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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 56426 ***</div>



<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="titlepage" />
</div>

<hr class="chap" />

<h1>THE MUMMY!</h1>

<h2>A TALE
OF
THE TWENTY-SECOND CENTURY.</h2>

<h3>By Jane Webb (Mrs. Loudon).</h3>

<p class="center">"Why hast thou disquieted me, to bring me up?"<br />
<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">I <span class="smcap">Sam.</span>, xxviii. 15.</span><br />
</p>

<h5>LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.</h5>

<h4>1827.</h4>

<hr class="chap" />



<h3>TABLE OF CONTENTS.</h3>

<p class="center" style="font-size: 0.8em;">
<a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;
</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p class="transnote">[Transcriber's note: <i>The Mummy!</i> was originally published in three
volumes.  The chapters have been renumbered in this edition, and the
volume breaks indicated (ends of chapters XI and XXIV).]</p>


<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION.</a></h3>


<p>I have long wished to write a novel, but I
could not determine what it was to be about.
I could not bear any thing common-place, and
I did not know what to do for a hero. Heroes
are generally so much alike, so monotonous, so
dreadfully insipid&mdash;so completely brothers of
one race, with the family likeness so amazingly
strong&mdash;"This will not do for me," thought I
as I sauntered listlessly down a shady lane, one
fine evening in June; "I must have something
new, something quite out of the beaten path:&mdash;but
what?"&mdash;ay, that was the question. In vain
did I rack my brains&mdash;in vain did I search the
storehouse of my memory: I could think of nothing
that had not been thought of before.</p>

<p>"It is very strange!" said I, as I walked
faster, as though I hoped the rapidity of my
motion would shake off the sluggishness of my
imagination. It was all in vain! I struck my
forehead and called wit to my assistance, but
the malignant deity was deaf to my entreaty.
"Surely," thought I, "the deep mine of invention
cannot be worked out; there must be some
new ideas left, if I could but find them." To
find them, however, was the difficulty.</p>

<p>Thus lost in meditation, I walked onwards
till I reached the brow of a hill, and a superb
prospect burst upon me. A fertile valley richly
wooded, studded with sumptuous villas and
romantic cottages, and watered by a noble
river, that wound slowly its lazy course along,
spread beneath my feet; and lofty hills swelling
to the skies, their summit lost in clouds,
bounded the horizon. The sun was setting
in all its splendour, and its lingering rays
gave those glowing tints and deep masses of
shadow to the landscape that sometimes produce
so magical an effect. It was quite a
Claude Lorraine scene; and more fully to enjoy
it, I entered a hay-field, and seated myself
upon a grassy bank. The day had been sultry;
and the evening breeze, as it murmured through
the foliage, felt cool and refreshing. "It is a
lovely world," thought I, "notwithstanding all
that cynics can say against it. Our own passions
bring misery upon our heads, and then
we rail at the world, though we only are in
fault. Why should I seek to wander in the
regions of fiction? Why not enjoy tranquilly
the blessings Heaven has bestowed upon me?"</p>

<p>I felt too indolent to answer my own question;
a delicious stillness crept over my senses,
and the heaving chaos of my ideas was lulled
to repose. A majestic oak stretched its gnarled
arms in sullen dignity above my head;
myriads of busy insects buzzed around me; and
woodbines and wild roses, hanging from every
hedge, mingled their perfume with that of
the new-mown hay. I reclined languidly on
my grassy couch, listening to the indistinct
hum of the distant village, and feeling that delightful
sense of exemption from care, that a
faint murmur of bustle afar off gives to the
weary spirit, when suddenly the bells struck up
a joyous peal&mdash;the cheerful notes now swelling
loudly upon the ear, then sinking gently away
with the retiring breeze, and then again returning
with added sweetness. I listened with delight
to their melody, till their softness seemed
to increase; the sounds became gradually
fainter and fainter; the landscape faded from
my sight; a soft languor crept over me: in
short, I slept.</p>

<p>It would be of no use to go to sleep without
dreaming; and, accordingly, I had scarcely
closed my eyes when, methought, a spirit
stood before me. His head was crowned with
flowers; his azure wings fluttered in the breeze,
and a light drapery, like the fleecy vapour
that hangs upon the summit of a mountain,
floated round him. In his hand he held a
scroll, and his voice sounded soft and sweet
as the liquid melody of the nightingale.</p>

<p>"Take this," said he, smiling benignantly;
"it is the Chronicle of a future age. Weave
it into a story. It will so far gratify your
wishes, as to give you a hero totally different
from any hero that ever appeared before. You
hesitate," continued he, again smiling, and regarding
me earnestly: "I read your thoughts,
and see you fear to sketch the scenes of which
you are to write, because you imagine they
must be different from those with which you
are acquainted. This is a natural distrust: the
scenes will indeed be different from those you
now behold; the whole face of society will be
changed: new governments will have arisen;
strange discoveries will be made, and stranger
modes of life adopted. The restless curiosity
and research of man will then have enabled him
to lift the veil from much which is (to him at
least) at present a mystery; and his powers
(both as regards mechanical agency and intellectual
knowledge) will be greatly enlarged.
But even then, in his plenitude of acquirement,
he will be made conscious of the infirmity
of his nature, and will be guilty of many absurdities
which, in his less <i>enlightened</i> state, he
would feel ashamed to commit.</p>

<p>"To no one but yourself has this vision been
revealed: do not fear to behold it. Though
strange, it may be fully understood, for much
will still remain to connect that future age with
the present. The impulses and feelings of human
creatures must, for the most part, be alike
in all ages: habits vary, but nature endures;
and the same passions were delineated, the
same weaknesses ridiculed, by Aristophanes,
Plautus, and Terence, as in after-times were
described by Shakspeare and Moliere; and as
they will be in the times of which you are to
write,&mdash;by authors yet unknown.</p>

<p>"But you still hesitate; you object that the
novelty of the allusions perplexes you. This is
quite a new kind of delicacy; as authors seldom
trouble themselves to become acquainted
with a subject before they begin to write upon
it. However, since you are so very scrupulous,
I will endeavour, if possible, to assist you.
Look around."</p>

