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Updated: May 10, 2025
The fury of the old man knew no bounds, and he swore to disinherit his son, if he did not promise never to return to his ignoble wife, whom he vowed he never would acknowledge. Amesfort promised submission, fully intending to remain constant till his father's death, which failing health proclaimed was not far distant, and then seek his gentle wife, and introduce her in her proper sphere.
Barton had carried off Bluebell for a severe rehearsal. The play was "The Loan of a Lover," and as Peter Spyk he was interested in his Gertrude. Sir Robert also, as Captain Amesfort, threw considerably more animus into his scene since the change of heroines. Bluebell had tea with her pupils as usual, and joined in the dramatis persona in the green room at nine. The company was arriving.
Amesfort, with which our readers are already well acquainted, with the addition of her death, of which the letter he received a few days previous had informed him. Many affecting interviews he had had with her, in which she spoke, of her husband, her mother, her child, so fondly, that the tears often started to the eyes of Percy, though her own were dry.
Amesfort soon had the happiness of beholding her child restored to perfect health and radiant in beauty; perhaps the faint hope that Alphingham might one day unconsciously behold his daughter, reconciled her to this residence in England.
Amesfort fixed intently on his face, and she spoke but little more during that evening's visit. Percy left her, unable to account for the deep and serious thought imprinted on her features, nor the look with which she bade him seek her the following day at an appointed hour, as she earnestly wished to speak with him alone. The day passed heavily till he was again with her.
Alphingham, then Lord Amesfort, on his part, was restrained only by the fear of the inveteracy of his father's disposition from confessing his marriage, and sending for his wife. Another bride, of rank and wealth, was proposed to him, and then he confessed the truth.
Amesfort, the daughter, still possessed great beauty, which a shade of pensive thought, sometimes amounting to deep melancholy, rendered even more lovely. Her age might have been six or seven and twenty, she could not have been more.
"Be not too bold, for hearts fresh caught, Are ne'er, I am told, to market brought The best, they say, are given away, And are not sold, on market-day. In verity, verity, verity aye," etc A round of applause and an encore followed. It was long since Harry had heard Bluebell's voice, but he alone did not applaud. The play proceeded, and then Sir Robert came in as Amesfort. It hung a little here.
He answered truly in the negative, adding, he was not ambitious of his acquaintance; as a man, he was not one to suit his fancy. Many questions did Mrs. Amesfort ask relative to this nobleman, and still unconsciously her arm held her child more closely to her side.
There was a deep thrilling melody in her voice, whether in speaking or, when strength allowed, in warbling forth the pathetic airs of her native land; for Agnes Amesfort was a child of Erin, once enthusiastic, warm, devoted, as were her countrywomen possessing feelings that even beneath that pale, calm exterior would sometimes burst forth and tinge her cheek, and light up her soul-speaking eye with momentary but brilliant radiance, and whispered too clearly what she had once been, and what was now the wreck.
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