss in the 
 3 perform-
 
 96 
 
 |)erforTnance of her duties, and so Imper- 
 tinent when reproved for her faults, that 
 Adeline was obliged to give her warning. 
 
 *' Warning, indeed !" replied the girl: 
 " a mighty hardship, truly ! I can promise 
 you I did not mean to stay long ; it is no 
 such favour to live with a kept miss; — 
 and if ycu come to that, I think I am as 
 good as you." 
 
 Shocked, surprised, and unable to an- 
 sw^er, Adeline took refuge in her room. 
 Never before had she been accosted by 
 her inferiors without respectful attention ; 
 and now, owing to her situation, even a 
 servant-maid thought herself authorised 
 to insult her, juid to raise herself to her 
 level i 
 
 " But surely,'* said Adeline mentally, 
 *' 1 ought to reason with her, and try to 
 convince her that 1 am in reality as vir- 
 tuous as if I were Glenmurray's wife, in- 
 stead of his mi&treGS-'* 
 
 Accord-
 
 ^1 
 
 Accordingly she v/ent back into the 
 kitchen; but her resolution failed her when 
 she found the footman there, listening with 
 a broad grin on his countenance to the 
 relation which Mary was giving hi in 
 of the " fine trimming" which she had 
 given " madam." 
 
 Scarcely did the presence of Adeline in- 
 terrupt or restrain her ; but at last she turn- 
 ed round and said, "And, pray, have 
 you got any thing to say to me ?" 
 
 " Nothing more now," meekly replied 
 Adeline, " unless you will follow me to 
 my chamber." 
 
 • " With all my heart," cried the girl | 
 and Adeline returned to her own room. 
 
 " I wish, Mary, to set you right," said 
 Adeline, ^' with respect to my situation. 
 You called me, I think, a kept miss, and 
 seemed to think ill of me." 
 
 ^' Why, to be sure, ma'am,*' replied 
 Mary, a little alarmed — " every body say 
 
 VOL. II. H you
 
 98 
 
 you are a kept lady, and so I made no 
 bones of saying so ; but I am sure if so 
 be you are not so, why I ax pardon."' 
 
 " But what do you mean by the 
 term kept lady ?" 
 
 " Why, a lady who lives with a man 
 without being married to him, I take it ; 
 and that I take to be your case, an't it, 
 I pray ?" 
 
 Adeline blushed and w^as silent : — it 
 certainly w^as her case. However, she 
 took courage and went on : 
 
 " But misti-esses, or kept ladies in ge- 
 neral, are women of bad character, and 
 would live with any man ; but I never 
 loved, nor ever shall love, any man but 
 Mr. Glenmurray. I look on myself as 
 his wife in the sight of God ; nor will I 
 quit him till death shall separate us." 
 
 " Then if so be that you don't want 
 to change, I think you might as well be 
 •married to him." 
 
 Adeline
 
 99r 
 
 Adeline was again silent for a moment, 
 but continued — 
 
 " Mr. Gienmurray would marry me 
 to-morrow, if I chose." 
 
 " Indeed 1 Well^ if master is inclined 
 to make an honest woman of you, you 
 had better take him at his word, I think.'* 
 
 " Gracious heaven i" cried Adeline, 
 "what an expression 1 Why will you 
 persist to confound me with those de- 
 luded women who are victims of their 
 own weakness ?" 
 
 " As to that," replied Mary, " you 
 talk too fine for me ; but a fact is a fact 
 — are you or are you not my master's 
 wife?" 
 
 " I am not.'* 
 
 ^' Why then you are his mistress, and 
 
 a kept lady to all intents and purposes : 
 
 so what signifies argufying the matter ? 
 
 I lived with a kept m?idam before ; and 
 
 ■ a 2 she
 
 100 
 
 she was as good as you, for aught I 
 know." 
 
 Adeline, shocked and disappointed, 
 told her she might leave the room. 
 
 " I am going," pertly answered Mary, 
 *' and to seek for a place : but I must 
 beg that you vidll not own you are no 
 better than you should be, when a lady 
 comes to ask my character ; for then per- 
 haps I should not get any one to take 
 me. I shall call you Mrs. Glenmur- 
 ray." 
 
 " But I shall not call mi/selfsoy'' re- 
 plied Adeline. " I will not say what is 
 not true, on any account." 
 
 *^ There now, there's spite ! and yet 
 you pertend to call yourself a gentlewo- 
 man, and to be better than other kept 
 ladies ! Why, you are not worthy to tie 
 the shoestrings of my last mistress — she 
 did not mind telling a lie rather than lose 
 
 a poor
 
 101 
 
 a poor serv^it a place ; and she called 
 herself a married woman rather than hurt 
 me/' 
 
 " Neither she nor you, then/^ replied 
 Adeline gravely, " v/ere sensible of what 
 great importance a strict adherence to 
 veracity is, to the interests of society, I 
 am; — and for the sake of mankind I will 
 ahvays tell the truth." 
 
 ^' You had better tell one innocent lie 
 for mine," replied the girl pertly. " I 
 dare to say the world v/ill neither know 
 nor care any thing about it : and I can 
 tell you I shall expect you will." 
 
 So saying she shu[ the door with vio% 
 lence, leaving Adeline mournfully musing 
 on the distresses attending on her situ- 
 tion, and even disposed to question the 
 propriety of remaining in it. 
 
 The inquietude of her mind, as usual, 
 showed itself in her countenance, and 
 involved her in another difHculty : to
 
 102 
 
 make Glenmurray uneasy by an avow« 
 al of what had passed between her and 
 
 Mary was impossible ; yet how could 
 she conceal it from him ? And while she 
 was deliberating on this point, Glenmurray 
 entered the room, and tenderly inquired 
 v/hat had so evidently disturbed her. 
 
 " Nothing of any consequence,'* she fal» 
 tered out, and burst into tears. 
 
 " Could * nothing of consequence' pro- 
 duce such emotion ?" answered Glen- 
 murray. 
 
 " But I am ashamed to own the cause 
 of my uneasiness." 
 
 " Ashamed to own it to me, Adeline ? 
 To be sure, you have a great deal to fear 
 from my severity !" said he, faintly 
 smiling. 
 
 Adeline for a moment resolved to tell 
 him the whole truth ; but, fearful of 
 throv/ing him into a degree of agitation 
 hurtful to his weak frame, she, who had 
 
 the
 
 103 
 
 the moment before so nobly supported 
 the necessity of a strict adherence to 
 truth, condescended to equivocate and 
 evade ; and turning away her head, while 
 a conscious bkish overspread her cheek, 
 she replied, " You know that I look for- 
 ward with anxiety and uneasiness to the 
 time of my approaching conftnenient." 
 
 Glenmurray believed her; and over- 
 come by some painful feelings, which fears 
 for himself and anxiety for her occasion- 
 ed him, he silently pressed her to his 
 bosom ; and, choked with contending 
 emotions, returned to his own apartment* 
 
 '* And I. have stooped to the mean- 
 ness of disguising the truth 1" cried Ade- 
 line, clasping her hands convulsively 
 together: *^ surely, surely, there must be 
 something radically wrong in a situation 
 which exposes one to such a variety of 
 degradations 1" 
 
 Mary, meanwhile^ had gone in search 
 
 of
 
 104 
 
 of a place ; and having found the lady 
 to whom she had been advised to offer 
 herself, at home, she returned to tell 
 Adeline that Mrs. Pemberton would call 
 in half an hour to inquire her character. 
 The half-hour, an anxious one to Adeline, 
 having elapsed, a lady knocked at the 
 door, and inquired, in Adeline's hearing, 
 for Mrs. Glenmurray. 
 
 " Tell the lady,'' cried Adeline imme- 
 diately from the top of the staircase, '^ that 
 miss Mowbray will wait on her directly.'* 
 The footman obeyed, and Mrs. Pemberton 
 was ushered into the parlour : and now, 
 for the first time in her life, Adeline 
 trembled to approach a stranger ; for the 
 first time she felt that she was going to 
 appear before a fellow- creature as an ob- 
 ject of scorn, and, though an enthusiast 
 for virtue, to be considered as a votary 
 of vice. But it was a mortification which 
 she must submit to undergo -, and hastily 
 
 throwing
 
 throv/ing a large shawl over her shouU 
 ders, to hide her figure as much as possi- 
 ble, with a trembhng hand she opened 
 the door, and found herself in the dread- 
 ed presence of Mrs. Pemberton, 
 
 Nor was she at all re-assured when she 
 found that lady dressed in the neat, mo- 
 dest garb of a strict quaker — a garb which 
 creates an immediate idea in the mind, 
 of more than common rigidness of princi- 
 ples and sanctity of conduct in the wearer 
 of it. Adeline curtsied in silence. 
 
 Mrs. Pemberton bowed her head cour- 
 teously ; then, with a countenance of great 
 sweetness, and a voice calculated to in- 
 spire confidence, said, " 1 believe thy 
 name is Mowbray ; but I came to see 
 Mrs. Glenmurray : and as on these occa- 
 sions I always v/ish to confer with the 
 principal, v/ouidst thou, if it be not in- 
 convenient, ask the mistress of Mary to let 
 me see her." 
 
 «Iam
 
 106 
 
 " I am myself the mistress of Mary," 
 replied Adeline in a faint voice. 
 
 " I ask thine excuse," answered Mrs, 
 Pemberton, re-seating herself: " as thou 
 art Mrs. Glenmurray, thou art the person 
 I wanted to see.'* 
 
 Here Adeline changed colour, over- 
 come with the consciousness that she 
 ought to undeceive her, and the sense of 
 the difficulty of doing so. 
 
 " But thou art very pale, and seemest 
 uneasy," continued the gentle quaker — 
 " I hope thy husband is not worse." 
 
 " Mr. Glenmurray, but not my hus- 
 band," said Adeline, " is better to-day." 
 
 " Art thou not married r" asked Mrs^ 
 Pemberton with quickness. 
 
 " I am not." 
 
 " And yet thou livest with the gentle- 
 man I named, and art the person whonx 
 Mary called Mrs. Glenmurray ?" 
 
 " I am," replied Adeline, her paleness 
 
 yielding
 
 107 
 
 yielding to a deep crimson, and her eye^ 
 filling with tears. 
 
 Mrs. Pemberton sat for a minute in 
 silence ; then rising with an air of cold 
 dignity, " I fear thy servant is not likely 
 to suit me," she observed, " and I will 
 not detain thee any longer.'* 
 
 " She can be an excellent servant,'* 
 faltered out Adeline. 
 
 " Very likely — but there are objec-» 
 tions." So saying she reached the door : 
 but as she passed Adeline she stopped, 
 interested and affected by the mournful 
 expression of her countenance, and the 
 visible effort she made to retain her tears. 
 
 Adeline saw, and felt humbled at the 
 compassion which her countenance ex- 
 pressed : to be an object of pity was as 
 mortifying as to be an object of scorn, 
 and she turned her eyes on Mrs. Pember- 
 ton with a look of proud indignation: 
 but they met those of Mrs. Pemberton 
 
 fixed
 
 fixed on her with a look of such bene* 
 volence, that her anger was instantly 
 subdued ; and it occurred to her that she 
 might make the benevolent compassion 
 visible in Mrs. Pemberton's countenance 
 serviceable to her discarded servant. 
 
 " Stay, madam," she cried, as Mrs. 
 Pemberton was about to leave the room, 
 " allow me a moment's conversation with 
 you.'* 
 
 Mrs. Pemberton, with an eagerness 
 which she suddenly endeavoured to check, 
 returned to her seat. 
 
 " I suspect,*' said Adeline, (gathering 
 courage from the conscious kindness of 
 her motive,) that your objection to take 
 Mary V/arner into your service proceeds 
 wholly from the situation of her present 
 mistress." 
 
 " Thou judgest righdy," was Mrs. 
 Pemberton's answer. 
 
 " Nor do 1 wonder," condnued Ade- 
 line,
 
 109 
 
 line, " that you make this objection^ 
 when I consider the present prejudices of 
 isociety.'* 
 
 '^ Prejudices !*' softly exclaimed the 
 benevolent quaker. 
 
 Adeline faintly smiled, and went on — 
 ^' But surely you will allow, that in a 
 family quiet and secluded as ours, and 
 in daily contemplation of an union uninter- 
 rupted, faithful, and virtuous, and pos- 
 sessing all the sacredness of marriage, 
 though without the name, it is not likely 
 that the young woman in question should 
 have imbibed any vicious habits or prin- 
 <:iples." 
 
 " But in contemplating thy union itself, 
 she has lived in the contemplatign of vice ; 
 and thou wilt own, that, by having given 
 it an air of respectability, thou hast only 
 made it more dangerous." 
 
 " On this point," cried Adeline, *' I 
 «ee we must disagree-^I shall therefore, 
 
 without
 
 no 
 
 without further preamble, inform you, 
 madam, that Mary, aware of the difficulty 
 of procuring a service, if it were known 
 that she had lived with a kept mistress, 
 as the phrase is (here an indignant bkish 
 overspread the face of Adeline), desired 
 me to call myself the wife of Glenmurray : 
 but this, from my abhorrence of all false- 
 hood, I peremptorily refused"/' 
 
 " And thou didst well," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Pemberton, " and I respect thy 
 resolution/' 
 
 " But my sincerity will, I fear, prevent 
 the poor girl's obtaining other reputable 
 places ; and I, alas ! am not rich enough 
 to make her amends for the injury which 
 my conscience forces me to do her. But 
 if you, madam,^ could be prevailed upon 
 to take her into your family, even for a 
 short time only, to wipe away the dis- 
 grace which her living with me has brought 
 upon her — " 
 
 " Why
 
 Ill 
 
 *' Why call she not remain with thee ?" 
 asked Mrs. Pemberton hastily. 
 
 " Because she neglected her duty, 
 and, when reproved for it, replied in very 
 injurious language." 
 
 '^ Presuming probably on thy way of 
 life ?^' 
 
 " I must confess that she has reproach- 
 ed me with it." 
 
 " And this was all her fault ?" 
 
 " It was : — she can be an excellent ser- 
 vant.'^ 
 
 " Thou hast said enough ; thy con- 
 science shall not have the additional bur- 
 then to bear, of having deprived a poor 
 girl of her maintenance — I will take her." 
 
 " A thousand thanks to you," replied 
 Adeline : '' you have removed a weight 
 off my mind ; but my conscience, I bless 
 God, has none to bear." 
 
 '^ No?" returned Mrs. Pemberton: 
 ''dost thou deem thy conduct blameless iu 
 
 the 
 
 %"
 
 112 
 
 the eyes of that Being whom thou hast 
 just blessed ?" 
 
 " As far as my connexion with Mr. 
 Glenmurray is concerned, I do." 
 
 " Indeed r 
 
 " Nay, doubt me not — believe me 
 that I never wantonly violate the truth ; 
 and that even an evasion, which I^ for the 
 first time in my life, was guilty of to-day, 
 has given me a pang to which I will not 
 again expose myself," 
 
 *' And yet, inconsistent beings as we 
 are," cried Mrs. Pemberton, " sti*aining 
 at a gnat, and swallowing a camel, what 
 is the guilt of the evasion which weighs on 
 thy mind, compared to that of living, as 
 thou dost, in an illicit commerce ? Surely, 
 surely,thine heart accuses thee; for thy face 
 bespeaks uneasiness, and thou v^dlt listen 
 to the whispers of penitence, and leave, 
 ere long, the man who has betrayed 
 thee.". 
 
 '•^The
 
 113 
 
 " Tlie man who has betrayed me ! 
 Mr. Glenmurray is no betrayer — he is 
 one of the best of human beings. No, 
 madam : if I had acceded to his wishes, 
 I should long ago have been his wife ; 
 but, from a conviction of the folly of 
 marriage, I have preferred living with 
 him without the performance of a cere- 
 mony which, in the eye of reason, can 
 confer neither honour nor happiness/' 
 
 " Poor thing !" exclaimed Mrs. Pem- 
 berton, rising as she spoke, " I under- 
 stand thee now — Thou art one of the en- 
 lightened, as they call themselves — ■Thou 
 art one of those wise in their own con- 
 ceit, who, disregarding the customs of 
 ages, and the dictates of experience, set 
 up their own opinions against the hal- 
 lowed institutions of men and the will of 
 the Most High.'*" 
 
 " Can you blame me," interrupted 
 VOL . lu I Adeline^
 
 114 
 
 Adeline, '' for acting according to what 
 I think right ?" 
 