<p>I did so; and saw, as in a magic glass, the
scenes and characters, which I shall now endeavour
to pass before the eyes of the reader.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></h3>


<p>In the year 2126, England enjoyed peace
and tranquillity under the absolute dominion
of a female sovereign. Numerous changes had
taken place for some centuries in the political
state of the country, and several forms of government
had been successively adopted and
destroyed, till, as is generally the case after violent
revolutions, they all settled down into an
absolute monarchy. In the meantime, the religion
of the country had been mutable as its
government; and in the end, by adopting Catholicism,
it seemed to have arrived at nearly
the same result: despotism in the state, indeed,
naturally produces despotism in religion;
the implicit faith and passive obedience
required in the one case, being the best of
all possible preparatives for the absolute submission
of both mind and body necessary in
the other.</p>

<p>In former times, England had been blessed
with a mixed government and a tolerant religion,
under which the people had enjoyed as much
freedom as they perhaps ever can do, consistently
with their prosperity and happiness. It
is not in the nature of the human mind, however,
to be contented: we must always either
hope or fear; and things at a distance appear
so much more beautiful than they do when we
approach them, that we always fancy what we
have not, infinitely superior to any thing we
have; and neglect enjoyments within our reach,
to pursue others, which, like <i>ignes fatui</i>,
elude our grasp at the very moment when we
hope we have attained them.</p>

<p>Thus it was with the people of England:&mdash;Not
satisfied with being rich and prosperous,
they longed for something more. Abundance
of wealth caused wild schemes and gigantic
speculations; and though many failed, yet, as
some succeeded, the enormity of the sums
gained by the projectors, incited others to pursue
the same career. New countries were discovered
and civilized; the whole earth was
brought to the highest pitch of cultivation;
every corner of it was explored; mountains were
levelled, mines were excavated, and the globe
racked to its centre. Nay, the air and sea did
not escape, and all nature was compelled to
submit to the overwhelming supremacy of
Man.</p>

<p>Still, however, the English people were not
contented:&mdash;enabled to gratify every wish till
satiety succeeded indulgence, they were still
unhappy; perhaps, precisely because they had
no longer any difficulties to encounter. In
the meantime, education had become universal,
and the technical terms of abstruse sciences
familiar to the lowest mechanics; whilst questions
of religion, politics, and metaphysics, agitated
by them daily, supplied that stimulus, for
which their minds, enervated by over cultivation,
constantly craved. The consequences
may be readily conceived. It was impossible
for those to study deeply who had to labour
for their daily bread; and not having time to
make themselves masters of any given subject,
they only learned enough of all to render them
disputatious and discontented. Their heads
were filled with words to which they affixed no
definite ideas, and the little sense Heaven had
blessed them with, was lost beneath a mass of
undigested and misapplied knowledge.</p>

<p>Conceit inevitably leads to rebellion. The
natural consequence of the mob thinking themselves
as wise as their rulers, was, that they
took the first convenient opportunity that offered,
to jostle these aforesaid rulers from their
seats. An aristocracy was established, and
afterwards a democracy; but both shared the
same fate; for the leaders of each in turn, found
the instruments they had made use of to rise,
soon became unmanageable. The people had
tasted the sweets of power, they had learned
their own strength, they were enlightened; and,
fancying they understood the art of ruling as
well as their quondam directors, they saw no
reason why, after shaking off the control of
one master, they should afterwards submit to
the domination of many. "We are free," said
they; "we acknowledge no laws but those of
nature, and of those we are as competent to
judge as our would-be masters. In what are
they superior to ourselves? Nature has been as
bountiful to us as to them, and we have had
the same advantages of education. Why then
should we toil to give them ease? We are
each capable of governing ourselves. Why
then should we pay them to rule us? Why
should we be debarred from mental enjoyments
and condemned to manual labour? Are not
our tastes as refined as theirs, and our minds
as highly cultivated? We will assert our independence,
and throw off the yoke. If any man
wish for luxuries, let him labour to procure
them for himself. We will be slaves no longer;
we will all be masters."</p>

<p>Thus they reasoned, and thus they acted,
till government after government having been
overturned, complete anarchy prevailed, and
the people began to discover, though, alas! too
late, that there was little pleasure in being masters
when there were no subjects, and that it was
impossible to enjoy intellectual pleasures, whilst
each man was compelled to labour for his daily
bread. This, however, was inevitable, for as
perfect equality had been declared, of course
no one would condescend to work for his neighbour,
and every thing was badly done: as,
however skilful any man may be in any particular
art or profession, it is quite impossible he
can excel in all.</p>

<p>In the meantime, the people who had,
though they scarcely knew why, attached to
the idea of equality that of exemption from
toil, found to their infinite surprise, that their
burthens had increased tenfold, whilst their
comforts had unaccountably diminished in the
same proportion. The blessings of civilization
were indeed fast slipping away from them.
Every man became afraid lest the hard-earned
means of existence should be torn from his
grasp; for, as all laws had been abolished, the
strong tyrannized over the weak, and the most
enlightened nation in the world was in imminent
danger of degenerating into a horde of
rapacious barbarians.</p>

<p>This state of things could not continue; and
the people, finding from experience that perfect
equality was not quite the most enviable mode
of government, began to suspect that a division
of labour and a distinction of ranks were absolutely
necessary to civilization; and sought
out their ancient nobility, to endeavour to restore
something like order to society. These
illustrious personages were soon found: those
who had not emigrated, had retired to their
seats in the country, where, surrounded by
their dependants, and the few friends who had
remained faithful to them, they enjoyed the
<i>otium cum dignitate</i>, and consoled themselves
for the loss of their former greatness, by railing
most manfully at those who had deprived them
of it.</p>

<p>Amongst this number, was the lineal descendant
of the late royal family, and to him the
people now resolved humbly and unconditionally
to offer the crown; imagining, with the
usual vehemence and inconsistency of popular
commotions, that an arbitrary government must
be best for them, as being the very reverse of
that, the evils of which they had just so forcibly
experienced.</p>

