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

miss, my lady was married this morning to Sir Patrick O'Carrol!—Mercy on me, how pale you look! I am sure I wish the villain was at the bottom of the sea, so I do.'

      'Leave me,' said Adeline faintly, struggling for utterance.

      'No—that I will not,' bluntly replied Evans; 'you are not fit to be left; and they are rejoicing below with Sir Pat's great staring servant. But, for my part, I had rather stay here and cry with you than laugh with them.'

      Adeline hid her face in the pillow, incapable of further resistance, and groaned aloud.

      'Who should ever have thought my lady would have done so!' continued the maid.—'Only think, miss! they say, and I doubt it is too true, that there have been no writings, or settlements, I think they call them, drawn up; and so Sir Pat have got all, and he is over head and ears in debt, and my lady is to pay him out on't!

      At this account, which Adeline feared was a just one, as she had seen no preparations for a wedding going on, and had observed no signs of deeds, or any thing of the kind, she started up in an agony of grief—'Then has my mother given me up, indeed!' she exclaimed, clasping her hands together, 'and the once darling child may soon be a friendless outcast!'

      'You want a friend, Miss Adeline!' said the kind girl, bursting into tears.—'Never, while I live, or any of my fellow-servants.' And Adeline, whose heart was bursting with a sense of forlornness and abandonment, felt consoled by the artless sympathy of her attendant; and, giving way to a violent flood of tears, she threw her arms round her neck, and sobbed upon her bosom.

      Having thus eased her feelings, she recollected that it was incumbent on her to exert her fortitude; and that it was a duty which she owed her mother not to condemn her conduct openly herself, nor suffer any one else to do it in her presence: still, at that moment, she could not find in her heart to reprove the observations by which, in spite of her sense of propriety, she had been soothed and gratified; but she hastened to dress herself as became a bridal dinner, and dismissed, as soon as she could, the affectionate Evans from her presence. She then walked up and down her chamber, in order to summon courage to enter the drawing-room.—'But how strange, how cruel it was,' said she, 'that my mother did not come to inform me of this important event herself!'

      In this respect, however, Mrs. Mowbray had acted kindly. Reluctant, even more than she was willing to confess to her own heart, to meet Adeline alone, she had chosen to conclude that she was still asleep, and had desired she might not be disturbed; but soon after her return from church, being assured that she was in a sound slumber, she had stolen to her bed-side and put a note under her pillow, acquainting her with what had passed: but this note Adeline in her restlessness had, with her pillow, pushed on the floor, and there unseen it had remained. But, as Adeline was pacing to and fro, she luckily observed it; and, by proving that her mother had not been so very neglectful of her, it tended to fortify her mind against the succeeding interview. The note began:—

      'My dearest child! to spare you, in your present weak state, the emotion which you would necessarily feel in attending me to the altar, I have resolved to let the ceremony be performed unknown to you. But, my beloved Adeline, I trust that your affection for me will make you rejoice in a step, which you may, perhaps, at present disapprove, when convinced that it was absolutely necessary to my happiness, and can, in no way, be the means of diminishing yours.

      'I remain

       'Your ever affectionate mother.'

      'She loves me still then!' cried Adeline, shedding tears of tenderness, 'and I accused her unjustly.—O my dear mother, if this event should indeed increase your happiness, never shall I repine at not having been able to prevent it.' And then, after taking two or three hasty turns round the room, and bathing her eyes to remove in a degree the traces of her tears, she ventured into the drawing-room.

      But the sight of her mother seated by Sir Patrick, his arm encircling her waist, in that very room which had so lately witnessed his profligate attempts on herself, deprived her of the little resolution which she had been able to assume, and pale and trembling she sunk speechless with emotion on the first chair near her.

      Mrs. Mowbray, or, as we must at present call her, Lady O'Carrol, was affected by Adeline's distress, and, hastening to her, received the almost fainting girl in her arms; while even Sir Patrick, feeling compassion for the unhappiness which he could more readily understand than his bride, was eager to hide his confusion by calling for water, drops, and servants.

      'I want neither medicine nor assistance now,' said Adeline, gently raising her head from her mother's shoulder: 'the shock is over, and I shall, I trust, behave in future with proper self-command.'

      'Better late than never,' muttered Lady O'Carrol, on whom the word shock had not made a pleasant impression; while Sir Patrick, approaching Adeline, exclaimed, 'If you have not self-command, Miss Mowbray, it is the only command which you cannot boast; for your power of commanding others no one can dispute, who has ever had the happiness of beholding you.'

      So saying, he took her hand; and, as her mother's husband, claimed the privilege of saluting her—a privilege which Adeline, though she almost shrunk with horror from his touch, had self-command enough not to deny him: immediately after he claimed the same favour from his bride; and they resumed their position on the sofa.

      But so embarrassing was the situation of all parties that no conversation took place; and Adeline, unable any longer to endure the restraint to which she was obliged, rose, to return to her own room, in order to hide the sorrow which she was on the point of betraying, when her mother in a tone of reproach exclaimed, 'It grieves me to the soul, Miss Mowbray, to perceive that you appear to consider as a day of mourning the day which I consider as the happiest of my life.'

      'Oh! my dearest mother!' replied Adeline, returning and approaching her, 'it is the dread of your deceiving yourself, only, that makes me sad at a time like this: if this day in its consequences prove a happy one—'

      'And wherefore should you doubt that it will, Miss Mowbray?'

      'Miss Mowbray, do you doubt my honour?' cried Sir Patrick hastily.

      Adeline instantly fixed her fine eyes on his face with a look which he knew how to interpret, but not how to support: and he cast his to the ground with painful consciousness.

      She saw her triumph, and it gave her courage to proceed:—'O sir!' she cried, 'it is in your power to convert all my painful doubts into joyful certainties; make but my mother happy, and I will love and bless you ever.—Promise me, sir,' she continued, her enthusiasm and affection kindling as she spoke, 'promise me to be kind and indulgent to her;—she has never known contradiction; she has been through life the darling object of all who surrounded her; the pride of her parents, her husband, and her child: neglect, injury, and unkindness she would inevitably sink under: and I conjure you (here she dropped on her knees and extended her arms in an attitude of entreaty) by all your hopes of happiness hereafter, to give her reason to continue to name this the happiest day of her life.'

      Here she ceased, overcome by the violence of her emotions; but continued her look and attitude of entreaty, full of such sweet earnestness, that the baronet could hardly conceal the variety of feelings which assailed him; amongst which, passion for the lovely object before him predominated. To make a jest of Adeline's seriousness he conceived to be the best way to conceal what he felt; and while Mrs. Mowbray, overcome with Adeline's expressions of tenderness, was giving way to them by a flood of tears, and grasping in both hers the clasped hands of Adeline, he cried, in an ironical tone—'You are the most extraordinary motherly young creature that I ever saw in my life, my dear girl! Instead of your mother giving the nuptial benediction to you, the order of nature is reversed, and you are giving it to her. Upon my word I begin to think, seeing you in that posture, that you are my bride begging a blessing of mamma on our union, and that I ought to be on my knees too.'

      So saying, he knelt beside Adeline at Lady O'Carrol's feet, and in a tone of mock solemnity besought her to bless both her affectionate children: and as he did this, he threw his arm round the weeping girl, and pressed her to his bosom. This speech, and this action, at once banished all self-command from the