 *' But hast thou well studied the subject 
 on which thou hast decided ? Yet, alas ! 
 to thee how vain must be the voice of ad- 
 monition! (she continued, her countenance 
 kindling into strong expression as she 
 spoke)— From the poor victim of passion 
 and persuasion, penitence and amend- 
 ment might be rationally expected ; and 
 she, from the path of frailty, might turn 
 again to that of virtue : but for one like 
 thee, glorying in thine iniquity, and 
 erring, not from the too tender heart, 
 but the vain-glorious head, — for thee 
 there is, I fear, no blessed return to the 
 right way ; and I, who would have tarried 
 with thee even in the house of sin, to 
 have reclaimed thee, penitent, now hasten 
 from thee, and for ever — firm as thou 
 art in guilt." 
 
 As
 
 115 
 
 As she said this she reached the door ; 
 while Adehne, affected by her emotion, and 
 distressed by her language, stood silent 
 and almost abashed before her. 
 
 But with her hand on the lock she 
 turned round, and in a gentler voice said, 
 " Yet not even against a wilful offender 
 iike thecf, should one gate that may lead 
 to amendment be shut. Thy situation 
 and thy fortunes may soon be greatly 
 changed ; affliction may subdue thy pride, 
 and the counsel of a friend of thine ovv^n 
 sex might then sound sweetly in thine 
 €ars. Should that time come, I will be that 
 friend. I am now about to set off for Lis- 
 bon with a very dear friend, about whom I 
 feel as solicitous as thou about thy Glen- 
 murray ; and there I shall remain some 
 time. Here then is my address ; and if thou 
 shouldest want my advice or assistance 
 ■write to me, and be assumed that Rachel 
 I 2 Pember-
 
 116 
 
 Pemberton will try to forget thy errors in 
 thy distresses/' 
 
 So saying she left the room, but re- 
 turned again, before Adeline had recovered 
 herself from the various emotions which 
 she had experienced during her ad- 
 dress, .to ask her christian name. But 
 when Adeline replied, " My name is 
 Adeline Mowbray," Mrs. Pemberton start- 
 ed, and eagerly exclaimed, "Art thou 
 Adeline Mowbray of Gloucestershire — 
 the young heiress, as she was called, of 
 Rosevalley ?" 
 
 " I was once,'* replied Adeline, sinking 
 back into a chair, " Adeline Mowbray of 
 Rosevalley." 
 
 Mrs. Pemberton for a few minutes gazed 
 on her in mournful silence : " And art 
 thou," she cried, " Adeline Mowbray ? 
 Art thou that courteous, blooming, blessed 
 being, (for every tongue thai I heard name 
 
 thee
 
 117 
 thee blessed thee) whom I saw only three 
 years ago bounding over thy native hills, 
 all grace, and joy, and innocence ?'* 
 
 Adeline tried to speak, but her voice 
 failed her. 
 
 " Art thou she," continued Mrs. Pem- 
 berton, " whom I saw also leaning from the 
 window of her mother*s mansion, and in- 
 quiring with the countenance of a pitying 
 angel concerning the health of a wan la- 
 bourer who Hmped past the door ?" 
 
 Adeline hid her face with her hands. 
 
 Mrs. Pemberton went on in a lower 
 tone of voice, — " I came with some com- 
 panions to see thy mother's grounds, and 
 to hear the nightingales in her groves ; 
 but — (here Mrs. Pember ton's voice fal- 
 tered) I have seen a sight far beyond that 
 of the proudest mansion, said I to those 
 who asked me of thy mother's seat ; I 
 have heard what was sweeter to my ear 
 than the voice of the nightingale j I have
 
 218 
 
 seen a blooming girl nursed in idleness 
 and prosperity, yet active in the discharge 
 of every christian dufy ; and I have heard 
 her speak in the soothing accents of kind- 
 ness and of pity, v/hile her name was fol- 
 lowed by blessings, and parents prayed to 
 have a child like her. — O lost, unhappy 
 girl 1 such ivas Adeline Mowbray : and 
 often, very often, has thy graceful image 
 recurred to my remembrance : but, how 
 art thou changed ! Where is the open eye 
 of happiness ? where is the bloom that 
 spoke a heart at peace with itself? I re- 
 peat it, and I repeat it v/ith agony. — Father 
 of mercies ! is this thy Adeline Mov/bray r" 
 
 Here, overcome with emotion, Mrs. 
 Pemberton paused ; but Adeline could not 
 break silence : she rose, she stretched out 
 her hand as if going to speak, but her 
 utterance failed her, and again she smik 
 on a chair. 
 
 " It was thine," resumed Mrs. Pember- 
 
 tou
 
 119 
 
 ton In a faint and broken voice, '• to dif- 
 fuse happiness around thee, and to enjoy 
 wealth unhated, because thy hand dis- 
 pensed nobly the riches which it had re- 
 ceived bounteously : when the ear heard 
 thee, then it blessed thee; when the eyesaw 
 thee, it gave witness to thee; and yet — " 
 
 Here again she paused, and raised her 
 fine eyes to heaven for a few minutes, as if 
 in prayer ; then, pressing Adeline's hand 
 with an almost convulsive grasp, she di*ew 
 her bonnet over her face, as if eager to hide 
 the emotion which she v/as unable to sub- 
 due, and suddenly left the house ; while 
 Adeline, stunned and overwhelmed by the 
 striking contrast which Mrs. Pemberton 
 had drawn between her past and present 
 situation, remained for some minutes mo- 
 tionless on her seat, a prey io a variety of 
 feelings which she dared not venture to 
 analyse. 
 
 But,
 
 120 
 
 But, amidst the variety of her feelhigs, 
 Adeline soon found that sorrow, sorrow of 
 the bitterest kind, was uppermost. Mrs. 
 Pemberton had said that she was about to 
 be visited by affliction — alluding, there 
 was no doubt, to the probable death of 
 Glenmurray— And was his fate so cer- 
 tain that it was the theme of conversation 
 at Richmond ? Were only her eyes blind 
 to the certainty of his danger ? 
 
 On these ideas did Adeline chiefly dwell 
 after the departure of her monitress ; and 
 in an agony unspeakable she entered the 
 room where Glenmurray was sitting, in 
 order to look at him, and form her own 
 judgment on a subject of such importance. 
 But, alas ! she found him with the brilliant 
 deceitful appearance that attends his com- 
 plaint — a bloom resembling health on his 
 cheek, and a brightness in his eye rival- 
 ling that of the undimmed lustre of youths 
 3 Surprised,
 
 12J 
 
 Surprised, delighted, and overcome by 
 these appearances, which her inexperience 
 rendered her incapable of appreciating 
 justly, Adeline threw herself on the sofa 
 by him ; and, as she pressed her cold cheek 
 to his glowing one, her tearful eye was 
 raised to heaven with an expression of 
 devout thankfulness. 
 
 " Mrs. Pemberton paid you a long vi- 
 sit," said Glenmurray, "and I thought 
 once, by the elevated tone of her voice, 
 that she was preaching to you.'' 
 
 " I believe she was," cheerfully replied 
 AdeHne, " and now I have a confession 
 to make ; the season of reserve shall be 
 over, and I will tell you all the adventures 
 of this day without evasion.'* 
 
 '' Aye, I thought you were not inge- 
 nuous with me this morning, " replied 
 Glenmurray : " but better late than ne- 
 ver." 
 
 Adeline then told him all that had pass- 
 ed
 
 122 
 
 ed between her and Mary and Mrs. Pem- 
 berton, and concluded with saying, " But 
 the surety of your better health, which 
 your looks give me, has dissipated every 
 uneasiness -, and if you are but spared to 
 ine, sorrow cannot reach me, and I despise 
 the censure of the ignorant and the preju- 
 diced. — The world approve ! What is 
 the world to me ? — 
 " The conscious mind is its own awful world !" 
 
 Glenmurray sighed deeply as she con- 
 cluded her narration. 
 
 " I have only one request to make," 
 said he — " Never let that Mary come intc^ 
 my presence again ; and be sure to take 
 care- of Mrs. Pemberton's address." 
 
 Adeline promised that both his requests 
 should be attended to. Mary was paid 
 her wages, and dismissed immediately ; 
 and a girl being hired to supply her place, 
 the menage went on quietly again. 
 
 But a new mortification awaited Glen- 
 murray
 
 123 
 
 murray and i\deline. In spite of Glen- 
 murray's eccentricities and opinions, he 
 was still remembered with interest by some 
 of the female part of his family ; and two 
 of his cousins, more remarkable for their 
 beauty than their virtue, hearing that he 
 was at Richmond, made known to him 
 their intendon of paying him a morning 
 visit on their way to their country seat in 
 the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Most .unwelcome visiters, indeed !'* 
 cried Glenmurray, throwing the letter 
 down ; " I will write to them and forbid 
 them to come." 
 
 "That's impossible," replied Adeline, 
 " for by this time they must be on the 
 road, if you look at the date of the letter : 
 besides, I wish you to receive them ; I 
 should like to see any relations or friends 
 of yours, especially those who have libera- 
 lity of sentiment enough to esteem you as 
 you deserve." 
 
 " You 1
 
 124- 
 
 ^'You! — you see them!*' exclaimed 
 Clenmurray, pacing the room impatiently: 
 *' O Adeline, that is impossible! " 
 
 "I understand you," replied Adeline, 
 changing colour: "they will not deem 
 me worthy," forcing a smile, "to be in- 
 troduced to them." 
 
 " And therefore would I forbid their 
 coming. I cannot bear to exclude you 
 from my presence in order that I may 
 receive them. No : when they arrive, I 
 will send them word that I am unable to 
 see them." 
 
 " While they will attribufe the refusal 
 to the influence of the creature who lives 
 with you ! No, Glenmurray, for my sake 
 I must insist on your not being denied to 
 them ; and, believe me, I should consider 
 myself as unwoi thy to be the choice of 
 your heart, if I were not able to bear with 
 firmness a mortification like that which, 
 awaits me/ * 
 
 " But
 
 a 25 
 
 *' But you allow it to be a mortinca* 
 tion?" 
 
 " Yes ; it is mortifying taa woman who 
 know^s herself to be virtuous, and is an 
 idolater of virtue, to pay the penalty of 
 vice, and be thought unworthy to asso- 
 ciate with the relations of the man whom 
 she loves.'* 
 
 " They shall not come, I protest,*' ex- 
 claimed Glenmurray. 
 
 But Adeline was resolute ; and she car- 
 ried her point. Soon after this conversa- 
 tion the ladies arrived, and Adeline shut 
 herself up in her own apartment, where she 
 gave way to no very pleasant reflections. 
 Nor was she entirely satisfied with Glen- 
 murray 's conduct : — true, he had earnestly 
 and sincerely wished to refuse to see his 
 unexpected and unwelcome guests ; but 
 he had never once expressed a desire of 
 combating their prejudices for Adeline's 
 sake, and an intention of requesting that 
 
 she
 
 126 
 
 she might be introduced to them ; but, as 
 any common man would have done under 
 similar circumstances, he was contented 
 to do homage to " things as they are," 
 without an eiTort to resist the prejudice to 
 which he was superior. 
 
 " Alas !" cried Adeline, " when can 
 we hope to see society enlightened and 
 improved, when even those who see and 
 strive to amicnd its faults in theory, in 
 practice tamely submit to the trammels 
 which it imposes ?" 
 
 An hour, a tedious hour to Adeline, 
 having elapsed, Glenmurray's visiters de- 
 parted ; and by the disappointment that 
 Adeline experienced at hearing the door 
 close on them, she felt that she had had 
 a se<:ret hope of being summoned to be 
 presented to them ; and, with a bitter feel- 
 ing of mortification, she reflected, that 
 she was probably to th€ man whom she 
 adored a shame and a reproach. 
 
 '' Yet
 
 127 
 
 ^' Yet I should like to see them/' she 
 said, running to the window as the car- 
 riage drove up, and the ladies entered it. 
 At that moment they, whether from cu- 
 riosity to see her, or accident, looked up 
 at the window where she was. Adeline 
 started back indignant and confused ; for, 
 thrusting their heads eagerly forward, 
 they looked at her with the bold unfeeling 
 stare of imagined superiority; and Adeline, 
 spite of her reason, sunk abashed and 
 conscious from their gaze. 
 
 ** And this insult," exclaimed she, clasp- 
 ing her hands and bursting into tears, " I 
 experience from Glenmurray's relations ! 
 I think I could have borne it better from 
 any one else." 
 
 She had not recovered her disorder 
 when Glenmurray entered the room, and, 
 tenderly embracing her, exclaimed, " Ne- 
 ver, never again, my love, will I submit to 
 such a sacrifice as I have now made^" when 
 
 seeing
 
 1^« 
 
 seeing her in tears, too well aware of the 
 cause, he gave way to such a passionate 
 burst of tenderness and regret, that Ade- 
 line, terrified at his agitation, though sooth- 
 ed by his fondness, affected the cheerful- 
 ness which she did not feel, and promised to 
 drive the intruders from her remembrance. 
 Had Glenmurray and Adeline known 
 the real character of the unwelcome vi- 
 siters, neither of them would have re- 
 gretted that Adeline was not presented 
 to them. One of them was married, and 
 to so accommodating a husband, that his 
 wife's known gallant was his intimate 
 friend ; and under the sanction of his pro- 
 tection she was received every v/here, and 
 visited by every one, as the world did not 
 think" proper to be more ckar-sighted than 
 the husband himself chose to be. The 
 other lady was a young and attractive wi- 
 dow, who coquetted with many men, but 
 intrigued v/ith only one at a time j for 
 
 which
 
 123 
 
 which self-deiiial she was rewarded by be- 
 ing allowed to pass unquestioned through 
 the portals of fashionable society. But 
 these ladies would have scorned to asso- 
 ciate with Adeline ; and Adeline, had she 
 known their private history, would cer- 
 tainly have returned the compliment. 
 
 The peace of Adeline was soon after 
 disturbed in another way. Glenmurray 
 finding himself disposed to sleep in the 
 middle of the day, his cough having kept 
 him Vv-aking all night, Adeline took her 
 usual walk, and returned by the church- 
 yard. The bell was tolling ; and as she- 
 passed she saw a funeral enter the church- 
 yard, and instantlv averted her head. 
 
 In so doing her eyes fell on a decent- 
 looking woman, v/ho with a sort of angry 
 earnestness was watching tlie progress of 
 the procession. 
 
 " Aye, there goes your body, you 
 r6gue!** she exckiimed indignantly, "but 
 
 vol.. II. K I wonder
 
 130 
 
 I wonder where your soul Is now ? — where 
 1 would not be for something." 
 
 Adeline was shocked, and gently ob- 
 served, " What crime did the person of 
 whom you are speaking, that you should 
 suppose his soul so painfully disposed of ?'i* 
 
 " What crime ?" returned the woman : 
 " crime enough, I think: — w^hy, he ruined 
 a poor girl here in the neighbourhood ; 
 znd then, because he never chose to make 
 a Vv'iil, there is she lying-in of a httle by- 
 blovv^, with nol a farthing of money to 
 maintain her or the child, and the fel- 
 low's money is gone to tb^ heir at law, 
 scarce of kin to him, while his own flesh 
 and blood is left to starve." 
 
 Adeline shuddered : — if Glenmurray 
 were to die, she and the child she bore 
 would, she knev/, be beggars. 
 