<p>The prince, however, to whom a deputation
from the people made this offer, happened not
to be ambitious. Like another Cincinnatus,
he placed all his happiness in the cultivation
of a small farm, and had sufficient prudence
to reject a grandeur which he felt must be
purchased by the sacrifice of his peace. The
deputies were in despair at his refusal; and
they reurged their suit with every argument
the distress of their situation could inspire.
They painted in glowing colours the horrors of
the anarchy that prevailed, the misery of the
kingdom and despair of the people; and at
last wound up their arguments by a solemn
appeal to Heaven, that if he persisted in his
refusal, the future wretchedness of the people
might fall upon his head. The prince, however,
continued inexorable; and the deputies
were preparing to withdraw, when the prince's
daughter, who had been present during the
whole interview, rushed forward and prevented
their retreat:&mdash;"Stay! I will be your queen,"
cried she energetically; "I will save my country,
or perish in the attempt!"</p>

<p>The princess was a beautiful woman, about
six-and-twenty; and, at this moment, her fine
eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, her cheeks
glowing, and her whole face and figure breathing
dignity from the exalted purpose of her
soul, she appeared to the deputies almost as a
supernatural being; and regarding her offer as
a direct inspiration from Heaven, they bore her
in triumph to the assembled multitude who
awaited their return: whilst the people, ever
caught by novelty, and desirous of any change
to free them from the misery they were enduring,
hailed her appearance with delight,
and unanimously proclaimed her Queen.</p>

<p>The new sovereign soon found the task she
had undertaken a difficult one; but happening
luckily to possess common sense and prudence,
united with a firm and active disposition, she
contrived in time to restore order, and to confirm
her own power, whilst she contributed to
the happiness of her people. The face of the
kingdom rapidly changed&mdash;security produced
improvement&mdash;and the self-banished nobles of
the former dynasty crowding round the new
Queen, she chose from amongst them the wisest
and most experienced for her counsellors, and
by their help compounded an excellent code of
laws. This book was open to the whole kingdom;
and cases being decided by principle instead
of precedent, litigation was almost unknown:
for as the laws were fully and clearly
explained, so as to be understood by every
body, few dared to act in open violation of
them, punishment being certain to follow
detection; and all the agonizing delights of
a law-suit were entirely destroyed, as every
body knew, the moment the facts were stated,
how it would inevitably terminate. This renewal
of the golden age continued several
years without interruption, the people being
too much delighted with the personal comforts
they enjoyed, to complain of the errors inseparable
from all human institutions; whilst the
remembrance of what they had suffered during
the reign of anarchy, made them tremble at a
change, and patiently submit to trifling inconveniences
to avoid the risk of positive evils.</p>

<p>This generation however passed away, and
with it died, not only the recollection of the past
misfortunes of the kingdom, but also the spirit
of content they had engendered. A new race
arose, who, with the ignorance and presumption
of inexperience, found fault with every
thing they did not understand, and accused the
Queen and her ministers of dotage, merely because
they did not accomplish impossibilities.
The government, however, was too firmly established
to be easily shaken. The judicious
economy of the Queen had filled her treasury
with riches; her prudent regulations had extended
the commerce of her subjects to an almost
incredible extent; and her firm and decided
disposition made her universally respected
both at home and abroad. The malcontents
were therefore awed into submission, and
obliged, in spite of themselves, to rest satisfied
with growling at the government they were
not strong enough to overturn. At this time,
however, the Queen died, and the state of affairs
experienced an important change.</p>

<p>It has been before mentioned, that the religion
of the country had altered with its government.
Atheism, rational liberty, and fanaticism,
had followed each other in regular
succession; and the people found, by fatal experience,
that persecution and bigotry assimilated
as naturally with infidelity as superstition.
A fixed government, however, seemed to require
an established religion; and the multitude,
ever in extremes, rushed from excess of liberty
to intolerance. The Catholic faith was restored,
new saints were canonized, and confessors
appointed in the families of every person
of distinction. These priests, however, were
far from having the power they had possessed
in former times. The eyes of men had been
too long opened to be easily closed again.
Education still continued amongst the lower
classes; and though, at the time this history
commences, it was going out of fashion with
persons of rank, its influence was felt even by
those most prejudiced against it. During the
reign of the late Queen, the minds of the public
not having any state affairs to occupy them,
had been directed to the improvement of the
arts and sciences; and so many new inventions
had been struck out, so many wonderful discoveries
made, and so many ingenious contrivances
put into execution, that poor nature
seemed degraded from her throne, and usurping
man to have stepped up to supply her place.</p>

<p>Before the Queen died, she chose her niece
Claudia to succeed her; and as she enacted that
none of her successors should marry, she ordered
that all future queens should be chosen,
by the people, from such female members of her
family as might be between twenty and twenty-five
years of age, at the time of the throne's becoming
vacant. Every male throughout the
kingdom who had attained the age of twenty-one,
was to have a voice in this election; but
as it was presumed it might be inconvenient to
convoke these numerous electors into one place,
it was agreed that every ten thousand should
choose a deputy to proceed to London to represent
them, and that a majority of these deputies
should elect the Queen. This scheme, however,
though feasible in theory, seemed likely
to present some difficulties when it was to be
put in practice; but of these, the old Queen
never troubled herself to think. She had
provided against any immediate disturbance
by choosing her own successor, and she left
posterity to take care of itself.</p>

<p>Queen Claudia was one of those <i>fainéant</i>
sovereigns of whom it is extremely difficult to
write the history, for the simple but unanswerable
reason, that they never perform any
action worthy of being recorded. However,
though she did not do much good, she seldom
did any harm: she thus contrived to escape either
violent censure or applause; and, in short, to
get through life very decently, without making
much bustle about it. She continued the same
counsellors that had been employed by her predecessor,
appointing the sons, when the fathers
died, to save trouble. She left the laws as she
found them for the same reason; and, in short,
she let the affairs of government go on so quietly,
and so exactly in the same routine as before,
that for two or three years after her accession,
the people were scarcely aware that any change
had taken place.</p>

