Adeline Mowbray; or, The Mother and Daughter. Amelia Opie

what have we here?' cried he laughing violently as he perused it. 'Here you talk of being pierced by shafts which were warded off. Now, had I said that, it would have been called a bull. As to the concluding paragraph—'

      'O! that, I flatter myself,' said Mrs. Mowbray, 'will tear him with remorse.'

      'He must first understand it,' cried Sir Patrick: 'I can but just comprehend it, and am sure it will be all botheration to him.'

      'I am sorry to find such is your opinion,' replied Mrs. Mowbray; 'for I think that sentence the best written of any.'

      'I did not say it was not fine writing,' replied the baronet, 'I only said it was not to be understood.—But, with your leave, you shall send the letter, and we'll drop the subject.'

      So said, so done, to the great satisfaction of Sir Patrick, who felt that it was for his interest to suffer the part of Mrs. Mowbray's letter which alluded to Glenmurray's supposed calumnies against her to remain obscurely worded, as he well knew that what he had asserted on this subject was wholly void of foundation.

      Glenmurray did not receive it with equal satisfaction. He was indignant at the charge of having advised Adeline to become his mistress rather than his wife; and as so much of the concluding passage as he could understand seemed to imply that he had calumniated her mother, to remain silent a moment would have been to confess himself guilty: he therefore answered Mrs. Mowbray's letter immediately. The answer was as follows:—

       'Madam,

      'To clear myself from the charge of having advised Miss Mowbray to a step contrary to the common customs, however erroneous, of society at this period, I appeal to the testimony of Miss Mowbray herself; and I here repeat to you the assurance which I made to her, that I am willing to marry her when and where she chooses. I love my system and my opinions, but the respectability of the woman of my affections more. Allow me, therefore, to make you a little acquainted with my situation in life:

      'To you it is well known, madam, that wealth, honours, and titles have no value in my eyes; and that I reverence talents and virtues, though they wear the garb of poverty, and are born in the most obscure stations. But you, or rather those who are so fortunate as to influence your determinations, may consider my sentiments on this subject as romantic and absurd. It is necessary, therefore, that I should tell you, as an excuse in their eyes for presuming to address your daughter, that, by the accident of birth, I am descended from an ancient family, and nearly allied to a noble one; and that my paternal inheritance, though not large enough for splendour and luxury, is sufficient for all the purposes of comfort and genteel affluence. I would say more on this subject, but I am impatient to remove from your mind the prejudice which you seem to have imbibed against me. I do not perfectly understand the last paragraph in your letter. If you will be so kind as to explain it to me, you may depend on my being perfectly ingenuous: indeed, I have no difficulty in declaring, that I have neither encouraged a feeling, nor uttered a word, capable of giving the lie to the declaration which I am now going to make—That I am,

       'With respect and esteem,

       'Your obedient servant,

      'F. Glenmurray.'

      This letter had an effect on Mrs. Mowbray's feelings so much in favour of Glenmurray, that she was almost determined to let him marry Adeline. She felt that she owed her some amends for contracting a marriage so suddenly, and without either her knowledge or approbation; and she thought that, by marrying her to the man of her heart, she should make her peace both with Adeline and herself. But, unfortunately, this design, as soon as it began to be formed, was communicated to Sir Patrick.

      'So then!' exclaimed he, 'you have forgotten and forgiven the impertinent things which the puppy said! things which obliged me to wear this little useless appendage in a sling thus (pointing to his wounded arm).'

      'O! no, my dear Sir Patrick! But though what Mr. Glenmurray said might alarm the scrupulous tenderness of a lover, perhaps it was a remark which might only suit the sincerity of a friend. Perhaps, if Mr. Glenmurray had made it to me, I should have heard it with thanks, and with candour have approved it.'

      'My sweet soul!' replied Sir Patrick, 'you may be as candid and amiable as ever you please, but, 'by St. Patrick!' never shall Sir Patrick O'Carrol be father-in-law to the notorious and infamous Glenmurray—that subverter of all religion and order, and that scourge of civilized society!'

      So saying, he stalked about the room; and Mrs. Mowbray, as she gazed on his handsome person, thought it would be absurd for her to sacrifice her own happiness to her daughter's, and give up Sir Patrick as her husband in order to make Glenmurray her son. She therefore wrote another letter to Glenmurray, forbidding him any further intercourse with Adeline, on any pretence whatever; and delayed not a moment to send him her final decision.

      'That is acting like the sensible woman I took you for,' said Sir Patrick: 'the fellow has now gotten his quietus, I trust, and the dear little Adeline is reserved for happier fate. Sweet soul! you do not know how fond she will be of me! I protest that I shall be so kind to her, it will be difficult for people to decide which I love best, the daughter or the mother.'

      'But I hope I shall always know, Sir Patrick,' said Mrs. Mowbray gravely.

      'You!—O yes, to be sure. But I mean that my fatherly attentions shall be of the warmest kind. But now do me the favour of telling me what hour tomorrow I may appoint the clergyman to bring the license?'

      The conversation that followed, it were needless and tedious to describe. Suffice, that eight o'clock the next morning was fixed for the marriage; and Mrs. Mowbray, either from shame or compassion, resolved that Adeline should not accompany her to church, nor even know of the ceremony till it was over.

      Nor was this a difficult matter. Adeline remained in her own apartment all the preceding day, endeavouring, but in vain, to reconcile herself to what she justly termed the degradation of her mother. She felt, alas! the most painful of all feelings, next to that of self-abasement, the consciousness of the abasement of one to whom she had all her life looked up with love and veneration. To write to Glenmurray while oppressed by such contending emotions she knew to be impossible; she therefore contented herself with sending a verbal message, importing that he should hear from her the next day: and poor Glenmurray passed the rest of that day and the night in a state little better than her own.

      The next morning Adeline, who had not closed her eyes till daylight, woke late, and from a sound but unrefreshing sleep. The first object she saw was her maid, smartly dressed, sitting by her bed-side; and she also saw that she had been crying.

      'Is my mother ill, Evans?' she exclaimed.

      'O! no, Miss Adeline, quite well,' replied the girl, sighing.

      'But why are you so much dressed?' demanded Adeline.

      'I have been out,' answered the maid.

      'Not on unpleasant business?'

      'That's as it may be,' she cried, turning away; and Adeline, from delicacy, forebore to press her further.

      ''Tis very late—is it not?' asked Adeline, 'and time for me to rise!'

      'Yes, miss—I believe you had better get up.'

      Adeline immediately rose.—'Give me the dark gown I wore yesterday,' said she.

      'I think, miss, you had better put on your new white one,' returned the maid.

      'My new white one!' exclaimed Adeline, astonished at an interference so new.

      'Yes, miss—I think it will be taken kinder, and look better.'

      At these words Adeline's suspicions were awakened. 'I see, Evans,' she cried, 'you have something extraordinary to tell me:—I partly guess; I—my mother—' Here, unable to proceed, she lay down on the bed which she had just quitted.

      'Yes, Miss Adeline—'tis very true; but pray compose yourself, I am sure I have cried enough on your account, that I have.'

      'What is true, my good Evans?' said Adeline