 " Well, miss, or madam, belike, by the 
 look of you," continued the woman, 
 glancing her eye over, Adeline's person, 
 
 " what
 
 131 
 
 "what say you? Don't you think the 
 fellow's soul is where we should not like- 
 to be ? However, he had his hell here too, 
 to be sure ! for, when speechless and un- 
 able to move his fingers, he seemed by 
 signs to ask for pen and ink, and he look- 
 ed in agonies ; and there was the poor 
 young woman crying over him, and hold- 
 ing in her arms her poor destitute baby, 
 who would as he grew up be taught, he 
 must think, to curse the wicked father 
 who begot him, and the naughty mother 
 who bore him 1" 
 
 Adeline turned very sick, and was forced; 
 to seat herself on a tomb-stone. " Curse 
 the mother who bore him !" she inwardly 
 repeated, — " and will my child curse me ? 
 Rather let me undergo the rites 1 have 
 despised 1'' and instantly starting from her 
 seat she ran down the road to herlodgings^ 
 resolving to propose to Glenmurray their 
 immediate marriage. 
 
 K 2 "But
 
 132 
 
 *'But is the possession of property, 
 then/' she said to herself as she stopped 
 to take breath, " so supreme a good, that 
 the want of it, through the means of his 
 mother, should dispose a child to curse 
 t-hat mother ? — No : my child shall be 
 taught to consider nothing valuable but 
 virtue, nothing disgraceful but vice. — 
 Fool that I am ! a bugbear frightened me ; 
 and to my foolish fears I was about ta 
 sacrifice my own principles, and the re- 
 spectability of Gienmurray. No — Let 
 his property go to the heir at law — let me 
 be forced to labour to support my babe, 
 
 when its father " Here a flood of 
 
 tears put an end to her soliloquy, and 
 slowly and pensively she returned home. 
 
 But the conversation of the woman in 
 the church-yard haunted her Vv'hile wak- 
 ing, and continued to distress her in her 
 dreams that night ; and she was resolved 
 to do all she could to relieve the situation 
 
 of
 
 133 
 
 of the poor destitute girl and child, in 
 vvhovse fate she might possibly see an anti- 
 cipation of her own : and as soon as 
 breakfast was over, and Glenmurray was 
 -engaged in his studies, she walked out to 
 make the projected inquiiies. 
 
 The season of the year was uncom- 
 monly fine ; and the varied scenery visi- 
 hle from the terrace was, at the moment 
 of Adeline's approach to it, glowing with 
 more than common beauty. Adeline 
 stood for some minutevS gazing on it in 
 silent delight ; when her reverie was in- 
 terrupted by the sound of boyish merri- 
 ment, and she saw, at one end of the 
 terrace, some well-dressed boys at play. 
 
 '* Alas ! regardless of their doom. 
 The little victhns play !" 
 
 immediately recurred to her : for, con- 
 templating the probable evils of existence, 
 she was darkly brooding over the imagined 
 fate of her own offspring, should it live t3 
 
 see
 
 134 
 
 see the light ; and the children at their 
 sport, having no care of ills to come, 
 naturally engaged her attention. 
 
 B-ut these happy children ceased to in- 
 terest her, when she saw standing at a di- 
 stance from the group,and apparently look- 
 ing at it with an eye of envy, a little boy, 
 even better dressed than the rest ; who was 
 sobbing \doIently, yet ardently trying to con- 
 ceal his grief. And v/hile she was watching 
 the young mourner attentively, he suddenly 
 threw himself on a seat ; and, taking out 
 his handkerchief, indignantly and impa- 
 tiently wiped av/ay the tears that would 
 no longer be restrained. 
 
 " Poor child !" thought Adeline, seat- 
 ing herself beside him ; " and has afflic- 
 tion reached thee so soon 1'^ 
 
 The child was beautiful : and his clus- 
 tering locks seemed to have been combed 
 with so mu:h care; the frill of his shirt 
 was so fine, and had been so very neatjy 
 
 plaited j
 
 135 
 
 plaited ; and his sun-burnt neck and hands 
 were so very very clean, that Adeline 
 was certain he was the darlmg object of 
 some fond mother's attention. " And 
 yet he is unhappy T' she inwardly ex- 
 claimed. '' When my fate resembled 
 his, how happy I was I" But from re- 
 collections like these she always hasten- 
 ed ; and checking the rising sigh, she re- 
 solved to enter into conversation with the 
 kttle boy. 
 
 " What is the matter?" she cried. — 
 No answer. — " Why are you not playing 
 with the young gentlemen yonder ?'* 
 
 She had touched the right string : — 
 and bursting into tears, he sobbed out, 
 '' Because they won't let me." 
 
 " No ? and why will they not let your' 
 To this he replied not ; but sullenly hung 
 his blushing face on his bosom. 
 
 " Perhaps you have made them angi7 ?" 
 gently asked Adeline. " Oh ! no, no," 
 
 cried
 
 136 
 
 cried the boy ; " but " " But what?^* 
 
 Here he turned from her, and with his 
 mail began scratching the arm of the 
 seat. 
 
 " Well ; this is very strange, and seems 
 very unkind," cried Adeline: " I will 
 speak to them/* So saying, she drew 
 near the other children, who had inter- 
 rupted their play to watch Adeline and 
 their rejected playmate. " What can be 
 the reason,'* said she, " that you will not 
 Let that little boy play with you ?'* Tho 
 boys looked down, and said nothing. 
 
 " Is he ill-natured ?" 
 . " No.'* 
 
 *' Does he not play fair ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Don't you like him ?* 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then w^hy do you make him un- 
 happy, by not letting him join in your 
 spoilt ?'* 
 
 •* Tell
 
 337 
 
 " Tell the lady. Jack/' cries one ; and 
 Jack, the biggest boy of the party, said : 
 " Because he is not a gentleman's son 
 like us, and is only a little bastard." 
 
 ^* Yes," cried one of the other chil- 
 dren ; '' and his niamma is so proud she 
 dresses him finer than we are, for all he is 
 base-born : and our papas and mammas 
 don't think him fit company for us." 
 
 They might have gone on for an hour 
 • — Adeline could not interrupt them. The 
 cause of the child's affliction was a dag- 
 ger in her heart ; and, while she listened 
 to the now redoubled sobs of the dis- 
 graced and proudly afflicted boy, she was 
 driven almost to phrensy : for " Such," 
 she exclaimed, " may one dme or other 
 be the pangs of my child, and so to him 
 may the hours of childhood be embit- 
 tered !"^ — Again she seated herself by the 
 little mourner— and her tears accompa- 
 nied his, 
 
 *' My
 
 138 
 
 ^'^ My dear child, you had better go 
 home,'* said she, struggHng with her feel- 
 ings ; " your mother will certainly be glad 
 of your company." 
 
 " No, I won't go to her ; I don't love 
 her : they say she is a bad woman, and 
 my papa a bad man, because they are not 
 •married." 
 
 Again Adeline's horrors returned. — 
 ** But, my dear, they love you, no doubt ; 
 and you ought to love them," she replied 
 with effort. 
 
 " There, there comes your papa," 
 cried one of the boys j "go and cry to 
 him ;— go." 
 
 At these words Adeline looked up, and 
 saw an elegant-looking man approaching 
 with a look of anxiety. 
 
 " Charles, my dear boy, what has hap- 
 pened ?" said he, taking his hand; which 
 the boy sullenly withdrew. " Come 
 home directly,*' continued his father, 
 
 " and
 
 139 
 
 *^ and tell me what is the matter, as we 
 go along." But again snatching his 
 hand away, the proud and deeply wounded 
 child resentfully pushed the shoulder 
 next him forward, whenever his father 
 tried to take his arm, and elbowed him 
 angrily as he went. 
 
 Adeline felt the child's action to the 
 bottom of her heart. It was a volume 
 of reproach to the father ; and she 
 sighed to think what the parents, if they 
 had hearts, must feel, when the afflicted 
 boy told the cause of his grief. *' But, 
 unhappy boy, perhaps my child may live 
 to bless you 1" she exclaimed, clasping 
 her hands together : " never, never will 
 I expose my child to the pangs vi^hich you 
 have experienced to-day." So saying, 
 she returned instantly to her lodgings; 
 and having just strength left to enter 
 Glenmurray's room, she faintly ex- 
 claimed: " For pity's sake, make me 
 
 your
 
 140 
 
 your wife to-morrow !" and fell senseless 
 on the floor. 
 
 On her recovery she saw Glenmurray 
 pale with agitation, yet with an expression 
 of satisfaction in his countenance, bend- 
 ing over her. *' Adeline ! my dearest 
 life!" he whispered as her head lay on 
 hk bosom, " blessed be the words you 
 have spoken, whatever be their cause I 
 •To-mon'ow you shall be my wife.'* 
 
 *^ And then our child will be legiti^ 
 mate, will he not ?" she eagerly replied. 
 
 " It will." 
 
 " Thank God !" cried Adeline, and 
 relapsed into a fainting fit. For it was 
 not decreed that the object of her mater- 
 nal solicitude should ever be born to re- 
 ward it. Anxiety and agitadon had had 
 a fatal effect on the health of Adeline ; 
 and the day after her rencounter on 
 the terrace she brought forth a dead 
 child. 
 
 As
 
 141 
 
 As soon as Adeline, languid and dis* 
 appointed, was able to leave her room, 
 Glenmurray, whom anxiety during her 
 illness had rendered considerably weaker, 
 urged her to let the marriage ceremony be 
 performed immediately. But with her 
 hopes of being a mother vanished her 
 wishes to become a wife, and all her for- 
 mer reasons against marriage recurred in 
 their full force. 
 
 In vain did Glenmurray entreat her to 
 keep her lately formed resolution : she 
 still attributed his persuasions to genero- 
 sity, and the heroic resolve of sacrificing 
 his principles, with the consistency of his 
 character, to her supposed good, and it 
 was a point of honour with her to be as 
 generous in return : consequently the sub- 
 ject was again dropped ; nor was it likely 
 to be soon renev/ed ; an anxiety of a nioi'e 
 pressing nature disturbed their peace and 
 engrossed their attention. "Ihey had been 
 
 three
 
 142 
 
 three months at Richmond, and had Incur- 
 red there a considerable debt ; and Glen- 
 miirray, not having sufficient money with 
 him to discharge it, drew upon his ban- 
 ker for half the half-year's rents from his 
 estate, which he had just deposited in his 
 hands ; when to his unspeakable astonish- 
 ment he found that the house had stopped 
 payment, and that the principal partner 
 was gone off with the deposits ! 
 
 Scarcely could the firm mind of Glen- 
 murray support itself under this stroke. 
 He looked forward to the certainty of 
 passing the little remanider of his life not 
 only in pain but in poverty, and of seeing 
 increase as fast as his wants the difficulty 
 of supplying them ; while the woman of 
 his heart bent in increased agony over his 
 restless couch ; for he well knew that to 
 raise money on his estate, or to antici* 
 pate the next half-year's rents, was impos- 
 sible, as he had only a life interest in it -, 
 
 and.
 
 143 
 
 and, as he held the fatal letter in his hand, 
 his frame shook with agitation. 
 
 " I could not have believed," cried Ade- 
 hne, "that the loss of any sum of money 
 could have so violently affected you." 
 
 " Not the loss of my all 1 my support 
 during the tedious scenes of illness I" 
 
 " Your all !" faltered out Adeline ; and 
 when she heard the true state of the case 
 she found her agitation equalled that of 
 Glenmurray, and in hopeless anguish she 
 leaned on the table beside him. 
 
 "What is to be done/' said she, "till 
 the next half-year's rents become due ? 
 Where can we procure money ?" 
 
 " Till the next half-year's rents become 
 due!" replied he, looking at her mourn- 
 fully : "I shall not be distressed for mo- 
 ney then." 
 
 " No ?" answered Adeline (not under- 
 standing him) : " our expenses have never 
 yet been more than that sum can supply." 
 
 Glcnmurray
 
 144? 
 
 Glenmurray looked at her, and, seeing 
 how unconscious she was of the certainty 
 of the evil that awaited her, had not the 
 courage to distress her by explaining his 
 meaning; and she went on to ask him what 
 ^teps he meant to take to raise money. 
 
 " My only resource,'* said he, " is dun- 
 ning a near relation of mine who owes 
 m.e three hundred pounds : he is now, I 
 believe, able to pay it. He is in Holland, 
 indeed^ at present; but he is daily ex- 
 pected in England, and will come to see 
 me here. — 1 have named him to you be- 
 fore, I believe. His name is Berrendale." 
 It was then agreed that Glenmurray 
 should write to Mr. Berrendale immediate- 
 ly ; and that, to prevent the necessity of in- 
 curring a further debt for present provi- 
 sions and necessaries, some of their books 
 and linen should be sold : — but week after 
 week elapsed, and no letter was received 
 from Mr. Berrendale. 
 
 Glenmurray
 
 145 
 
 Glenmurray grew rapidly worse ;-*- 
 and their landlord was clamorous for his 
 rent; — advice from London also became 
 necessary to quiet Adeline's mind,- — though 
 Glenmurray knew that he was past cure : 
 and after she had paid a small sum to quiet 
 the demands of the landlord for a while, 
 she had scarcely enough left to pay a 
 physician : however, she sent for ons, 
 recommended by Dr. Norbeny, and by 
 selling a writing-desk inlaid with silver, 
 which she valued because it was the gift 
 of her father, she raised money sufficient 
 for the occasion. 
 
 Dr. arrived, but not to speak 
 
 peace to the mind of Adeline. She saw, 
 though he did not absolutely say so, that 
 all chance of Glenmurray's recovery was 
 over : and though with the sanguine feel- 
 ings of nineteen she could" hope though 
 hope were lost," when she watched Dr. 
 =■ 's countenance as he turned from the 
 
 v6l. II, L bed-eide
 
 146 
 bed-side of Glenmurray, she felt the cold- 
 ness of despair thrill through her frame ; 
 and, scarcely able to stand, she followed 
 him into the next room, and awaited his 
 orders with a sort of desperate tran- 
 quillity. 
 
 After prescribing alleviations of the ill 
 beyond his pov/er to cure, Dr. — — 
 added that terrible confirmation of the 
 fears of anxious aiTection. — " Let him 
 have whatever he likes ; nothing can hurt 
 him now ; and all your endeavours must 
 be to make the remaining hours of his 
 existence as comfortable as you can, by 
 every indulgence possible: and indeed, my 
 dear madam," he continued, " you must 
 be prepared for the trial that awaits you." 
 
 "Prepared! did you say?" cried Ade- 
 line in the broken voice of tearless and 
 almost phrensied sorrow. — " O God ! if 
 he must die, in fnercy let me die with him. 
 If I have sinned, (here she fell on her 
 
 knees,)
 
 147 
 
 kiiees,) surely, surely the agony of this 
 moment is atonement sufficient.*' 
 
 Dr. 5 greatly afiected, raised her 
 
 from the ground, and conjured her for 
 the sake of Glenraurray, and that she 
 might not make his last hours miserable, 
 to bear her trial with more fortitude. 
 
 " And can you talk of his ^ last hours,* 
 and yet expect me to be composed ? — O 
 sir ! say but that there is one Httle little 
 gleam of hope for me, and I will be 
 calm." 
 
 " Well," replied Dr. -, " I inay 
 
 be mistaken ; Mr. Glenmurray is young, 
 and — and — " here his voice faltered, and 
 he was unable to proceed ; for the expres- 
 sion of Adeline's countenance, changing as 
 it instantly did from misery to joy, — joy 
 of which he knew the fallacy, — while her 
 eyes were intently fixed on him, was toa 
 much for a man of any feeling to sup- 
 port j and when she pressed his hand in 
 h 2 the
 
 148 
 
 the convulsive emotions of her gratitude, 
 he was forced to turn away his head to 
 conceal the starting tear. 
 
 " Well, I may be mistaken — Mr. Glen- 
 murray is young," Adelme repeated again 
 and again, as his carriage drove off; and 
 she flew to Glenmurray's bed-side to im- 
 part to him the satisfaction which he re- 
 joiced to see her feel, but in which he 
 could not share. 
 
 Her recovered security did not, how- 
 ever, last long : the change in Glenmur- 
 ray grew every day more visible ; and to 
 increase her distress, they were forced, to 
 avoid disagreeable altercations, to give the 
 landlord a draft'on Mr. Berrendale for the 
 sum due to him, and remove to very 
 humble lodgings in a closer part of the 
 town. 
 