<p>The commencement of the year 2126 was,
however, marked by symptoms of turbulence.
The malcontents, secretly encouraged by Roderick,
King of Ireland, and suffered to gain
strength under the easy sway of Claudia, rose
to arms in different parts of the kingdom; and
marching to London, attempted to seize the
person of the Queen. For the moment, the
regular forces of the kingdom seemed paralysed,
and the insurgents would have succeeded
in their daring attempt, but for the presence
of mind and valour of Edmund Montagu, a
young officer of ancient family, a captain in
the Queen's body-guard, who had the good
fortune to rescue his sovereign.</p>

<p>This circumstance was decisive; the rebels,
disappointed in their hopes, and imperfectly
organized, gave way everywhere before the regular
troops, who had now recovered from their
stupor; whilst the Queen, whose gratitude for
the timely succour afforded by Edmund Montagu
was unbounded, made him commander of
her forces in Germany, and the youthful hero
quitted England to take possession of his post.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></h3>


<p>High and distinguished as was the favour
shown to Edmund Montagu, it was by no
means greater than he deserved. His face and
figure were such as the imagination delights to
picture as a hero of antiquity; and his character
accorded well with the majestic graces
of his person. Haughty and commanding in
his temper&mdash;ambition was his God, and love of
glory his strongest passion; yet his very pride
had a nobleness in it, and his soldiers loved
though they feared him.</p>

<p>Very different was the character of his younger
brother Edric, whose romantic disposition and
contemplative turn of mind often excited the
ridicule of his friends. As usual, however, in
similar cases, the persecutions he endured upon
the subject, only wedded him more firmly to his
own peculiar opinions; which, indeed, he seemed
determined to sustain with the constancy of a
martyr; whilst he put on such a countenance
of resolution and magnanimity whenever they
were assailed by jests or raillery, as might have
been imagined suitable to an expiring Indian
at the stake. Unfortunately, however, his
friends did not always properly estimate this
dignified silence; and their repeated bursts of
laughter grated so harshly in the ears of the
youthful Diogenes, that he became gradually
disgusted with mankind. He secluded himself
from society; despised the opinion of
the world, because he found it was against
him; and supposed himself capable of resisting
every species of temptation, simply because,
as yet, he had met with nothing adequate to
tempt him. Older and more experienced persons
have made the same mistake.</p>

<p>The education of these two young men had
been entrusted to tutors of characters as essentially
different as those of their pupils.&mdash;Father
Morris, who had had the care of the
elder, was an intelligent Catholic priest, the
confessor of the family. Whilst Doctor Entwerfen,
who took charge of the younger, was a
worthy inoffensive man, whose passion for trying
experiments was his leading foible; but
whose good-nature caused him to be beloved,
even by those to whom his follies made him appear
ridiculous.</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose Montagu, the father of Edmund
and Edric, was a widower, and these two
sons constituted his whole family. The worthy
Baronet was no bad representative of what an
old English country gentleman always has been,
and of what it still continued, even in that age of
refinement. He was as warm in his feelings as
hasty in his temper, and as violent in his prejudices,
as any of his predecessors. In fact,
the same causes must always lead to the same
results; and there is something in a country
life that never fails to produce certain peculiar
effects upon the mind.</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose, however, was far superior to
the generality of his class, and amongst innumerable
other good qualities, he was an indulgent
master and an affectionate father. His
foible, however,&mdash;for alas! where shall we find
character without one,&mdash;was a desire to show
occasionally how implicitly he could be obeyed.
In general, he was easy to a fault; and it
was only when roused by opposition, that the
natural obstinacy of his disposition displayed itself.
Edmund was his favourite son; the early
military glory of the youthful hero was flattering
to his parental pride, and his eyes would
glisten with delight at the bare mention of his
darling's name.</p>

<p>It was one fine evening in the summer of the
year 2126, when Sir Ambrose Montagu, such
as we have described him, was sitting in his library,
anxiously expecting intelligence from the
army. To divert his impatience, he had ordered
the attendance of his steward Mr. Davis, and
endeavoured to amuse himself by hearing a report
of the affairs of his farm; whilst Abelard,
an old butler, who had been in the Baronet's
service more than forty years, stood behind his
master's chair holding a small tray, on which was
placed an elegant apparatus for smoking, and
a magnificent service of malleable glass, made
to fold up to a pocket size, when not in use,
containing the baronet's evening refreshment.</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose was above seventy; and his
long white hair hung in waving curls upon his
shoulders, as he now sat in his comfortable
elastic arm-chair, leaning one elbow upon the
table before him. His features had been very
handsome, and his complexion still retained that
look of health and cleanness, which, in a green
old age, is the sure indication of a well-spent
life. His countenance, though intelligent, was
unmarked by the traces of any stormy passions;
the cares and troubles of life seemed to
have passed gently over him, and content had
smoothed the wrinkles age might have made
upon his brow; whilst the tall thin figure of
Mr. Davis, as he stood reverentially bending
forward, his hat in his hand, and his whole demeanour
expressing a singular mixture of preciseness
and habitual respect, contrasted strongly
with the dignified appearance of his master.</p>

<p>The windows of the library opened to the
ground, and looked out upon a fine terrace,
shaded by a verandah, supported by trellis-work,
round which, twined roses mingled with
vines. Below, stretched a smiling valley, beautifully
wooded, and watered by a majestic river
winding slowly along; now lost amidst the
spreading foliage of the trees that hung over its
banks, and then shining forth again in the sun
like a lake of liquid silver. Beyond, rose hills
majestically towering to the skies, their clear
outline now distinctly marked by the setting
sun, as it slowly sunk behind them, shedding
its glowing tints of purple and gold upon their
heathy sides; whilst some of its brilliant rays
even penetrated through the leafy shade of
the verandah, and danced like summer lightning
upon the surface of a mirror of polished
steel which hung directly in face of Sir Ambrose.</p>

