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

she should soon reach the Pavilion and be back again; while the objects of her bounty were silent with surprise at hearing that their relief was to come from the Pavilion, a place hitherto closed to the solicitations of poverty, though ever open to the revels and the votaries of pleasure.

      Adeline found her mother alone; and with a beating heart and a flushed cheek, she described the scene which she had witnessed, and begged to be restored to her old office of almoner on such occasions.

      'A sad scene, indeed, my dear Adeline!' replied the bride in evident embarrassment, 'and I will speak to Sir Patrick about it.'

      'Speak to Sir Patrick, madam! cannot you follow the impulse of humanity without consulting him?'

      'I can't give the relief you ask without his assistance,' replied her mother; 'for, except a guinea or so, I have no loose cash about me for my own uses.—Sir Patrick's benevolence has long ago emptied his purse, and I gladly surrendered mine to him.'

      'And shall you in future have no money for the purposes of charity but that you must claim from Sir Patrick?' asked Adeline mournfully.

      'O dear! yes—I have a very handsome allowance settled on me; but then at present he wants it himself (Adeline involuntarily clasped her hands together in an agony, and sighed deeply.) But, however, child,' added the bride, 'as you seem to make such a point of it, take this guinea to the cottage you mention, en attendant!'

      Adeline took the guinea: but it was very insufficient to pay for medical attendance, to discharge the rent due to a clamorous landlord, and to purchase several things necessary for the relief of the poor sufferers: therefore she added another guinea to it, and, not liking to relate her disappointment, sent the money to them, desiring the servant to say that she would see them the next morning, when she resolved to apply to Sir Patrick for the relief which her mother could not give; feeling at the same time the mournful conviction, that she herself, as well as her mother, would be in future dependent on his bounty.

      Though disposed to give way to mournful reflections on her own account, Adeline roused herself from the melancholy abstraction into which she was falling, by reflecting that she had still to plead the cause of the poor cottagers with Sir Patrick; and hearing he was in the house, she hastened to prefer her petition.

      Sir Patrick listened to her tone of voice, and gazed on her expressive countenance with delight; but when she had concluded her narration a solitary half-guinea was all he bestowed on her, saying, 'I am never roused to charity by the descriptions of others; I must always see the distress which I am solicited to relieve.'

      'Then go with me to the cottage,' exclaimed Adeline; but to her great mortification he only smiled, bowed, and disappeared: and when he returned to supper, Adeline could scarcely prevail on herself to look at him without displeasure, and could not endure the unfeeling vivacity of his manner.

      Mortified and unhappy, she next morning went to the cottage, reluctant to impart to its expecting inhabitants the ill success she had experienced. But what was her surprise when they came out joyfully to meet her, and told her that a gentleman had been there that morning very early, had discharged their debts, and given them a sum of money for their future wants!

      'His name, his name?' eagerly inquired Adeline: but that they said he refused to give; and as he was in a horseman's large coat, and held a hankerchief to his face, they were sure they should not know him again.

      A pleasing suspicion immediately came across Adeline's mind that this benevolent unknown might be Glenmurray: and the idea that he was perhaps unseen hovering round her, gave her one of the most exquisite feelings which she had ever known. But this agreeable delusion was soon dissipated by one of the children's giving her a card which the kind stranger had dropped from his pocket; and this card had on it 'Sir Patrick O'Carrol.'

      At first it was natural for her to be hurt and disappointed at finding that her hopes concerning Glenmurray had no foundation in truth; but her benevolence, and indeed regard for her mother's happiness as well as her own, led her to rejoice in this unexpected proof of excellence in Sir Patrick.—He had evidently proved that he loved to do good by stealth, and had withdrawn himself even from her thanks.

      In a moment, therefore, she banished from her mind every trace of his unworthiness. She had done him injustice, and she sought refuge from the remorse which this consciousness inflicted on her, by going into the opposite extreme. From that hour, indeed, her complaisance to his opinions, and her attentions to him, were so unremitting and evident, that Sir Patrick's passion became stronger than ever, and his hopes of a return to it seemed to be built on a very strong foundation.

      Adeline had given all her former suspicions to the wind; daily instances of his benevolence came to her knowledge, and threw such a charm over all he said and did, that even the familiarity in his conduct, look, and manner towards her, appeared to her now nothing more than the result of the free manners of his countrymen:—and she sometimes could not help wishing Sir Patrick to be known to, and intimate with, Glenmurray. But the moment was now at hand that was to unveil the real character of Sir Patrick, and determine the destiny of Adeline.

      One day Sir Patrick proposed taking his bride to see a beautiful ferme ornee at about twelve miles' distance; and if it answered the expectations which he had formed of it, they were determined to spend two or three days in the neighbourhood to enjoy the beauty of the grounds;—in that case he was to return in the evening to the Pavilion, and drive Adeline over the next morning to partake in their pleasure.

      To this scheme both the ladies gladly consented, as it was impossible for them to suspect the villainous design which it was intended to aid.

      The truth was, that Sir Patrick, having, as he fondly imagined, gained Adeline's affections, resolved to defer no longer the profligate attempt which he had long meditated; and had contrived this excursion in order to insure his wife's absence from home, and a tête-à-tête with her daughter.

      At an early hour the curricle was at the door, and Sir Patrick, having handed his lady in, took leave of Adeline. He told her that he should probably return early in the evening, pressed her hand more tenderly than usual, and, springing into the carriage, drove off with a countenance animated with expected triumph.

      Adeline immediately set out on a long walk to the adjoining villages, visited the cottages near the Pavilion, and, having dined at an early hour, determined to pass the rest of the day in reading, provided it was possible for her to find any book in the house proper for her perusal.

      With this intention she repaired to an apartment called the library, but what in these times would be denominated a boudoir, and this, even in Paris, would have been admired for its voluptuous elegance.—On the table lay several costly volumes, which seemed to have been very lately perused by Sir Patrick, as some of them were open, some turned down at particular passages: but as soon as she glanced her eye over their contents, Adeline indignantly threw them down again; and, while her cheek glowed with the blush of offended modesty she threw herself on a sofa, and fell into a long and mournful reverie on the misery which awaited her mother, in consequence of her having madly dared to unite herself for life to a young libertine, who could delight in no other reading but what was offensive to good morals and to delicacy. Nor could she dwell upon this subject without recurring to her former fears for herself; and so lost was she in agonizing reflections, that it was some time before she recollected herself sufficiently to remember that she was guilty of an indecorum, in staying so long in an apartment which contained books that she ought not even to be suspected of having had an opportunity to peruse.

      Having once entertained this consciousness, Adeline hastily arose, and had just reached the door when Sir Patrick himself appeared at it. She started back in terror when she beheld him, on observing in his countenance and manner evident marks not only of determined profligacy, but of intoxication. Her suspicions were indeed just. Bold as he was in iniquity, he dared not in a cool and sober moment put his guilty purpose in execution; and he shrunk with temporary horror from an attempt on the honour of the daughter of his wife, though he believed that she would be a willing victim. He had therefore stopped on the road to fortify his courage with wine; and, luckily for Adeline, he had taken more than he was aware of; for when,