 Here their misery was a little alleviated 
 by the unexpected receipt of twenty 
 pounds, sent to Glenmurray by a tenant 
 
 who
 
 149 
 
 who was in arrears to him, which enabled 
 Adeline to procure Glenmurray every 
 thing that his capricious appetite required; 
 and at his earnest entreaty, in order that 
 she might sometimes venture to leave him, 
 lest her health should suiFer, she hired a 
 nurse to assist her in her attendance upon 
 him. 
 
 A hasty letter too was at length receiv- 
 ed from Mr. Berrendale, saying, that he 
 should very soon be in England, and should 
 hasten to Richmond immediately on his 
 landing. The terror of wanting money, 
 therefore, began to subside : but day after 
 day elapsed, and Mr. Berrendale came not ; 
 aftid Adeline, being obliged to deny herself 
 almost necessary sustenance that Glen- 
 murray *s appetite might be tempted, and 
 his nurse, by the indulgence of hers, 
 kept in good humour, resolved, pre-^ 
 suming on the arrival of Mr. Berrendale, 
 
 to
 
 150 
 
 to write to Dr. Norberry and solicit the 
 loan of twenty pounds. 
 
 Having done so, she ceased to be alarm- 
 ed, though she found herself in possession 
 of only three guineas to defray the pro- 
 bable expenses of the ensuing week ; and, 
 in somewhat less misery than usual, she, 
 at the earnest entreaty of Glenmurray, 
 set out to take a walk. 
 
 Scarcely conscious what she did, she 
 strolled through the town, and seeing some 
 fine grapes at the window of a fruiterer, 
 she went in to ask the price of them, 
 knowing how welcome fruit was to the 
 feverish palate of Glenmurray. While the 
 shopman was weighing the grapes, she 
 saw a pine-apple on the counter, and 
 felt a strong wish to carry it home as a 
 more welcome present ; but with unspeak- 
 able dissappointment she heard that the 
 price of it was two guineas — a sum which 
 
 she
 
 151 
 
 she could not think herself justified in 
 expending, in the present state of their 
 finances, even to please Glenmurray, espe- 
 cially as he had not expressed a wish for 
 such an indulgence : besides, he liked 
 grapes ; and, as medicine, neither of them 
 could be effectual. 
 
 It was fortunate for Adeline's feelings 
 that she had not overheard what the mis- 
 tress of the shop said to her maid as she 
 left it. 
 
 " I should have asked another person 
 only a guinea ; but as those sort of women 
 never mind what they give, I asked two, 
 and I dare say she will come back for- it." 
 
 *^ I have brought you some grapes," 
 cried Adeline as she entered Glenmurray 's 
 chamber, " and I would have brought 
 you a pine-apple, but that it was too 
 dear." 
 
 " A pine-apple !" said Glenmurray lan- 
 guidly turning over the grapes, and with 
 
 a sort
 
 152 
 
 a sort of distaste putting one of them in 
 his mouth, " a pine-apple ! — I wish you 
 had bought it with all my heart ! I pro- 
 test that I feel as if I could eat a whole 
 
 one/' 
 
 "Well," replied Adeline, "if you 
 would enjoy it so much, you certainly 
 ought to have it.*' 
 
 "But the price, my dear girl !— what 
 was it?" 
 
 " Only two guineas," replied Adeline, 
 forcing a smile. 
 
 " Two guineas !" exclaimed Glenmur- 
 ray : " No, — that is too much to give — I 
 will not indulge my appetite at such a rate 
 —but, take away the grapes — I can't eat 
 them," 
 
 Adeline, disappointed, removed them 
 from his sight ; and, to increase her vex- 
 ation, Glenmurray was continually talking 
 of pine-apples, and in a way that showed 
 how strongly his diseased appetite wished 
 
 to
 
 153 
 
 to enjoy the gratification of eating one. 
 At last, unable to bear to see him strug- 
 gling with an uRgratified wish, she told him 
 that she believed they could afford to buy 
 the pine-apple, as she had written to bor- 
 row some money of Dr. Norberry, to be 
 paid as soon as Mr. Berrendale arrived. In 
 a moment the dull eye of Glenmurray 
 lighted up with expectation ; and he, who 
 in health was remarkable for self-denial 
 and temperance, scrupled not, overcome 
 by the influence of the fever which con- 
 sumed him, to gratify his palate at a 
 rate the most extravagant. 
 . Adeline sighed as she contemplated 
 this change effected by illness ; and, pro- 
 mising to be back as soon as possible, she 
 proceeded to a shop to dispose of her lace 
 veil, the only ornament which she had 
 retained ; and that not from vanity, but be- 
 cause it concealed from the eye of curio- 
 sity the sorrow marked on her counte- 
 nance.
 
 154 
 
 nance. But she knew a piece of muslin 
 would do as well ; and for two guineas she 
 sold a veil worth treble the sum -, but it 
 was to give a minute's pleasure to Glen- 
 murray, and that was enough for Ade- 
 line. 
 
 In her way to the fruiterer's she saw 
 a crowd at the door of a mean-looking 
 house ^ and in the midst of it she beheld a 
 mulatto woman, the picture of sickness 
 and despair, supporting a young man who 
 seemed ready to faint every moment, but 
 whom a rough-featured man, regardless 
 of his weakness, was tiding to force from 
 the grasp of the unhappy woman -, while 
 a mulatto boy, known in Richmond by 
 the name of the Tawny Boy, to whom 
 Adeline had often given halfpence in her 
 walks, was crying bitterly, and hiding his 
 face in the poor woman's apron. 
 
 Adeline immediately pressed forward to 
 mquire into the cause of a distress only 
 
 too
 
 155 
 
 too congenial to her feelings; and as she 
 did so, the tawny boy looked up, and, 
 knowing her immediately, ran eagerly 
 forward to meet her, seeming, though he 
 did not speak, to associate with her pre- 
 sence an idea of certain relief. 
 
 " Oh ! it is only a poor man," replied an 
 old woman in answer to Adeline's in- 
 quiries, ^'who can't pay his debts,— -and so 
 they are dragging him to prison — that's 
 all." " They are dragging him to his 
 death too," cried a younger woman in a 
 gentle accent; " for he is only just recover- 
 ing from a bad fever : and if he goes to 
 jail the bad air will certainly kill him, 
 poor soul !" 
 
 " Is that his wife ?" said Adeline. 
 " Yes, and my mammy," said the tawny 
 boy, looking up in her face, '^ and she so 
 ill and sorry." 
 
 " Yes, unhappy creatures," replied her 
 informant, ** and they have known great 
 
 trouble j
 
 156 
 
 trouble ; and now, just as they had got a 
 little money together, William fell ill, 
 and in doctor's stuff Savanna (that's the 
 mulatto's name) has spent all the money 
 she had earned, as well as her husband's; 
 and now she is ill herself, and I am sure 
 William's going to jail will kill her. And 
 a hard-hearted, wicked wretch Mr. Davis 
 is, to arrest him — that he is — not but 
 what it is his due, I cannot say but it is 
 — but, poor souls! he'll die, and she'll 
 die, and then what will become of their 
 poor little boy ? " 
 
 The tawny boy all this time was 
 standing, crying, by Adeline's side, and 
 had twisted his fingers in her gown, while 
 her heart sympathized most painfully in 
 the anguish of the mulatto woman. 
 " What is the amount of the sum for 
 which he is taken up ? " said Adeline. 
 
 *' Oh! trifling : but Mr. Davis owes him 
 a grudge, and so will not wait any longer. 
 
 It
 
 It is in all only six pounds ; and he says 
 if they will pay half he will wait for the 
 rest; but then he knows they could as well 
 pay all as half." 
 
 Adeline, shocked at the knowledge of 
 a distress which she was not able to re- 
 move, was turning away as the woman 
 said this, when she felt that the little boy 
 pulled her gown gently, as if appealiiig 
 to her generosity; while a surly-looking^ 
 man, who was the creditor himself, forcing 
 a passage through the crowd, said, "Why, 
 bring him along, and have done with it j 
 here is a fuss to make indeed about that 
 idle dog, and that ugly black b — h !" 
 
 Adeline till then had not recollected 
 that she was a mulatto ; and this speech, 
 reflecting so brutally on her colour,. — a 
 circumstance which made her an object 
 of greater interest to Adeline, — urged her 
 to step forward to their joint relief with 
 an almost irresistible impulse; especially 
 
 when
 
 J 58 
 
 when another man reproached the fellow 
 for his brutality, and added, that he knew 
 them both to be hard-working, deserving 
 persona. But to disappoint Glenmurray 
 of his promised pleasure was impossible ; 
 and having put sixpence in the tawny 
 boy's hand, she was hastening to the. 
 fruiterer's, when the crowd, who were 
 following William and the mulatto to the 
 jail, whither the bailiffs were dragging 
 rather than leading him, fell back to give 
 air to the poor man, who had fainted on 
 Savanna's shoulder, and seemed on the 
 point of expiring — while she, with an 
 expression of fixed despair, was gazing 
 on his wan cheek. 
 
 Adeline thought on Glenmurray's dan- 
 ger, and shuddered as she beheld the 
 scene ; she felt it but a too probable 
 anticipadon of the one in which she 
 might soon be an actor. 
 
 At this moment a man observed, " If 
 
 he
 
 159 
 
 he goes to prison he will not live two 
 da3^s, that every one may see ;'^ and the 
 mulatto uttered a shriek of agony. 
 
 Adeline felt it to her very soul ; and, 
 rushing forward, " Sir, sir," she exclaim- 
 ed to the unfeeling creditor, " if I were to 
 give you a guinea now, and promise you 
 two more a fortnight hence, would you 
 release this poor man for the present ?" 
 
 " No : I must have three guineas this 
 moment," replied he. Adehne sighed, 
 and withdrew her hand from her pocket. 
 ^' But were Glenmurray here, he would 
 give up his own indulgence, I am sure, to 
 save the lives of, probably, two fellow-crea- 
 tures," thought Adeline; '^ and he would 
 not forgive me if I were to sacrifice such 
 an opportunity to the sole gratification of 
 his palate." — But then again, Glenmurray 
 eagerly expecting her with the promised 
 treat, so gradfying to the feverish taste of 
 sickness, seemed to appear before her, 
 
 and
 
 160 
 
 and she turned away : but the eyes of the 
 mulatto, who had heard her words, and 
 had hung on them breathless with ex- 
 pectation, followed her with a look of 
 such sad reproach for the disappointment 
 which she had occasioned her, and the little 
 boy looked up so wistfully in her face, 
 crying, ''Poor fader, and poor mammy I" 
 that Adeline could not withstand the 
 force of the appeal ; but almost exclaim- 
 ing ^'Glenmurray would upbraid me if I 
 did not act thus," she gave the creditor 
 the three guineas, paid the bailiffs their 
 demand, and then made her way through 
 the crowd, who respectfully drew back 
 to give her room to pass, saying, " God 
 bless you, lady ! God bless you !" 
 
 But William was too ill, and Savanna felt 
 too much to speak ; and the surly creditor 
 said, sneeringly, " If I had been you, 
 I would, at least, have thanked the la- 
 dy." This reproach restored Savanna to 
 
 the 
 
 J
 
 161 
 
 the use of speech ; and (but with a vi» 
 olent effort) she uttered in a hoarse and 
 broken voice, " / tank her ! God tank 
 her ! I never can:" and Adeline, kindly- 
 pressing her hand, hurried away from 
 her in silence, though scarcely able to 
 refrain exclaiming, *' You know not the 
 sacrifice which you have cost me!" The 
 tawny boy still followed her, as loth to 
 leave her. " God bless you, my dear!" 
 said she kindly to him : " there, go to your 
 mother, and be good to her." His dark 
 face glowed as she spoke to him, and 
 holding up his chin, " Tiss me !" cried 
 he, " poor tawny boy love you!*' She 
 did so ; and then, reluctantly, he left her, 
 nodding his head, and saying "Dood bye" 
 till he was out of sight. 
 
 With him, and with the display of his 
 grateful joy, vanished all that could give 
 Adeline resolution to bear her own re- 
 flections at the idea of returning home, 
 
 VOL. II. M and
 
 162 
 
 and of the trial that awaited her. In 
 vain did she now tiy to beUeve that 
 Glenmurray would applaud what she had 
 done. — He was now the slave of disease, 
 nor was it likely that even his self-denial 
 and principled benevolence could endure 
 v/ith patience so cruel a disappointment — 
 and from the woman whom he loved 
 too ! — and to whom the indulgence of his 
 slightest wishes ought ta have been the 
 first object. 
 
 " Vv'^hat shall I do ?*' cried she : " what 
 will he say ? — No doubt he is impatiently 
 expecting me ; and, in his weak state, 
 
 disappointment may " Here, unable 
 
 to bear her apprehensions, she wrung her 
 hands in agony ; and when she arrived in 
 sight of her lodgings she dared not look 
 up^ lest she should see Glenmurray at the 
 window watching for her return. Slowly 
 and fearfully did she open the door ; and 
 the first sound she heard was Glenmur- 
 
 ray's
 
 163 
 
 ray's voice from the door of his room, 
 saying, '^ So, you are come at last ! — I 
 have been so impatient 1" And indeed he 
 had risen and dressed himself, that he 
 might enjoy his treat more than he could 
 do in a sick-bed. 
 
 " How can I bear to look him in 
 the face !'* thought Adeline, lingering on 
 the stairs. 
 
 " Adeline, my love ! why do you make 
 me wait so long?" cried Glenmurray. 
 ''Here are knives and plates ready; where 
 is the treat I have been so long expecting ?*' 
 
 Adeline entered the room and threw 
 herself on the first chair, avoiding the 
 sight of Glenmurray, whose countenance, 
 as she hastily glanced her eyes over it, 
 was animated with the expectation of 
 a pleasure which he was not to enjoy. " I 
 have not brought the pine-apple," she 
 faintly articulated. '^ No 1" replied Glen- 
 M 2 murrav.
 
 164 
 murray, " how hard upon me !— the only 
 thing for weeks that I have wished for, 
 or could have eaten with pleasure ! I 
 suppose you were so long going that it 
 was disposed of before you got there ?" 
 
 " No,*' replied Adeline, struggling 
 with her tears at this first instance ©f 
 pettishness in Glenmurray. 
 
 *' Pardon me the supposition, " re- 
 plied Glenmurray, recovering himself: 
 ^' more likely you met some dun on the 
 road, and so the two guineas were disposed 
 of another way— If so, I can't blame 
 you. What say you ? Am I right ?" 
 
 *' No." " Then how was it ?" gravely 
 asked Glenmurray. " You must have 
 had a very powerful and sufficient rea- 
 son, to induce you to disappoint a poor 
 invalid of the indulgence which you had 
 yourself excited him to wish for." 
 
 " This is terrible, indeed !'* thought 
 
 Adeline,
 
 165 
 
 Adeline, " and never was I so tempted to 
 tell a falsehood." 
 
 " Still \ silent ! You are very unkind, 
 miss Mov^bray," said Glenmurray ; " I 
 see that I have tired even you out/* 
 
 These words, by the agony which 
 they excited, restored to Adeline all her 
 resolution. She ran to Glenmun*ay ; she 
 clasped his burning hands in hers j and 
 as succinctly as possible she related what 
 had passed. When she had finished^ 
 Glenmurray was silent; the fretfulness 
 of disease prompted him to say, " So 
 then, to the relief of strangers you sa- 
 crificed the gratification of the man whom 
 you love, and deprived him of the only 
 pleasure he may live to enjoy !*' But the 
 habitual sweetness and generosity of his 
 temper struggled, and struggled efiec- 
 tually, with his malady ; and while Ade- 
 line, pale and trembling, awaited her 
 sentence, he caught her suddenly io his 
 
 bosom,
 
 166 
 
 bosom, and held her there a few moments 
 in silence. 
 
 " Then you forgive me ?'* faltered out 
 Adeline. 
 
 " Forgive you ! I love and admire you 
 more than ever! I know your heart, 
 Adeline ; and I am convinced that de- 
 priving yourself of the delight of giving 
 me the promised treat, in order to do 
 a benevolent action, was an effort of 
 virtue of the highest order ; and never, 
 I trust, have you known, or will you 
 knov/ again, such bitter feelings as you 
 this moment experienced." 
 