<p>"What a lovely evening!" exclaimed the
worthy baronet, gazing with a delighted eye
upon the rich landscape before him; "often as
I have looked upon this scene, methinks every
time I see it I discover some new beauty.
How finely that golden tint which the sun
throws upon the tops of those trees is relieved
by the deep masses of shadow below!"</p>

<p>"It is a fine evening," said Davis, bowing
low, "and if your honour pleases, I think we
had better get the patent steam-mowing apparatus
in motion to-morrow. If the sun should
be as hot to-morrow as it has been to-day, I am
sure the hay will make without using the burning
glass at all."</p>

<p>"Do as you like, Davis," returned his master,
taking his pipe, "you know I leave these
matters entirely to you."</p>

<p>"And does not your honour think I had
better give the barley a little rain? It will be all
burnt up, if this weather continues; and if your
honour approves, it may be done immediately,
for I saw a nice black heavy-looking cloud sailing
by just now, and I can get the electrical
machine out in five minutes to draw it down,
if your honour thinks fit."</p>

<p>"I have already told you I leave these
things entirely to you, Davis," returned the baronet,
puffing out volumes of smoke from his
hookah. "Inundate the fields if you will; you
have my full permission to do whatever you
please with them, so that you don't trouble me
any more about the matter."</p>

<p>"But I would not wish to act without your
honour's full conviction," resumed the persevering
steward. "Your honour must be aware
of the aridity of the soil, and of the impossibility
that exists of a proper development of
the incipient heads, unless they be supplied
with an adequate quantity of moisture."</p>

<p>"You are very unreasonable, Davis," aid
Sir Ambrose; "most of your fraternity would
be satisfied by being permitted to have their
own way; but you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Excuse my interrupting your honour,"
cried Davis, bowing profoundly; "but I cannot
bear it to be thought that I was capable of
persuading your honour to take any steps,
your honour might not thoroughly approve.
Now as to the germinization and ripening&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My good fellow!" exclaimed Sir Ambrose,
smiling at the energy with which Davis spoke&mdash;his
thin figure waving backwards and forwards
in the sunshine, and his earnest wish to convince
his master, almost depriving his voice of
its usual solemn and sententious tone. "As I
said before, I give you full and free liberty to
burn, dry, or drown my fields, as you may think
fit; empowering you to take any steps you
judge proper, either to germinate or ripen corn
upon any part of my estate whatever, only premising,
that in future you never trouble me
upon the subject; and so good night."</p>

<p>This being spoken in a tone of voice Davis
did not dare to disobey, he slowly retired,
apparently as much annoyed at having his own
way, as some people are at being contradicted;
when suddenly a brilliant flash of light gleamed
on the baronet's polished mirror. "Ah! what
was that?" exclaimed Sir Ambrose, starting up,
and dashing his pipe upon the ground.</p>

<p>He gazed eagerly upon the mirror for a few
seconds in breathless anxiety, bending forwards
in a listening attitude, and not daring to stir,
as though he feared the slightest movement
might destroy the pleasing illusion. The flash
was repeated again and again in rapid succession,
whilst a peal of silver bells began to ring
their rounds in liquid melody. "Thank God!
thank God!" exclaimed the aged baronet, sinking
upon his knees, and clasping his hands together,
whilst the big tears rolled rapidly down
his face, "My Edmund has conquered! my
Edmund is safe!"</p>

<p>The faithful servants of Sir Ambrose followed
the example of their master, and for
some minutes the whole party appeared lost in
silent thanksgiving; the silver bells still continuing
their harmonious sweetness, though in
softer and softer strains, till at last they gradually
died away upon the ear. Sir Ambrose
started from his knees as the melody ceased,
and desiring Abelard to summon Edric and
Father Morris, he rushed upon the terrace, followed
by Davis, to examine a telegraph placed
upon a mount at little distance, so as to be
seen from one end of it: the light and music
just mentioned, being a signal always given,
when some important information was about to
be transmitted.</p>

<p>The sun had now sunk behind the hills, and
the shades of evening were rapidly closing in
as the baronet, with streaming eyes, watched,
the various movements of the machine. "One,
two, and six!" said he; "yes, that signifies he
has won the battle, and is safe. My heart told
me so, when I saw the signal flash. My darling
Edmund!&mdash;two, four, and eight&mdash;he has
subdued the Germans, and taken the whole of
the fine province of France. Six, six, and
four&mdash;alas! my failing eyes are too weak to
see distinctly. Davis, look I implore you!
The signal is changing before we have discovered
its meaning! For mercy's sake, look before
it be too late! Alas! alas! I had forgotten
your eyes are as feeble as mine own. Oh,
Davis! where is Edric? Why is not he here
to assist his poor old father at such a moment
as this?"</p>

<p>In the meantime, Edric was, as usual, engaged
in those abstract speculations with Dr.
Entwerfen, which now formed the only pleasure
of his existence, and which he pursued
with an eagerness that made all the ordinary
affairs of life appear tasteless and insipid. His
imagination had become heated by long dwelling
upon the same theme; and a strange, wild,
indefinable craving to hold converse with a disembodied
spirit haunted him incessantly. He
had long buried this feverish anxiety in his
own breast, and tried in vain to subdue it;
but it seemed to hang upon his steps, to present
itself before him wherever he went, and,
in short, to pursue him with the malignancy
of a demon.</p>

<p>"What is the matter with you, Edric?" said
Dr. Entwerfen to his pupil, the day we have
already mentioned. "You are so changed, I
scarcely know you, and your eyes have a wild
expression, absolutely terrific."</p>

<p>"I am, indeed, half mad," returned Edric,
with a melancholy smile; "and yet, perhaps,
you will laugh when I tell you the reason of
my uneasiness. I am tormented by an earnest
desire to communicate with one who has been
an inhabitant of the tomb. I would fain know
the secrets of the grave, and ascertain whether
the spirit be chained after death to its earthly
covering of clay, condemned till the day of final
resurrection to hover over the rotting mass of
corruption that once contained it; or whether
the last agonies of death free it from its mortal
ties, and leave it floating, free as air, in the
bright regions of ethereal space?"</p>