 Adeline, gratified by his generous kind- 
 ness, and charmed with hispraise,could only 
 weep her thanks. " And now," said Glen- 
 murray, laughing, " you may bring back 
 the grapes — I am not like Sterne's dear 
 Jenny ; if I cannot get pine-apple, I will 
 not insist on eating crab." 
 . The grapes were brought ; but in vain 
 3 did
 
 167 
 
 did he try to eat them. At this time, 
 however, he did not send them away 
 without highly commending their flavour, 
 and wishing that he dared give way to his 
 inclinations, and feast upon them. 
 
 " O God of mercy 1" cried Adeline, 
 bursting into an agony of grief as she 
 reached her own apartment, and throve- 
 ing herself on her knees by the bed-side, 
 "Must that benevolent being be taken from 
 nie for ever, and must I, must I survive 
 him !" 
 
 She contmued for some minutes in this 
 attitude, and with her heart devoutly 
 raised to heaven ; till every feeling yielded 
 to resignation, and she arose calm, if 
 not contented ; when, on turning round, 
 she saw Glenmurray leaning against the 
 door, and gazing on her. 
 
 " Sweet enthusiast 1'* cried he smi- 
 ling: " so, thus, when you are distressed, 
 you seek consolation." 
 
 "I do/*
 
 168 
 
 "I do," she replied : " Sceptic., wouldst 
 thou wish to deprive me of it ?" 
 
 " No, by heaven!" warmly exclaimed 
 Glenmurray ; and the evening passed more 
 cheerfully than usual. 
 
 The next post brought a letter not from 
 Dr. Norberry, but from his wife; it was as 
 follows, an contained three pound-notes: 
 
 " Mrs. Norberry 's compliments to 
 miss Mowbray, having opened her letter, 
 poor Dr. Norberry being dangerously ill 
 of a fever, find her distress ; of which 
 shall not inform the Dr., as he feel so 
 much for his friend's misfortunes, spe- 
 cially when brought on by misconduct. 
 But, out of respect for your mother, who 
 is a good sort of weman, though rather 
 particular, as all learned ladies are, have 
 sent three pound-notes ; the miss Nor- 
 berrys giving one a-piece, not to lend, but 
 a gift, and they join Mrs. Norberry 
 in hoping miss Mowbray will soon see 
 
 the
 
 169 
 
 the error of her ways ; and, if so be, no 
 doubt Dr. Norberry will use his interest 
 to get her into the Magdalen." 
 
 This curious epistle would have ex- 
 cited in Glenmurray and Adeline no 
 other feelings save those of contempt, 
 but for the information it contained of the 
 doctor's being dangerously ill 5 and, in fear 
 for the worthy husband, they forgot the 
 impertinence of the wife and daughters. 
 
 The next day, fortunately, Mr. Berren- 
 dale arrived, and with him the 300/. 
 Consequentlyjall Glenmurray 's debts were 
 discharged, better lodgings procured, and 
 the three pound notes returned in a blank 
 cover to Mrs. Norberry. Charles Ber- 
 rendale was first cousin to Glenmurray, 
 and"" so like him in face, that they were, 
 at first, mistaken for brothers : but to a 
 physiognomist they must always have 
 been unlike ; as Glenmurray was remark- 
 able for the character and expression of 
 
 his
 
 170 
 
 his countenance, and Berrendale for the 
 extreme beauty of his features and com- 
 plexion. Glenmurray vv^as pale and thin, 
 and his eyes and hair dark. Berrendale's 
 eyes were of a light blue ; and though his 
 eye -lashes were black, his hair was of a rich 
 nuburn: Glenmurray was thin and mus- 
 cular ; Berrendale, round and corpulent : 
 still they were alike ; and it was not ill 
 observed of them, that Berrendale was 
 Glenmurray in good health. 
 
 But Berrendale could not be flattered 
 by the resemblance, as his face and per- 
 son were so truly what is called hand- 
 some, that, partial as our sex is said to 
 be to beauty, any woman would have 
 been excused for falling in love with him. 
 Whether his mind was equal to his per- 
 son we shall show hereafter. 
 
 The meeting between Berrendale and 
 Glenmurray was affectionate on both 
 sides j but Berrendale could scarcely hide 
 
 tha
 
 171 
 the pain he felt on seeing the situation 
 of Glenmurray, whose virtues he had 
 always loved, whose talents he had always 
 respected, and to whose active friendship 
 towards Iiimself he owed eternal gratitude. 
 
 But he soon learnt to think Glenmur- 
 ray, in one respect, an object of envy, 
 when he beheld the constant, skilful and 
 tender attentions of his nurse, and saw 
 in that nurse every gift of heart, mind, 
 and person, which could make a woman 
 amiable. 
 
 Berrendale had heard that his eccentric 
 cousin v/as living with a girl as odd as 
 himself; who thought herself a genius, 
 and pretended to universal knowledge: 
 great then was his astonishment to find 
 this imagined pedant, and pretender, not 
 only an adept in every useful and femi« 
 nine pursuit, but modest in her demean- 
 our, and gentle in her manners : little 
 did he expect to see her capable of serv- 
 ing
 
 172 
 
 ing the table of Glenmurray with dishes 
 made by herself, not only tempting to 
 the now craving appetite of the invalid 
 but to the palate of an epicure, — while all 
 his wants were anticipated by her anxious 
 attention^ and many of the sufferings of 
 sickness alleviated by her inventive care. 
 
 Adeline, mean while, was agreeably 
 surprised to see the good effect produced 
 on Glenmuriray's spirits, and even his 
 health, by the arrival of his cousin ; and 
 her manner became even affectionate to 
 Berrendale, from gratitude/or the change 
 which his presence seemed to have occa- 
 sioned. 
 
 Adeline had now a companion in her 
 occasional walks ; — Glenmurray insisted 
 on her walking, and insisted on Berren- 
 dale's accompanying her. In these tete- 
 a-tetes Adeline unburthened her heart, 
 by telling Berrendale of the agony she 
 felt at the idea of losing Glenmurray ; 
 
 and
 
 173 
 
 and while dro\?nied in tears she leaned on 
 his arm, she unconsciously suffered him 
 to press the hand that leaned against him ; 
 nor would she have felt it a freedom to 
 be reproved, had she been conscious that 
 he did so. But these trifling indulgences 
 were fewel to the flame that she had kindled 
 in the heart of Berrendale ; a flame which 
 he saw no guilt in indulging, as he looked 
 on Glenmurray*s death as certain, and 
 Adeline would then be free. 
 
 But though Adeline was perfectly un- 
 conscious of his attachment, Glenmurray 
 had seen it even before Berrendale himself 
 discovered it ; and he only waited a fa- 
 vourable opportunity to make the discovery 
 known to the parties. All he had as yet 
 ventured to say was, " Charles, my 
 Adeline is an excellent nurse ! — You 
 would like such an one during your fits 
 of the gout ;'' and Berrendale had blushed 
 deeply while he assented to Glenmurray 's 
 
 remarks.
 
 174 
 
 remarks, because he was conscious that, 
 while enumerating Adeline's perfections, 
 he had figured her to himself warming 
 his flannels, and leaning tenderly over his 
 gouty couch. 
 
 One day, while Adeline was -reading 
 to Glenmurray, and Berrendale was at- 
 tending not to what she read, but to the 
 beauty of her mouth while reading^the nurse 
 came in, and said that "a mulatto woman 
 wished to speak to miss Mowbray." 
 
 ^' Show her up," immediately cried 
 Glenmurray ; " and if her httle boy is 
 with her, let him come too.'' 
 
 In vain did Adeline expostulate — Glen- 
 murray wished to enjoy the mulatto's ex- 
 pressions of gratitude ; and, in spite of all 
 she could say, the mother and cliild were 
 introduced. 
 
 " So!" cried the mulatto, (whose looks 
 were so improved that Adeline scarcely 
 knew her again,) " So ! me fmd you at 
 
 last j
 
 last ; and, please God ! we not soon part 
 more." As she said this, she pressed the 
 hem of Adeline's gown to her iips with 
 fervent emotion. 
 
 " Not part from her again !" cried 
 Glenmurray : '^ What do you mean, my 
 good woman ?" 
 
 " Oh ! when she gave tree guinea for 
 me, metought she mus be rich lady, 
 but now dey say she be poor, and me 
 mus work for her." 
 
 " And who told you I was poor ?'* 
 " Dat cross man where you live once 
 — he say you could not pay him, and you 
 go away — and he tell me dat your love be 
 ill ; and me so sorry, yet so glad ! for my 
 love be well aden, and he have got good 
 employ ; and now I can come and serve 
 you, and nurse dis poor gentleman, and 
 all for noting but my meat and drink ; 
 and I know dat great fat nurse have gold 
 
 wages.
 
 176 
 
 wages, and eat and drink fat beside, — I 
 knowd her well/' 
 
 All this was uttered with great volu- 
 bility, and in a tone between laughing and 
 crying. 
 
 " Well, Adeline," said Glenmurray 
 when she had ended, " you did not throw 
 away your kindness on an unworthy and 
 ungrateful object 5 so I am quite reconciled 
 to the loss of the pine-apple ; and I will 
 tell your honest friend here the story, — to 
 show her, as she has a tender heart her- 
 self, the greatness of the sacrifice you 
 made for her sake." 
 
 Adeline begged him to desist ; but he 
 went on ; and the mulatto could not keep 
 herself quiet on her chair while he re- 
 lated the circumstance. 
 
 *' And did she do dat to save me?" 
 she passionately exclaimed ; " Angel wo- 
 man ! I should have let poor man go to 
 prison, before disappoint my William!" 
 
 *' And
 
 177 
 
 *' And did you forgive her immedi« 
 ately ?" said Berrendale. 
 
 " Yes, certainly/' 
 
 " Well, that was heroic too/* return- 
 ed he. 
 
 " And no one but Glenmurray would 
 have been so heroic, I believe," said 
 Adeline. 
 
 '* But, lady, }^u break my heart," 
 cried the mulatto, ^' if you not take 
 my service. My William and me, too 
 poor to live togedder of some year per- 
 haps. Here, child, tawny boy, down on 
 knees, and vow wid me to be faithful 
 and grateful to this our mistress, till our 
 last day ; and never to forsake her in 
 sickness or in sorrow ! I swear dis to my 
 great God :^and now say dat after me.'' 
 She then clasped the little boy's hands, 
 bade him raise his eyes to heaven, and 
 made him repeat what she had said, end- 
 ing it with "I swear dis, to my great God." 
 
 VOL. II. N There
 
 178 
 
 There was such an affecting solemnity 
 in this action, and in the muhitto such 
 a determined enthusiasm of manner in- 
 capable of beirg controled, that Ade- 
 line, Glenmurray, and Berrendale observ- 
 ed what passed in respectful silence : and 
 when it was over, Glenmurray said, in 
 a voice of emotion, " I think, Adeline, 
 we must accept this good creature's offer ; 
 and as nurse grows lazy and saucy, we 
 had better part with her : and as for your 
 young knight there," (the tawny boy 
 had by this time nestled himself close to 
 Adeline, who, with no small emotion, 
 was playing with his woolly curls,) ''we 
 must send him to school ; for, my good 
 woman, we are not so poor as you ima- 
 gine.'* 
 
 *' God be thanked!**, cried the mulatto. 
 
 *' But what is your name ?'* 
 
 " I was christened Savanna," replied 
 she. 
 
 " Then,
 
 179 
 
 " Then, good Savanna," cried Ade- 
 line, " I hope we shall both have reason 
 to bless the day when first we met ; and 
 to-morrow you shall come home to us/* 
 Savanna, on hearing this, almost scream- 
 ed ^vith joy, and as she took her leave 
 Berrendale slipped a guinea into her hand: 
 the tawny boy meanwhile slowly followed 
 his mother, as if unwilling to leave Ade- 
 line, even though she gave him halfpence to 
 spend in cakes : but on being told that she 
 would let him come an-ain the next day, 
 he tripped gaily down after Savanna. 
 
 The quiet of the chamber being then 
 festored, Glenmurray fell into a calm 
 si umber f Adeline took up her work ; and 
 Berrendale, pretending to read, continued 
 to feed his passion by gazing on the 
 unconscious Adeline. 
 
 While they were thus engaged, Glen- 
 murray, unobserved, awoke ; and he 
 soon guessed how Berrendale's eyes were 
 K 2 employed,
 
 1§0 
 
 employed, as the book which he held in 
 his hand was upside down ; and through 
 the fingers of the hand which he held 
 before his face, he saw his looks fixed on 
 Adeline. 
 
 The moment was a favourable one for 
 Glenmurray's purpose: and just as he rais- 
 ed himself from his pillow, Adeline had 
 discovered the earnest gaze of Berrendale j 
 and a suspicion of the truth that instant 
 darting across her mind, disconcerted 
 and blushing, she had cast her eyes on 
 the ground. 
 
 '^ That is an interesting study which 
 you are engaged in, Charles," cried 
 Glenmurray smiling. 
 
 Berrendale started ; and, deeply blush- 
 ing, faltered out, " Yes.'' 
 
 Adeline looked at Glenmurray, and, 
 freeing a very arch and meaning expres- 
 sion on his countenance, suspected that 
 he had made the same discovery as her- 
 self:
 
 181 
 
 self: yet, if so, she wondered at his 
 looking so pleasantly on Berrendale as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " It is a book, Charles," continued 
 Glenmurray, " which the more you 
 study the more you will admire ; and I 
 wish to givd you a clue to understand 
 some passages in it better than you can 
 now do." 
 
 This speech deceived Adeline, and made 
 her suppose that Glenmurray really alluded 
 to the book which lay before Berrendale: 
 but it convinced him that Glenmurray spoke 
 metaphorically ; and as his manner was 
 kind, it also made him think that he 
 saw and did not disapprove his attach- 
 ment. 
 
 For a few minutes, each of them being 
 engrossed in different contemplations, 
 there was a complete silence ; but Glen- 
 murray interrupted it by saying, "My dear 
 Adeline, it is your hour for walking; but, 
 
 as
 
 182 
 
 as I am not disposed to sleep again, will 
 you forgive me if I keep your walking 
 companion to myself to-day ? — I wish to 
 converse with him alone." 
 
 " Oh ! most cheerfully," she replied 
 with quickness : " you know I love a 
 solitary ramble of all things." 
 
 " Not very flattering that to" my cou- 
 sin," observed Glenmurray. 
 
 " I did not wish to flatter him," said 
 Adeline gravely ; and Berrendale, fluttered 
 at the idea of the coming conversation 
 with Glenmurray, and mortified by 
 Adeline's words and manner, turned to 
 she window to conceal his emotion. 
 * Adeline, then, with more than usual 
 tenderness, conjured Glenmurray not to 
 talk too much, nor do any thing to de- 
 stroy the hopes on w^hich her only chance 
 of happiness depended, viz. the now pos- 
 sible chance of his recovery, and then set 
 out for her walk^ \^ bile, with a restraint and 
 
 coldness
 
 183 
 
 coldness which she could not conquer, she 
 bade Berrendale farewell for the present* 
 
 The walk was long, and her thoughts 
 perturbed : — " What could Glenmurray 
 want to say to Mr. Berrendale ?" — Why 
 did Mr. Berrendale sit with his eyes so 
 intently and clandestinely, as it were, 
 fixed on me ?*' were thoughts perpetually 
 recurring to her: and half impatient, and 
 half reluctant, she at length returned to 
 her lodgings. 
 
 When she entered the apartment, she 
 saw signs of great emotion in the coun- 
 tenance of both the gentlemen ; and in 
 Berrendale's eyes the traces of recent tears. 
 The tone of Glenmurray's voice too, 
 when he addressed her, was even more 
 tender than usual, and Berrendale's atten- 
 tions more marked, yet more respectful ; 
 and Adeline observed that Glenmurray 
 was unusually thoughtful and absent, 
 and that the cough and othei* symptoms 
 
 of
 
 184 
 
 of his complaint were more troublesome 
 than ever. 
 
 *M see you have exerted yourself and 
 talked too much during my absence," 
 cried Adeline, " and I will never leave 
 you again for so long a time." 
 
 " You never shall/' said Glenmurray, 
 ** I must leave you for so long a time 
 at last, that I will be blessed with the sight 
 of you as long as I can." 
 
 Adeline, whose hopes had been con- 
 siderably revived during the last few days, 
 looked mournfully and reproachfully in 
 his face as he uttered these words. 
 
 " It is even so, my dearest girl," con- 
 tinued Glenmurray, '' and I say this to 
 guard you against a melancholy sur- 
 prise: — I wish to prepare you for an event 
 which to me seems unavoidable." 
 
 ** Prepare me !" exclaimed Adeline 
 wildly. " Qan there be any preparation 
 to enable one to bear such a calamity ? 
 
 Absurd
 
 185 
 
 Absurd idea ! However, I shall derive 
 consolation from the severity of the 
 stroke : I feel that I shall not be able 
 to survive it." So saying, her head fell 
 on Glenmurray's pillow ; and, for some 
 time, her sorrow almost suspended the 
 consciousness of suffering. 
 
 From this state she was aroused by 
 Glenmurray's being attacked with a violent 
 paroxysm of his complaint, and all selfish 
 distress was lost in the consciousness of 
 his sufferings : again he struggled through, 
 and seemed so relieved by the effort, 
 that again Adeline's hopes revived ; and 
 she could scarcely return, with temper, 
 Berrendale's " good night," when Glen- 
 murray expressed a wish to rest, because 
 his spirits had not risen in any proportion 
 to hers. 
 
 The nurse had been dismissed that 
 afternoon ; and Adeline, as Savanna was 
 not to come home till the next morning, 
 
 was
 
 186 
 'wzs to sit up alone with Glenmurray that 
 might ; and, contrary to his usual custom, 
 he did not insist that she should have a 
 companion. 
 
 • For a few hours his exhausted frame 
 was recruited by a sleep more than usu- 
 ally quiet, and but for a few^ hours only. 
 He then became restless, and so wake- 
 ful and disturbed, that he professed to 
 Adeline an utter inability to sleep, and 
 therefor^ he wished to pass the rest of 
 the night in serious conversation with hen 
 
 Adeline, alarmed at this intention, con- 
 jured him not to irritate his complaint by 
 so dangerous an exertion. 
 
 *• My mind will irritate it more," re- 
 ]plied he, " if I refrain from it ; for it is 
 burthened, my Adeline, and it longs to 
 throw off its burthen. Now then, ere 
 my senses v/ander, hear what I wish to 
 comniimicate to you, and interrupt me 
 as little as possible/' 
 
 Adeline,
 
 187 
 
 Adeline, oppressed and awed beyond 
 measure at the unusual solemnity of his 
 manner, made no answer; but, leaning 
 her cheek on his hand, awaited his com- 
 munication in silence. 
 
 " I think," said Glenmurray, " I shall 
 begin with telling you Berrendale's his- 
 tory : it is proper that you should know 
 all that concerns him." 
 
 Adeline, raising her head, replied 
 hastily, — ", Not to satisfy any curiosity of 
 mine ; for I feel none, I assure you." 
 
 " Well then/* returned Glenm.urray, 
 sighing, " to please me, be it. — Berren- 
 dale is the son of my mother's sister, by a 
 merchant in the neighbourhood of the 
 'Change, .who hurt the family pride so 
 much by marrying a tradesman, that I 
 am the only one of the clan who has 
 noticed her since. He ran away, about 
 four years ago, with the only child of a 
 rich "West Indian from a boarding-school. 
 
 The
 
 188 
 
 The consequence was, that her father 
 renounced her; but, when, three years 
 ago, she died in giving birth to a son, 
 the unhappy parent repented of his dis- 
 pleasure, and offered to allow Berrendale, 
 who from the bankruptcy and sudden 
 death of both his parents had been left 
 destitute, an annuity of 300/. for life, 
 provided he weuld send the child over to 
 Jamaica, and allow him to have all the 
 care of his education. To this Berrendale 
 consented. 
 
 " Reluctantly, I hope," said Adeline, 
 *' and merely out of pity for the feel- 
 ings of the childless father." 
 
 ^* I hope so too," continued Glenmur- 
 ray ; " for I do not think the chance of 
 inheriting all his grandfather's property a 
 sufficient reason to lead him to give up to 
 another, and in a foreign land too, the 
 society and education of his child : but, 
 whatever were his reasons, Berrendale ac- 
 ceded
 
 189 
 
 ceded to the request, and the infant was 
 sent to Jamaica ; and ever since the 300/. 
 has been regularly remitted to him: besides 
 that, he has recovered two thousand and 
 odd hundred pounds from the wreck of 
 his father's property ; and with oeco- 
 nomy, and had he a good wife to manage 
 his aiFairs for him, Berrendale might live 
 very comfortably." 
 
 " My dear Glenraurray," cried Ade- 
 line impatiently, " what is this to me ? 
 and why do you weary yourself to tell 
 me particulars so little interesting to me ?'* 
 
 Glenmurray bade her have patience, 
 and continued thus: " And now, Adeline, 
 (here his voice evidently faltered) I 
 must open my whole heart to you, and 
 confess that the idea of leaving you friend- 
 less, unprotected, and poor, your repu- 
 tation injured, and your peace of mind 
 destroyed, is more than I am able to bear, 
 and will give me, in my last moments, 
 
 the
 
 190 
 
 the torments of the damned.'* Here a 
 violent burst of tears interrupted himj and 
 Adeline, overcome with emotion and 
 surpnse at the sight of the agitation 
 which his own sufferings could never 
 occasion in him, hung over him in speech- 
 less woe. 
 
 ^' Besides," continued Glenmurray, 
 recovering himself a little, "I — O 
 Adeline !" seizing her cold hand, " can 
 you forgive me for having been the means 
 of blasting all your fair fame and pro- 
 spects in life ?" 
 
 " For the sake of justice, if not of 
 mercy," exclaimed Adeline, " forbear 
 thus cruelly to accuse yourself. You 
 know that from m^y own free, unbiassed 
 choice I gave myself to you, and in 
 compliance with my own principles." 
 
 " But w^ho taught you those princi- 
 ples ? — who led you to a train of reason- 
 ing, so alluring in theory, so pernicious 
 
 in
 
 191 
 
 in practice ? Had not I, with the 
 heedless vanity of youth, given to the 
 world the crude conceptions of four- 
 and-twenty, you might at this mo- 
 ment have been the idol of a respectable 
 society ; and I, equally respected, have 
 been the husband of your heart ; while 
 happiness w'ould perhaps have kept that 
 fatal disease at bay, of which anxiety has 
 facilitated the approach." 
 
 He was going on : but Adeline, w^ho 
 had till now struggled successfully with 
 her feehngs, wound up almost to phrensy 
 at the possibility that anxiety had short- 
 ened Glenmurray's hfe, gave way to a 
 violent paroxysm of sorrow, which, for 
 a w^hile, deprived her of consciousness ; 
 and w^hen she recovered she found 
 Berrendaie bending over her, while her 
 head lay on Glenmurray's pillow. 
 
 The sight of BeiTendale in a moment 
 roused her to exertion j — his look was so 
 
 full
 
 192 
 
 full of anxious tenderness, and she was 
 at that moment so ill disposed to regard 
 it with complacency, that she eagerly 
 declared she was quite recovered, and 
 begged Mr. Berrendale would return to 
 bed ; and Glenmurray seconding her re- 
 quest, with a deep sigh he departed. 
 
 " Poor fellow !'^ said Glenmurray, "I 
 wish you had seen his anxiety during 
 your illness 1" 
 
 " I am glad I did not^' replied Ade- 
 line : " but, how can you persist in talk- 
 ing to me of any other person's anxiety, 
 when I am tortured with yours ? Your 
 conversation of to-night has made me 
 even more miserable then I was before. 
 By what strange fatality do you blame 
 yourself for the conduct worthy of admi- 
 ration ? — for giving to the world, as soon 
 as produced, opinions which were cal- 
 culated to enlighten it r'* 
 
 *' But/' replied Glenmurray, " as 
 
 those
 
 193 
 
 those opinions militated against the ex- 
 perience and custom of ages, ought I 
 not to have paused before I published, 
 and kept them back till they had received 
 the sanction of my maturer judgment ?** 
 
 "And does your maturer judgment con- 
 demn them ?'* 
 
 " Four years cannot have ?Aded much 
 to the maturity of my judgment," re- 
 plied Glenmurray : " but I will own that 
 some of my opinions are changed ; and 
 that, though I believe those which are 
 unchanged are right in theorVj I think, 
 as the mass of society could never at once 
 adopt them, they had better remain un- 
 acted upon, than that a few lonely indi- 
 viduals should expose themselves 19 
 certain distress, by making tiiem the 
 rules of their conduct. You, for in- 
 stance, you, my Adeline, what misery— i" 
 Here his voice again faltered, and einotiofi 
 impeded his utterance. 
 
 VOL. II. o " Live, 
 
 m
 
 194 
 
 *^ Live — do but live," exclaimed Ade- 
 line passionately, " and I can know of 
 misery but the name." 
 
 *' But I cannot live, I cannot live,^* 
 replied Glenmurray, "and the sooner I die 
 the better ; — for thus to waste your youth 
 and health in the dreadful solitude of a 
 sick-room is insupportable to me/' 
 
 ** O Glenmurray !" replied Adeline, 
 fondly throwing herself on his neck, 
 -^ could you but live free from any vio- 
 lent pain, and were neither you nor I 
 ever to leave this room again, believe 
 be, I should not have a^ wish beyond it. 
 To see you, to hear you, to prove to 
 you how much I love you, would, indeed 
 it would, be happiness sufficient for me !'* 
 After this burst of true and heartfelt 
 tenderness, there was a pause of some 
 moments : Glenmurray felt too much 
 to speak, and Adeline was sobbing on 
 his pillow. At length she pathetically again
 
 195 
 
 exclaimed, " Live j only live ! and I 
 am blest 1" 
 
 "But I carmot live, I cannot live," again 
 replied Glenmurray ; " and when I die, 
 what will become of you ?" 
 
 " I care not," cried Adeline : " if I lose 
 you, may the same grave receive usP' : 
 
 '' But it luill not, my dearest girl ;— 
 grief does not kill; and, entailed as my 
 estate is, I have nothing to leave you : 
 and though richly quaHfied to undertake 
 the care of children, in.order to maintain 
 yourself, your unfortunate connection, 
 and singular opinions, will be an eternal 
 bar to your being so employed. O 
 Adeline ! these cutting fears, these dread- 
 ful reflections, are indeed the bitterness 
 of death: but there is one way of alle- 
 viating my pangs." 
 
 " Name it," replied Adeline with quick- 
 ness. 
 
 " But you must promise then to hear 
 2 me
 
 1?6 
 
 me with patience, — Had I been able 
 to live through my illness, I should have 
 conjured you to let me endeavour to re- 
 store you to your place in society, and 
 consequently to your usefulness, by 
 making you my wife : and young, and 1 
 may add innocent and virtuous, as you are, 
 I doubt not but the world would at length 
 have received you into its favour again.*' 
 
 ** But you must, you will, you shall 
 live," interrupted Adeline, ^* aad I shall 
 be your happy wife." 
 
 *' Not mine^'* replied Glenmurray, lay* 
 ing an emphasis on the last word* 
 
 Adeline started, and, fixing her eyes 
 wildly on his, demanded what he meant* 
 
 " I mean," replied he, " to prevail on 
 you to make my last moments happy, by 
 promising, some time hence, to give 
 yourself a tender, a respectable, and a 
 legal protector." 
 
 *' O Glenmurray !*' exclaimed Ade- 
 2 line,
 
 197 
 line, ^^ and can you insult my tendernes.s 
 for you with such a proposal ? If I can 
 even survive yoUj do you think that I 
 can bear to give you a successor in my 
 affection ? or, how can you bear to ima» 
 gine that I shall?" 
 
 " Because my love for you is with- 
 out selfishness, and I wish you to be hap- 
 py even though another makes you so. 
 The lover, or the husband, who wishes 
 the woman of his affection to form no 
 second attachment, is, in my opinion, 
 a selfish, contemptible beinge Per- 
 haps I do not expect tlAt you will 
 ever feel, for another man, an attach* 
 ment like that which has subsisted be- 
 tween us— the first affection of young 
 and impassioned hearts ; but I am sure 
 that you may again feel love enough to 
 make yourself and the man of your 
 choice perfectly happy ; and I hope and 
 trust that you will be so." 
 
 ** And
 
 198 
 
 " And forget you, I suppose ?" inter- 
 rupted Adeline reproachfully. 
 
 " Not so : I would have you remember 
 me alv/ays, but with a chastized and 
 even a pleasing sorrow; nay, I would 
 wish you to imagine me a sort of guar- 
 dian spirit, watching your actions, and 
 enjoying your happiness." 
 
 " I have listened to you," cried Ade- 
 line in a tone of suppressed anguish, 
 *'and,I trust, with tolerable patience: there 
 is one thing yet for me to learn — the 
 name of the object whom you wish me 
 to marry, for I suppose tie is found." 
 
 "He is," returned Glenmurray. "Ber- 
 rendale loves you ; and he it is whom I 
 wish you to choose." 
 
 *' I thought so," exclaimed Adeline, 
 rising and traversing the room hastily, 
 and wringing her hands. 
 
 '^ But wherefore does his name," said 
 
 flenmurray, " excite such angry emo- 
 tion .•*
 
 199 
 
 tJon? Perhaps self-love makes me re-' 
 commend him," contmued he, forcing a 
 smile, " as he is reckoned like me, and I 
 thought that likeness might make him 
 more agreeable to you." 
 
 " Only the more odious," impatiently 
 interrupted Adeline. *' To look like 
 you, and not be you. Oh ! insupportable 
 idea!" she exclaimed, throwing herself 
 on Glenmurray's pillow, and pressing his 
 burning temples to her cold cheek. 
 
 " Adeline," said Glenmurray solemn- 
 ly, " this is, perhaps, the last moment 
 of confidential and uninterrupted inter- 
 course that we shall ever have together ;" 
 Adeline started, but -spoke not ; " allow 
 me, therefore, to tell you it is my dying 
 request, that you would endeavour to 
 dispose your mind in favour of Berren- 
 dale, and to become in time his wife. 
 Circumstanced as you are, your only 
 chance for happiness is becoming a wife : 
 
 but
 
 200 
 
 but it IS too certain that few men 
 worthy of you, in the most essential 
 points, will be likely to marry you after 
 your connection with me." 
 
 *' Strange prejudice !" cried Adeline^ 
 ** to consider as my disgrace, what' I deem 
 my glor)^ !" 
 
 Glenmurray continued thus : " Ber- 
 rendale himself has a great deal of 
 the old school about him, but I have 
 convinced him that you are not to be 
 classed with the frail of your sex ; and 
 that you are one of the purest as well as 
 loveliest of human beings.** 
 
 ** And did he want to be convinced of 
 this ?'* cried Adeline indignantly ; " and 
 yet you advise me to marry him ?" 
 
 " My dearest love," replied Gienmur« 
 ray, " in all cases the most we can ex- 
 pect is, to choose the best possible means 
 of happiness. Berrendale is not perfect ; 
 but I am convinced that you would 
 
 commit
 
 201 
 
 commit a fatal error In not making hilii 
 your husband; and when I tell you 
 it is my dying request that you should do 
 so-." 
 
 " If you wish me to retain my senses/* 
 exclaimed Adeline, " repeat that dread- 
 ful, phrase no more/^ 
 
 " I will not say any more at all now/' 
 faintly observed Glenmurray, " for I am 
 exhausted :— still, as morning begins to 
 dawn, I should like t© sit up in my bed, 
 and gaze on it, perhaps for — '* Here Ade- 
 line put her hand to his mouth : Glen« 
 murray kissed it, sighed, and did, not 
 finish the sentence. She then opened the 
 shutters to let in the rising splendor of day^ 
 and, turning round towards Glenmur- 
 ray, almost shrieked with terror at see* 
 ing the visiblie alteration a night had 
 made in his appearance ; while the yellow 
 rays of the dawn played on his sallow 
 ch^k, and his dark curls, once crisped 
 _^ * and
 
 202 
 
 and glossy, hung faint and moist on his 
 beating temples. 
 