<p>"You know my opinion," said the doctor.</p>

<p>"I do," replied the pupil; "but forgive me
if I add&mdash;I do not feel satisfied with it: in fact
mine is not a character to be satisfied with building
my faith upon that of any other man. I
would see, and judge for myself."</p>

<p>"I do not blame you," resumed the doctor;
"a reasonable being should believe nothing
he cannot prove;&mdash;however, to remove your
doubts, I am convinced we have only occasion
to step into the adjoining church-yard, and
try my galvanic battery of fifty surgeon power,
(which you must allow is surely enough to
re-animate the dead,) upon a body, and
then&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hold! hold!" cried Edric, shuddering.
"My blood freezes in my veins, at the thought
of a church-yard:&mdash;your words recall a horrible
dream that I had last night, which, even now,
dwells upon my mind, and resists all the efforts
I can make to shake it off."</p>

<p>"Tell it to me, then," resumed the doctor;
"for when the imagination is possessed by horrible
fantasies, it is often relieved by speaking
of them to another person."</p>

<p>"I thought," said Edric, "that I was
wandering in a thick gloomy wood, through
which I had the utmost difficulty to make
my way. The black trees, frowning in awful
majesty above my head, twined together in
masses, so as almost to obstruct my path.
Suddenly, a fearful light flashed upon me,
and I saw at my feet a horrid charnel house,
where the dying mingled terrifically with the
dead. The miserable living wretches turned
and writhed with pain, striving in vain
to escape from the mass of putrescence
heaped upon them. I saw their eye-balls roll
in agony&mdash;I watched the distortion of their features,
and, making a violent effort to relieve
one who had almost crawled to my feet, I shrank
back with horror as I found the arm I grasped
give way to my touch, and a disgusting mass
of corruption crumble beneath my fingers!&mdash;Shuddering
I awoke&mdash;a cold sweat hanging
upon my brows, and every nerve thrilling with
convulsive agony."</p>

<p>"Mere visionary terrors," said the doctor.
"You have suffered your imagination to dwell
upon one subject, till it is become morbid.&mdash;However,
though I do not see any reason why
your dream should make you decline my offer,
I will not urge it if it give you pain."</p>

<p>"Is it not strange," continued Edric, apparently
pursuing the current of his own thoughts,
"that the mind should crave so earnestly what
the body shudders at; and yet, how can a mass
of mere matter, which we see sink into corruption
the moment the spirit is withdrawn
from it, shudder? How can it even feel?
I can scarcely analyse my own sensations;
but it appears to me that two separate and distinct
spirits animate the mass of clay that composes
the human frame. The one, the merely
vital spark which gives it life and motion, and
which we share in common with brutes, and
even vegetables; and the other, the divine ethereal
spirit, which we may properly term the soul,
and which is a direct emanation from God himself,
only bestowed upon man."</p>

<p>"You know my sentiments upon the subject,"
replied the doctor, "therefore I need
not repeat them."</p>

<p>"I know," resumed Edric, "you think the
organs of thought, reflection, imagination, reason,
and, in short, all that mysterious faculty
which we call the mind, material; and that as
long as the body remains uncorrupted they may
be restored, provided circulation can be renewed:
for that you think the only principle necessary
to set the animal machine in motion."</p>

<p>"Can any thing be more clear?" said the
doctor. "We all know that circulation and
the action of the lungs are inseparably connected,
and that if the latter be arrested, death
must ensue. How frequently are apparently
dead bodies recovered by friction, which produces
circulation; and inflation of the lungs
with air, which restores their action. If your
idea be correct, that the soul leaves the body
the instant what we call death takes place, how
do you account for these instances of resuscitation?
Think you that the soul can be recalled
to the body after it has once quitted it? Or
that it hovers over it in air, attached to it by
invisible ligatures, ready to be drawn back to
its former situation, when the body shall resume
its vital functions? You cannot surely
suppose it remains in a dormant state, and is
reawakened with the body; for this would be
inconsistent with the very idea of an incorporeal
spirit."</p>

<p>"Certainly," resumed Edric, "the spirit
must be capable of existing perfectly distinct
from the body; though how, I own candidly
my imperfect reason cannot enable me to comprehend."</p>

<p>"I wish you would overcome your childish
reluctance to trying an experiment upon a
corpse, as that must set your doubts at rest.
For if we could succeed in re-animating a dead
body that has been long entombed, so that it
might enjoy its reasoning faculties, or, as you
call it, its soul in full perfection, my opinion
would be completely established."</p>

<p>"But where shall we find a perfect body,
which has been dead a sufficient time to prevent
the possibility of its being only in a trance?&mdash;For
even if I could conquer the repugnance
I feel at the thought of touching such a mass of
cold mortality, as that presented in my dream
last night, according to your own theory, the
organs must be perfect, or the experiment will
not be complete."</p>

<p>"What think you of trying to operate upon
a mummy? You know a chamber has been
lately discovered in the great pyramid, which
is supposed to be the real tomb of Cheops; and
where, it is said, the mummies of that great
king and the principal personages of his household
have been found in a state of wonderful
preservation."</p>

<p>"But mummies are so swathed up."</p>

<p>"Not those of kings and princes. You know
all travellers, both ancient and modern, who
have seen them, agree, that they are wrapped
merely in folds of red and white linen, every
finger and even every toe distinct; thus, if we
could succeed in resuscitating Cheops, we need
not even touch the body; as the clothing it is
wrapped in will not at all encumber its movements."</p>

<p>"The idea is feasible, and, as you rightly
say, if it can be put into execution, it will set
the matter at rest for ever. I should also like
to visit the pyramids, those celebrated monuments
of antiquity, whose origin is lost in the
obscurity of the darker ages, and which seem
to have been spared by the devastating hand of
time, purposely to perplex the learned."</p>

<p>"You say right," cried the doctor with enthusiasm.
"And who can tell but that we
may be the favoured happy mortals, destined
to raise the mystic veil that has so long covered
them? we may be destined to explore these
wonderful monuments&mdash;to revive their mummies,
and force them to reveal the secrets of
their prison-house. Cheops is said to have
built the great pyramid, and it is Cheops whom
we shall endeavour to re-animate! what then
can be more palpable, than that it should be
he who is destined at length to reveal the
mystery."</p>