 *' It is strange, Adeline,'* said Glen- 
 murray (but with great effort), "that, even 
 in my situation, the sight of morn- 
 ing, and the revival as it were of 
 nature, seems to invigorate my whole 
 frame. I long to breathe the freshness 
 of its breeze also." 
 
 Adeline, conscious for the first time 
 that all hope was over, opened the win- 
 dow, and felt even her sick soul and lan- 
 guid frame revived by the chill but re- 
 freshing breeze. To Glenmurray it im- 
 parted a feeling of physical pleasure, to 
 which he had long been a stranger : " I 
 breathe freely,'* he exclaimed, " I feel a- 
 live again!'' — and, strange as it may seem, 
 Adeline's hopes began to revive also. — 
 *' I feel as if I could sleep now," said 
 Glenmurray, " the feverish restlessness 
 seems abated j but, lest my dreams be 
 
 disturbed 5
 
 203 
 disturbed, promise me, ere I lie down 
 again, that you will behave kindly to 
 Berrendale/' 
 
 " Impossible ! The only tie that bound 
 me to him is broken : — I thought he 
 sincerely sympathized with me in my 
 wishes for your recovery ; but now that, 
 as he loves me, his wishes must be in 
 direct opposition to m.ine, — I cannot, in- 
 deed I cannot, endure the sight of him.'' 
 
 Glenmurray could not reply to this 
 natural observation : he knew that, in 
 a similar situation, his feelings would 
 have been like Adeline's ; and, pressing 
 her hand with all the little strength left 
 him, he said " Poor BeiTendale 1" and 
 tried to compose himself to sleep ; while 
 Adeline, lost in sad contemplation, threw 
 herself in a chair by his bed-side, and 
 anxiously awaited the event of his re- 
 awaking. 
 
 But it was not long before Adeline 
 » herself,
 
 204 
 
 herself, exhausted both in body and 
 mind, fell into a deep sleep j arid it was 
 mid day before she awoke : for no care^ 
 lessj heavy-treading, and hired nurse 
 now watched the slumbers of the un- 
 happy lovers ; but the mulatto, stepping 
 light as air, and afraid even of breathing 
 lest she should disturb their repose, had 
 assumed her station at the bed-side, and 
 taken every precaution lest any noise 
 should awake them. Hers was the ser* 
 vice of the heart ; and there is none 
 like it. 
 
 At twelve o'clock Adeline awoke ; and 
 her first glance met the dark eyes of Sa- 
 vanna kindly fixed upon her. Adeline 
 started, not immediately recollecting who 
 it could be ^ but in a moment the idea of 
 the mulatto, and of the service which she 
 had rendered her, recurred to her mind, 
 anddilFused a sensation of pleasure through 
 her frame. " There is a being whom. I 
 
 hav*
 
 have served," said Adeline to herself, 
 and, extending her hand to Savanna, 
 she started from her seat, invigorated 
 by the thought : but she felt depressed 
 again by the consciousness that she, who 
 had been able to impart so much joy and 
 help to another, was herself a wretch 
 for ever; and in a moment her eyes filled 
 with tears, while the mulatto gazed on 
 her with a look of inquiring solicitude. 
 
 "Poor Savanna!" cried Adeline in 
 a low and plaintive tone. 
 
 There are moments when the sound of 
 one*s own voice has a mournful effect on 
 one's feelings — this was one of those 
 moments to Adeline ; the pathos of her 
 own tone overcame her, and she burst 
 into tears : but Glenmurray slept on; and 
 Adeline hoped nothing would suddenly 
 disturb his rest, when Berrendale opened 
 the door with what appeared unnecessary 
 noise, and Glenmurray hastily awoke. 
 
 Adeline
 
 206 
 
 Adeline immediately started from her 
 seatj and, looking at him with great in- 
 dignation, demanded why he came in in 
 such a manner, when he knew Mr. Qlen- 
 murray was asleep. 
 
 Berrendale, shocked and alarmed at 
 Adeline's words and expression, so unlike 
 her usual manner, stammered out an 
 excuse. " Another, time, sir," replied 
 Adeline coldly, " I hope you wiii be 
 more careful,'' 
 
 " What is the matter ?'' said Glen- 
 murray, raising himself in the bed. " Are 
 you scolding, Adeline ? If so, let me 
 hear you: I like novelty." 
 
 Here Adeline and Berrendale both hast- 
 ened to him, and Adeline almost looked 
 with complacency on Berrendale ; when 
 Glenmurray , declaring himself wonderful- 
 ly refreshed by liis long sleep, expressed a 
 great desire for his breakfa^jt, and said he 
 had a most voracious appetite. 
 
 But
 
 207 
 But to all Berrendale's attentions she 
 returned the most forbidding reserve ; nor 
 could she for a moment lose the painful 
 idea, that the death of Glenmurray 
 would be to him a source of joy, not of 
 anguish. Berrendale was not slow to ob- 
 serve this change in her conduct ; and 
 he conceived that, as he knew Glen- 
 murray had mentioned his pretensions to 
 her, his absence would be of more ser- 
 vice to his wishes than his presence ; and 
 he resolved to leave Richmond that after- 
 noon, — especially as he had a dinner en- 
 gagement at a tavern in London, which, 
 in spite of love and friendship, he was 
 desirous of keeping. 
 
 . He was not mistaken in his ideas : the 
 countenance of Adeline assumed less seve- 
 rity when he mentioned his intentic n of go- 
 ing away, nor could she express regret at his 
 resolution, even though Glenmurray with 
 anxious earnestness requested him to stay. 
 
 ^ But
 
 208 
 But Glenmurrry entreated In vain : used, 
 to consider his own interest and pleasure 
 in preference to that of others, Berrendale 
 resolved to go ; and resisted the prayers of 
 a man who had often obliged him with 
 the greatest difficulty to himself. 
 
 *' Well, then," said Glenmurray 
 .mournfully, "- if you must go, God bless 
 you ! I wish you, Charles, all possible 
 earthly happiness ; nay, I have done all I 
 can to ensure it to you : but you have disap- 
 pointed me. I hoped to have joined your 
 hand, in my last moments, to that of this 
 dear girl, and to have bequeathed her in 
 the most solemn manner to your care and 
 tenderness ; but, no matter, farewell ! 
 we shall probably meet no more.'* 
 
 Here Berrendale' s heart failed him, and 
 he almost resolved to stay : but a look of 
 angry repugnance which he saw on Ade- 
 line's countenance, even amidst her sor- 
 rx)w, got the better of his kind emodons, 
 
 by
 
 209 
 
 by wounding his self-love ; and grasping 
 Glenmurray s hand, and saying, '' I shall 
 be back in a day or two," he rushed out 
 of the room. 
 
 " I am sorry Mr. Berrendale is forced 
 to go,'* said Adeline involuntarily when 
 the street-door closed after him. 
 
 '' Had you condescended to tell him 
 so, he would undoubtedly have staid," re- 
 plied Glenmurray rather peevishly. Adeline 
 instantly felt, and regretted, the selfishness 
 of her conduct. To avoid the sight of 
 a disagreeable object, she had given pain 
 to Glenmurray: or, rather, she had not 
 done -her utmost to prevent his being ex- 
 posed, to it. 
 
 " Forgive me," said Adeline, burst- 
 ing into tears : "I own I thought Qnly of 
 inyself, when I forbore to urge his stay. 
 Aias ! with you, and you alone, I be- 
 lieve, is the gratification of self always 
 a secondary consideration."
 
 210 
 
 '' You forget that I am a philanthro- 
 pist/' replied GlenmuiTay, " and cannot 
 bear to be praised, even by you, at the 
 expense of my fellow-creatures. But 
 come, hasten dinner ; my breakfast agreed 
 with me so well, that I am impatient foi 
 another meal.'' 
 
 " You certainly are better to-day," 
 exclaimed Adeline with unwonted cheer- 
 fulness. 
 
 *'^ My feelings are more tolerable, at 
 least/' replied Glenmurray : and Adeline 
 and the mulatto began to prepare the 
 dinner immediately. How often du- 
 ring her attendance on Glenmurray had 
 she recollected the words of her grand- 
 mother, and blessed her for having 
 taught her to be useful ! 
 
 As soon as dinner was over, Glen- 
 murray complained of being drowsy : 
 still he declared he would not go to bed till 
 he had seen the sun set. as he had that day, 
 
 ^ 3 
 
 t
 
 211 
 
 fbr the second time since his illness, seen it 
 rise ; and therefore, when it was setting, 
 Adeline and Savanna led him into a room 
 adjoining, which had a western aspect. 
 Glenmurray fixed his eyes on the crimson 
 horizon with a peculiar expression ; and 
 his lips seemed to murmur, " For the last 
 time ! Let me breathe the evening air, too, 
 once more," said he. 
 
 " It is too chill, dear Glenmurrayc" 
 
 "It will not hurt me," replied Glen- 
 murray ; and Adeline complied with his 
 request. 
 
 " The breeze of evening is not refresh- 
 ing like that of morning," he observed ; 
 '• but the beauty of the setdng is^ perhaps, 
 superior to that of the rising sun :— they 
 are bodi glorious sights, and I have en- 
 joyed them both to-day, nor have I for 
 years experienced so strong a feeling of 
 devotion." 
 
 y Thank God !" cried Adeline. O 
 p2 Glenmurray;
 
 2i2 
 
 Glenmun*ay ! there has been one thing 
 only wanting to the completion of our 
 union ; and that was, that we should 
 >vorship together." 
 
 *' Perhaps, had I remained longer 
 here/' replied Glenmurray, '• we might 
 have done so ; for, believe me, Adeline, 
 though my feelings have continually hur- 
 ried me into adoration of the Supreme 
 Being, I have often wished my homage 
 to be as regular and as founded on im- 
 mutable conviction as it once was : but 
 it is too late now for amendment, though, 
 alas 1 not for regret, deep regret : yet 
 He who reads the heart knows that my 
 intentions were pure, and that 1 was not 
 fixed in the stubbornness of error." 
 
 " Let us change this discourse," cried 
 Adeline, seeing on Glenmurray's counte- 
 nance an expression of uncommon sad- 
 ness, which he, from a regard to her 
 feelings, struggled to cover. He did 
 
 indeed
 
 213 
 
 Indeed feel sadness — a sadness of the 
 most painful nature ; and while Adeline 
 hung over him with all the anxious and 
 soothing attention of unbomided lo\'e, he 
 seemed to shrink from her embrace with 
 horror, and, turning away his head, fee- 
 bly murmured, " O Adeline ! this faith- 
 ful kindness wounds me to the very soul. 
 Alas ! alas ! how little have I deserved 
 itr* 
 
 If Glenniurray, who had been the 
 means of injunng the woman he loved, 
 merely by following the dictates of his 
 conscience, and a love of what he 
 imagined to be truth, without any view 
 to his own benefit or the gratifica- 
 tion of his personal wishes, felt thus 
 acutely the anguish of self-upbraiding, — • 
 what ought to be, and vv^hat must be, 
 sooner or later, the agony and remorse 
 of that man, who, merely for the gra- 
 tilkation of his own illicit desires, has 
 
 seduced
 
 214 
 
 seduced the woman whom he loved from 
 the path of virtue, and ruined for ever 
 her reputation and her peace of mind ! 
 
 " It is too late now for you to sit at an 
 open window, indeed it is," cried Ade- 
 line, after having replied to Glenfnur- 
 ray's self-reproaches by the touching lan- 
 guage of tears, and incoherent expres- 
 sions of confiding and unchanged attach- 
 ment ; " and as you are evidently better 
 to-day, do not, by breathing too much 
 cold air, run the risk of making your- 
 self worse again." 
 
 " Would I were really better ! would 
 I could live ! " passionately exclaimed 
 Glenmurray : " but indeed I do feel 
 stronger to-night than I have felt for 
 many months/* In a moment the fine 
 eyes of Adeline were raised to heaven 
 with an expression of devout thankful- 
 ness ; and, eager to make the most of a 
 change so favourable, she hurried Glen- 
 murray
 
 215 
 
 murray back to his chamber, and, with 
 a feeling of renewed hope, sat by to 
 watch his slumbers. She had not sat long 
 before the door opened, and the little 
 tawny boy entered. He had watched 
 all day to see the good lady, as he called 
 Adeline ; but, as she had not left Glen- 
 murray's chamber except to prepare din- 
 ner, he had been disappointed : so he 
 was resolved to seek her in her own apart- 
 ment. He had bought some cakes with 
 the penny which Adeline had given him, 
 and he was eager to give her a piece of 
 them. 
 
 " Hush !" cried Adeline, as she held 
 out her hand to him; and he in a whisper 
 crying " Bite," held his purchase to her 
 lips. Adeline tasted it, said it was very 
 good, and, giving him a halfpenny, the 
 tawny boy disappeared again : the noise 
 he made as he bounded down the stairs 
 woke Glenmurray* Adeline was sitting 
 
 on
 
 '216 
 on the side of the bed ; and as he turned 
 round to sleep again he grasped her 
 hand in his, and its feverish touch damp- 
 ed her hopes, and re-av/akened her fears. 
 For a short time she moumfullv (razed 
 
 J o 
 
 on his flushed cheek, and then, gently 
 sliding Gtt the bed, and dropping on one 
 knee, she addressed the Deity in the 
 language of humble supplication. 
 
 Insensibly she ceased to pray in 
 thought only, and the lowly-murmured 
 prayer became audible. Again Glen- 
 murray awoke, and.^deline reproached 
 herself as the cause. 
 
 "My rest was uneasy," cried he, 
 *' and I rejoice that you woke me : be- 
 sides, I like to hear you — Go on, my 
 dearest girl ; there is a something in the 
 breathings of your pious fondness that 
 soothes me," added he, pressing the hand 
 he held to his parched lips. 
 
 Adeline obeyed: and as she continued, 
 
 she
 
 217 
 she felt ever and anon, by the pressin'e 
 of Glenmurray's hand, how much he 
 was alilxted by what she uttered. 
 
 " But must he be taken from me V 
 she exclaimed in one part of her prayer. 
 "Father, if it be possible, permit this cup to 
 pass by me untasted." Here she felt the 
 hand of Glenmurray grasp hers most vehe- 
 mently ; and, delighted to think that he 
 had pleasure in hearing her, she went 
 on to breathe forth all the wishes of a 
 trembling yet confiding spirit^ till overcome 
 with her own emotions she ceased and 
 arosej andleaningoverGlenmurray's pillow 
 was going to take his hand : — ^but the hand 
 which she pressed returned not her pres- 
 sure; the eyes were fixed whose ap- 
 proving glance she sought; and the horrid 
 truth rushed at once on her mind, that 
 the last convulsive grasp had been an eter- 
 nal farewell, and that he had in that 
 grasp expired. 
 
 Alas !
 
 218 
 
 Alas 1 what preparation however long, 
 what anticipation however sure, can en- 
 able the mind to bear a shock like this ! 
 It came on Adeline like a thunder-stroke: 
 she screamed not ; she moved not ; but, 
 fixing a dim and glassy eye on the 
 pale countenance of her lover, she seem- 
 ed as insensible as poor Glenmurray him- 
 self; and hours might have elapsed — hours 
 immediately fatal both to her senses and 
 existence — ere any one had entered the 
 room, since she had given orders to be dis- 
 turbed by no one, had not the tawny 
 boy, encouraged by his past success, 
 stolen in again, unperceived, to give her 
 a piece of the apple which he had bought 
 with her last bounty. 
 
 The delighted boy tripped gaily to the 
 bed-side, holding up his treasure ; but he 
 started back, and screamed in all the 
 agony of terror, at the sight which he 
 beheld — the face of Glenmurray ghastly, 
 
 and
 
 ^19 
 
 ;and the mouth distorted as if in the last 
 agony, and Adeline in the stupor of de- 
 spair. 
 