<p>"Every word you utter, doctor, increases
my ardent desire to put our scheme into immediate
execution: but how can we accomplish it?
How obtain my father's consent? You know
it has long been his intention to marry me to
the niece of his friend the Duke of Cornwall,
and you know how obstinate both he and the
duke are."</p>

<p>"Then if you remain in England, it is your
intention to marry Rosabella?"</p>

<p>"I would perish first."</p>

<p>"If that be the case, I confess I do not see
the force of your objection."</p>

<p>"True; for as long as I refuse to marry her,
their anger will be the same, whether I travel
or remain in England. In fact, I shall be happier
at a distance than here, where I shall be
annoyed by having the subject constantly recurred
to. Yet it pains me to speak upon it to
my father. He has so long cherished the idea
of my marriage, and dwelt upon it so fondly&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Then you had better stay,&mdash;relinquish all
thoughts of scientific discoveries, and settle contentedly
on an estate in the country; employing
your time in regulating your farm, settling the
disputes of your neighbours, and bringing up
your children, if you should happen to have
any."</p>

<p>"How can you torment me so?&mdash;If you
could imagine the struggle in my bosom, between
inclination and duty, you would pity me."</p>

<p>"Do you think your presence necessary to
your father's happiness?"</p>

<p>"No&mdash;if Edmund be with him, he will never
think of me."</p>

<p>"And do you not think&mdash;nay, are you not
certain, that an union with Rosabella would
make you miserable?"</p>

<p>"It is impossible to doubt it. Her violent
temper, and the mystery which hangs over the
fate of her father, which she cannot bear to
have even alluded to, forbid the thought of
happiness as connected with her."</p>

<p>"It is strange, so little should be known
of her father. I never heard the particulars of
his story."</p>

<p>"No human being knows the whole, I believe,
but the duke and my father. However,
I remember to have heard it rumoured when I
was a child, that he had committed some fearful
crime, and that he was either executed, or
had destroyed himself."</p>

<p>"Then it is not surprising that it should
pain Rosabella to hear him spoken of. But to
return to our subject: your answers have removed
the only doubts that can arise; and
after what you have confessed yourself, I cannot
imagine what further hesitation you can
feel&mdash;"</p>

<p>At this moment they were both startled; and
the words were arrested on the doctor's lips by a
gentle tap at the door. It was old Abelard the
butler. Half ashamed of the unphilosophic terror
he had evinced, the doctor felt glad to be
able to hide his emotion under the appearance
of anger, and demanded peevishly, what was
the matter. "Have I not told you a hundred
times," continued he, "that I do not like to be
interrupted at my studies! and that nothing
is more disagreeable than to have one's attention
distracted, when it has been fixed upon an
affair of importance!"</p>

<p>"I do not attempt to controvert the axiom
you have just propounded," returned Abelard,
speaking in a slow precise manner, as though he
weighed every syllable before he drawled it
forth: "for undeniable facts do not admit of
contradiction. However, as the message with
which I stand charged at the present moment
relates to master Edric, instead of yourself,
I humbly opine, no blame can attach itself
to me, on account of the unpremeditated
interruption of which you allege me culpable."</p>

<p>"And what have you to say to me?" demanded
Edric.</p>

<p>"That the worthy gentleman, your respectable
progenitor, requests you instantly to put in
exercise your locomotive powers to join him
on the terrace, to the end, that there your
superior visual faculties may afford <i>soulagement</i>
to the mental anxiety under which he at
present labours, by aiding him to develop the
intelligence conveyed to him by the telegraphic
machine."</p>

<p>"What!" exclaimed Edric, eagerly, and
then, without waiting a reply, he darted forward,
and in a few seconds was by the side
of his father.</p>

<p>Abelard gazed after him with amazement:
"There is something very astonishing," said
he, addressing Dr. Entwerfen, "in the effervescence
of the animal spirits during youth. I labour
under a complete acatalepsy upon the subject;
I should think it must arise from the excessive
elasticity of the nerves. Ideas strike&mdash;"
but here, happening unfortunately to look
up, he too was struck to find Dr. Entwerfen
had vanished with his pupil, and unwilling to
waste his eloquence upon the empty air, he
also departed; slowly and solemnly, however,
according to his custom, to join the party assembled
on the terrace.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></h3>


<p>When Edric and Dr. Entwerfen reached
Sir Ambrose, they found Father Morris at his
side, explaining with his usual promptness and
clearness the meaning of the different signs of
the telegraph.</p>

<p>"My dear Edric," exclaimed Sir Ambrose,
throwing himself into the arms of his son, "my
dear, dear Edric! your brother has gained the
battle! The Germans are completely overthrown.
He has taken their king, and several
of their princes prisoners; and the fine province
of France is ceded to us entirely!"</p>

<p>"I am rejoiced to hear it," cried Edric, returning
his father's embrace with emotion,
"and he, I hope, is safe?"</p>

<p>"I hope so too," replied Sir Ambrose;
"though he says nothing of himself: but you
know Edmund: 'Our troops won this,'
'our army gained that!'&mdash;'the soldiers fought
bravely!'&mdash;he never speaks of himself. To hear
him relate a battle, nobody would imagine he
had ever had any thing to do with it."</p>

<p>"It is too dark to see any more," said Father
Morris, who had been for some time
watching the telegraph, and now turned from it
in despair; "the machine is still in motion, but it
is too dark for me to decipher what it means."</p>

<p>The attention of all present was directed to
the sky as he spoke. It was indeed become of
pitchy blackness, a general gloom seemed to
hang over the face of nature; the birds flew
twittering for shelter, a low wind moaned
through the trees, and, in short, every thing
seemed to portend a storm.</p>

<p>"Had we not better return to the house?"
said Dr. Entwerfen, looking round with something
like fear at these alarming indications,
for his heated imagination had not yet quite
recovered the effect of the awful speculations
he had so lately been indulging in. "What is
that black spot there? I declare it moves!
Good heavens, what can it be?"</p>