 The affectionate boy's repeated screams 
 soon summoned the whole family into the 
 room, while he, vainly hanging on Ade- 
 line's arm, begged her to speak to him : 
 But nothing could at first rouse Adeline, 
 not even Savanna's loud and extrava- 
 .gant grief. When, however, they tried 
 to force her from the body, she recover- 
 ed her recollection and her strength ; and 
 it was with great difficulty she could be 
 carried out of the room, and kept out 
 when they had accomplished their pur- 
 pose. 
 
 But Savanna was sure that looking at 
 such a sad sight would kill her mistress ; 
 for she should die herself if she saw 
 William dead, she declared ; and the peo- 
 ple of the house agreed with her. They 
 knew not that grief is tlie best medicine 
 
 for
 
 220 
 
 for Itself 5 and that the overcharged heart 
 is often relieved by the sight which stand* 
 ers-by conceive likely to snap the very 
 threads of existence. 
 
 As Adeline and Glenmurray had both 
 of them excited some interest in Rich- 
 mond, the news of the death of the 
 latter was immediately abroad ; and it 
 was told to Mrs. Pemberton, with a pa- 
 thetic account of Adeline's distress, just 
 as the carriage was preparing to convey 
 her and her sick friend on their v/ay to 
 Lisbon. It was a relation to call forth 
 all the humanity of Mrs. Pember ton's 
 nature. She forgot Adeline's crime in 
 her distress; and knowing she had no 
 female friend with her, she hastened on 
 the errand of pity to the abode of vice. 
 Alas ! Mrs. Pemberton had learnt but 
 too well to syrnpatl^ize in grief like that 
 of Adeline. She had seen a beloved 
 husband expire in her arms, and had 
 
 afterwards
 
 221 
 
 aften\'ards followed two children to the 
 grave. But she had taken refuge from sor- 
 row in the active duties of her religion, and 
 in becoming a teacher of those truths to 
 others, by which she had so much bene- 
 fited herself. 
 
 Mrs. Pemberton entered the room just 
 as Adeline, on her knees, was conjuring 
 the persons wdth her to allow her to see 
 Glenmurray once more. 
 
 Adeline did not at all observe the en- 
 trance of Mrs. Pemberton, who, in spite 
 of the self-command which her principles 
 and habits gave her, w^as visibly affected 
 when she beheld the mourner's tearless 
 affliction: and the hands which, on her 
 entrance, were quietly crossed on each 
 other, confining the modest folds of 
 her simjile cloke, were suddenly and 
 involuntarily separated by the irresistible 
 impulse of pity; while, catching hold of the 
 wall for support, she leaned against it, 
 
 covering
 
 222' 
 
 covermg her face with her hands. "Let me 
 see him! only let me see him once more !'* 
 cried Adeline, gazing on Mrs. Pember- 
 ton, but unconscious who she was. 
 
 " Thou shalt see him," replied Mrs. 
 Femberton with considerable effort; '^ give 
 me thy hand, and I will go with thee 
 to the chamber of death.'* Adeline gave 
 a scream of mournful joy at this permis- 
 sion, and suffered herself to be led into 
 Glenmurra/s apartment. As soon as 
 she entered it she sprang to the bed, 
 and, throwing herself beside the corpse, 
 began to contemplate it with an ear- 
 nestness and firmness which surprised 
 every one. Mrs. Femberton also fixed- 
 ly gazed on the wan face of Glenmurray: 
 " And art thou fallen !" she exclaimed, 
 " thou, wise in thine own conceit, who 
 presumedst, perhaps^ sometimes to ques- 
 fion even the existence of the Most High, 
 ,and to set up thy vain chimeras of yester- 
 
 dxty
 
 223 
 
 day against the wisdom and experience 
 of centuries ? Child of the dust ! child 
 of error ! what art thou now, and whither 
 is thy guilty spirit iled ? But balmy is the 
 hand of affliction ; and she, thy mourn- 
 ing victim, may learn to bless the hand 
 that chastizes her, nor add to the offences 
 which will weigh down thy soul, a dread 
 responsibility for hers !" 
 
 Here she was interrupted by the voice 
 of Adeline; who, in a deep and hollow 
 tone, was addressing the unconscious 
 corpse. '' For God's sake, speak ! for 
 this silence is dreadful — ^it looks so like 
 death.' ' 
 
 " Poor thing !" said Mrs. Pemberton, 
 kneeling beside her, " and is it even 
 thus with thee ? "Would thou couldst 
 shed tears, afflicted one !" 
 
 " It is very strange/' continued Ade- 
 line : "he loved me so tenderly, and 
 fie used to speak and look so tenderly, 
 
 and
 
 224 
 
 and now, see hew he neglects me ! GL-'H- 
 innrray, my love ! for mercy's sake, 
 speak to me !" As she said this, she laid 
 her lips to his : but, feeling on them the 
 icy coldness of death, she started back, 
 screaming in all the violence of phrensy ; 
 and, recovered to the full consciousness 
 of her misfortune, she was carried back 
 to her room in violent convulsions. 
 
 " Would I could stay and watch over 
 thee !'* said Mrs. Pembcrton, as she gazed 
 on Adeline's distorted countenance ; " for 
 thou, young as thou art, wert well known 
 in the chambers of sorrow and of sick- 
 ness ; and I should rejoice to pay back 
 to thee part of the debt of those whom 
 thy presence so often soothed : but I must 
 leave thee to the care of others." 
 
 " You leave her to my care," cried 
 Savanna reproachfully, — who felt even 
 her violent sorrow suspended while Mrs. 
 Pemberton spoke in accents at once sad 
 
 yet
 
 2^5 
 yet soothing 5 — " you leave her to my care, 
 and who watch, who love her more than 
 me ?" 
 
 « Good Savanna !"' replied Mrs. Pem- 
 berton, pressing the mulatto's hand as 
 she returned to her station beside Ade- 
 line, w^ho was fallen into a calm slumber, 
 ** to thy care, with confidence, I commit 
 her. But perhaps there may be an 
 immediate necessity for money, and I had 
 better leave this with thee," she added, 
 taking out her purse : but Savanna 
 assured her that Mr. Berrendale was 
 sent for, and to him all those con- 
 cerns were to be left. Mrs. Pemberton 
 stood for a few moments looking at 
 Adeline in. silence, then slowly left the 
 house. 
 
 When Adeline awoke, she seemed so 
 calm and resigned, that her earnest re- 
 quest of being allowed to pass the night 
 alone was granted, especially as Mit. 
 
 VOL. II. Q Pemberton
 
 226 
 
 Pemberton had desired that her wish, 
 even to see Glenmurray again, should be 
 complied with : but the faithful mulatto 
 watched till morning at the door. No 
 bed that night received the weary limbs 
 of Adeline. She threw herself on the 
 ground, and in alternate prayer and 
 phrensy passed the first night of her 
 woe: towards morning, however, she 
 fell into a perturbed sleep. But when 
 the light of day darting into the room 
 awakened her to consciousness ; and when 
 she recollected that he to whom it usually 
 summoned her existed no longer ; that 
 the eyes which but the preceding morn- 
 ing had opened with enthusiastic ardour 
 to hail its beams, were now for ever 
 closed ; and that the voice which used to 
 welcome her so tenderly, she should 
 never, never hear again ; the forlom- 
 ness of her situation, the hopelessness 
 of her sorrow burst upon her with a 
 
 violence
 
 227 
 violence too powerful for her reason : 
 and when Berrendale arrived, he found 
 Glenmurray in his shrowd, and Adeline 
 in a state of insanity. For six months 
 her phrensy resisted all the efforts of medi- 
 cine, and the united care which Berren- 
 dale's love and Savanna's grateful at- 
 tachment could bestow ; while with 
 Adeline's want of their care seemed toi 
 increase their desire of bestowing it, and 
 their affection gathered nev/ strength from 
 the duration of her helpless malady. So 
 true is it, that we become attached more 
 from the aid which we give than that which 
 we receive ; and that the love of the 
 obliger is more apt to increase than that 
 of the obliged by the obligation con- 
 ferred. At length, however, Adeline's 
 reason slowly yet surely returned ; and 
 she, by degrees, learnt to contemplate 
 with firmness, and even calmness, the loss 
 which she had sustained. She even look- 
 Q 2 ed
 
 228 
 
 ed on Berrendale and his attentions not 
 with anger, but gratitude and compla- 
 ceny ; she had even pkasure in observ- 
 ing the likeness he bore G-lenmurray ; 
 she felt that it endeared him to her. In 
 the first paroxysms of her phrensy, the 
 sight of him threw her into fits of raving ; 
 but as she grew better she had plea- 
 sure in seeing him : and when, on her 
 recovery, she heard how much she was 
 indebted to his persevering tenderness, she 
 felt for him a decided regard, which 
 Berrendale tried to flatter himself might 
 be ripened into love. 
 
 But he was mistaken; the heart of 
 Adeline was formed to feel violent and 
 lasting attachments only. She had always 
 loved her mother with a tenderness of a 
 most uncommon nature ; she had felt 
 for Glenmurray the fondest enthusiasm 
 cf passion : Si^e ^-^ lc now separated from 
 them both. But her mother still lived ; 
 
 and
 
 229 
 
 aiid though almost hopeless of ever be- 
 ing restored to her society, all her love 
 for her returned ; and she pined for that 
 consoling fondness, those soothing atten- 
 tions, which, in a time of such afflic- 
 tion, a mother on a widowed daughter 
 can alone bestow. 
 
 " Yet, surely,"" cried she in the soli- 
 tude of her own room, " her oath cannot 
 now forbid her to forgive me ; for, 
 am I not as wretched in love, nay 
 more, far more so, than she has been ? 
 'Yes — yes ; I will v/rite to her : besides, 
 HE wished me to do so*' (meaning Glen- 
 murray, whom she never named) ; and 
 she did write to her, according to the 
 address which Dr. Norberry sent soon 
 after he returned to his own house. Still 
 week after week elapsed, and month after 
 month, but no answer came. 
 
 Again she wrote, and again she was 
 
 disappointed ; though her loss, her illness 
 
 in
 
 230 , 
 
 in consequence of it, her pecuniary dis* 
 tress, and the large debt which she had 
 incurred to BeiTendale, were all detailed 
 in a manner calculated to move the most 
 obdurate heart. What then could Ade- 
 line suppose ? Perhaps her mother was 
 ill ; perhaps she was dead : and her rea- 
 son was again on the point of yielding to 
 this horrible supposition, when she re- 
 ceived her two letters in a cover, directed 
 in her mother's hand-writing. 
 
 At first she was overwhelmed by this 
 dreadful proof of the continuance of Mrs. 
 Mowbray's deep resentment ; but, ever 
 sanguine, the circumstance of Mrs. Mow- 
 bray's having written the address herself 
 appeared to Adeline a favourable sym- 
 ptom ; and with renewed hope she wrote 
 to Dr. Norberry to become her media- 
 tor once more : but to this letter no 
 answer was returned ; and Adeline con- 
 cluded her only friend had died of the 
 
 fever
 
 231 
 
 fever which Mrs. Norberry had men- 
 tioned in her letter. 
 
 " Then I have lost my only friend 1" 
 cried Adeline, wringing her hands in 
 agony, as this idea recurred to her. 
 *' Your only friend ?" repeated Berren- 
 dale, who happened to be present, " O 
 Adeline!" 
 
 Her heart smote her as he said this. 
 " My oldest friend I should have said," 
 she replied, holding out her hand to him ; 
 and Berrendale thought himself supreme- 
 ly happy. 
 
 But Adeline was far from meaning to 
 give the encouragement which this ac- 
 tion seemed to bestow : wholly occupied 
 by her affliction, her mind had lost its 
 energy, and she would not have made 
 an effort to dissipate her grief by em- 
 ployment and exertion, had not that vir- 
 tuous pride and delicacy, which in hap- 
 pier hours had been the ornament of her 
 
 character,
 
 232 
 
 character, rebelled against the consd- 
 ,ousness of owing pecuniary obligations 
 to the lover whose suit she was deter- 
 mined to reject, and urged her to make 
 some vigorous attempt to maintain her- 
 self. 
 
 Many were the schemes which occurred 
 to her; but none seemed so practicable as 
 that of keeping a day-school in some 
 village near the metropolis. — True, G len- 
 murray had said, that her having been 
 his mistress would prevent her obtaining 
 scholars ; but his fears, perhaps, were 
 Stronger than his justice in this case. 
 These fears, however, she found exist- 
 ed in Berrendale's mind also, though 
 he ventured only to hint them with 
 great caution. 
 
 " You thhik, then, no prudent parents, 
 if my story should be known to them, 
 would send their children to me ?'' said 
 Adeline to Berrendale. 
 
 « I fear—
 
 2S3 
 
 *' I fear — I — that is to say, I am sure 
 they would not.** 
 
 " Under such circumstances," said 
 Adeline, " you yourself would not send 
 a child to my school ?" 
 
 ^^ Why — really — I — as the world 
 goes,'*— replied Berrendale. 
 
 " I am answered,'' said Adeline with 
 a look and tone of displeasure ; and re- 
 tired to her chamber, intending not to 
 return till Berrendale was gone to his own. 
 lodging. But her heart soon reproached 
 her with unjust resentment ; and, com- 
 ing back, she apologized to Berrendale 
 for being angry at his laudable reso- 
 lution of acting according to those 
 principles which he thought most virtu- 
 ous, especially as she claimed for her- 
 self a similar right. 
 
 Berrendale, gratified by her apology, re- 
 plied, '* that he saw no objection to her 
 
 plan.
 
 234- 
 
 plan, if she chose to deny him the hap- 
 pmess of sharing his income with her, 
 provided she would settle in a village 
 where she was not likely to be known, 
 and change her name." 
 
 " Change my name ! Never. Con- 
 cealment of any kind almost always im- 
 plies the consciousness of guilt ; and 
 while my heart does not condemn me, 
 my conduct shall not seem to accuse me. 
 I will go to whatever place you shall 
 recommend; but I beg your other request 
 may be mentioned no more." 
 
 Berrendale, glad to be forgiven on any 
 terms, promised to comply with her 
 wishes ; and he having recommended to 
 her to settle at a village some few miles 
 north of London, Adeline hired there 
 a sm.all but commodious lodging, and 
 issued immediately cards of advertise- 
 ment, stating what she meant to teach, 
 
 the
 
 235 
 
 and on what terms ; while Berrendale 
 took lodgings within a mile of her, and 
 the faithful mulatto attended her as a ser- 
 vant of all- work. 
 
 Fortunately, at this time, a lady at 
 Richmond, who had a son the age of 
 the tawny boy, became so attached to 
 him, that she was desirous of bringing him 
 up to be the play-fellow and future at- 
 tendant on her son ; and the mulatto, 
 pleased to have him so well disposed of, 
 resisted the poor little boy's tears and 
 reluctance at the idea of being sepa- 
 rated from her and Adeline : and before 
 she left Richmond she had the satisfac- 
 of seeing him comfortably settled in the 
 house of his patroness. 
 
 Adeline succeeded in her undertaking 
 even beyond her utmost wishes. 1" hough 
 unknown and unrecommended, there 
 was in her countenance and manner a 
 
 something
 
 2$6 
 
 something so engaging, so strongly inviting 
 confidence, and so decisively bespeaking 
 the gentlewoman, that she soon excited 
 in the village general respect and atten- 
 tion : and no sooner were scholars in- 
 trusted to her care, than she became the 
 idol of her pupils j and their improve- 
 ment was rapid in proportion to the love 
 which they bore her. 
 
 This fortunate circumstance proved a 
 balm to the wounded mind of Adeline. 
 She felt that she had recovered her use- 
 fulness ; — that desideratum in morals 
 and life, spite of her misfortunes, acqui- 
 red a charm in her eyes. True it was, 
 that she was restored to her capability of 
 being useful, by being where she was un- 
 known; and because the mulatto, unknown 
 to her, had described her as reduced to 
 earn her living, on account of the death 
 of the man to whom she was about to 
 
 be
 
 237 
 be married : but she did not revert to 
 the reasons of her being so generally 
 esteemed ; she contented herself with the 
 consciousness of being so ; and for some 
 months she was tranquil, though not 
 happy. But her tranquillity was destined 
 to be of short duration* 
 
 END OF THE SECOND VOLUME, 
 
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