<p>"Really, doctor!" returned Abelard, "you
provoke the action of my risible faculties. That
opaque body which you perceive at a little distance,
and which seems to have occasioned
such a fearful excitement of your nervous system,
is only a living specimen of the corvus
genus, who has probably descended upon earth
to search for his vermicular repast."</p>

<p>"I beg your pardon, Mr. Abelard," rejoined
Mr. Davis, speaking with his usual precision,
"but, according to my humble apprehension,
you labour under a slight mistake as to
that particular. The feathered biped that has
so forcibly attracted your attention, appears to
me, not one of the corvi, but rather one of the
graculi; a variety of extremely rare occurrence
in this vicinity, and which are sometimes called
incendriæ aves, from their unfortunate propensity
to put habitations in combustion, by picking up
small pieces of phlogisticated carbon, and carrying
them in their beaks to the combination of
straw and other materials, sometimes piled upon
the apex of a house, to defend it from the inroads
of pluviosity."</p>

<p>"It is of no use," sighed Sir Ambrose, still
straining his eyes to endeavour to decipher the
movements of the telegraph, the outlines of
which only now appeared, stamped as if in jet,
and strongly relieved by the dark grey sky beyond.</p>

<p>"It is of no use," reiterated Father Morris,
and the whole party were preparing to retire,
when suddenly a vivid light flashed upon
them from the hill, and instantly a long line of
torches seemed to stream along the horizon.
"He is coming home, but will write more to-morrow,"
exclaimed the whole party simultaneously;
for all knew well by experience, the
meaning of that signal. "He is coming home,
thank God!" repeated Sir Ambrose, his pallid
lips quivering, and every limb trembling with
agitation.</p>

<p>"Look to my father," cried Edric, "he will
faint."</p>

<p>"Oh no, no!" repeated Sir Ambrose: "thank
God! thank God!"</p>

<p>"Lean upon me, at least," said Edric, affectionately.</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose complied; and, supported by
his son, still gazed anxiously on the torches,
their red glare shedding an unnatural light
around them, and making the surrounding darkness
only appear still more intense. Thunder
now growled in the distance, and rain began to
fall in large drops; yet still Sir Ambrose gazed
upon the torches, and could not be persuaded
to leave the terrace. These wild, fearful looking
lights, gleaming through the tempest, seemed
a connecting link between him and his darling
son; and it was not till they were obscured
by the thick heavy rain, and even the outline
of the telegraph vanished in the gathering
clouds around, that he could be induced
to seek for shelter.</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose slept little that night: the sleep
of age is easily broken, and perhaps the joyful
agitation of his spirits had produced a slight
access of fever. He rose with the dawn; and,
long before the rest of his family had descended,
summoned Abelard, that he might dispatch
him to inform his most intimate friend the
Duke of Cornwall of the news.</p>

<p>"Go," said he, as soon as the drowsy butler
made his appearance. "I am sure the duke
feels nearly as great an interest in the success
of Edmund as myself, and will not be displeased
if he be disturbed a little earlier than
usual upon such an occasion."</p>

<p>"I obey," replied Abelard. "I will shake
off my somnolent propensities, and speed with
the velocity of the electric fluid to the castle
of the noble chieftain."</p>

<p>"Take heed you do not forget your message
by the way," repeated Sir Ambrose, smiling.</p>

<p>"Not all the waters of Lethe could wash
such somnifugous tidings from my memory,"
replied the butler. "Your honour's words are
imprinted upon the mnemonic organ of my
brain; and my sensorium must be divided from
my cerebellum ere they can be effaced."</p>

<p>The Duke of Cornwall had been the intimate
friend of Sir Ambrose almost from infancy.
They had been companions at school and at
college; besides which, peculiar circumstances
which had happened in their youth, had linked
them together in indissoluble ties. What
these circumstances were, however, no one exactly
knew, except the parties concerned, and
they always avoided alluding to them. All
that was generally understood upon the subject,
being, that Sir Ambrose had, in some
manner, been instrumental in saving the duke's
life; but how, when, or where, was never
clearly explained.</p>

<p>The Duke of Cornwall was of the Royal
family of England, and closely allied to the
throne. His father had been brother to that
prince who had so stedfastly refused the
crown when it was offered to him by the ambassadors
from the people; and as that prince
had left no male descendants, the duke might
be considered as legitimately entitled to reign.
The thought of disturbing by his claims the
female dynasty now established, had, however,
never entered into the mind of the duke;
who, with half the sense of his friend Sir
Ambrose, possessed, at least, ten times the
obstinacy; and having taken it into his head
that he would marry his daughter Elvira to
Edmund Montagu, and his niece Rosabella to
Edric, he turned all his thoughts, plans, and
wishes to the accomplishment of this object,
and suffered no other idea to interfere
with it.</p>

<p>Those, however, who were acquainted with
the characters of the young people, thought the
duke had quite reversed the natural order of
things by this arrangement; and that the strong
mind and haughty spirit of Rosabella would
have suited better with the ambitious Edmund;
whilst the soft yielding disposition and feminine
graces of Elvira seemed to harmonize exactly
with the taste of the philosophic Edric.
No persuasions, however, could induce the duke
to deviate in the slightest degree from his design.
Like many of the higher classes of society
in those days of universal education, he affected
an excessive plainness and simplicity in his language;
so much so, indeed, as sometimes almost
to degenerate into rudeness, in order that
it might be clearly distinguished from the elaborate
and scientific expressions of the vulgar;
and when urged upon the subject of these intended
marriages, he would roughly say, "Don't
talk to me; there is nothing like a little contradiction
in the married life. If two people were
to agree to live together, who were always of
the same opinion, they would die of ennui in
six months. No, no, I'm right, and so they'll
find it in the end."</p>

<p>He would then shake his head, and put on
such a look of positive determination, that his
friends would generally retire in silence, feeling
it perfectly in vain to attempt to alter his resolution.
As to consulting the inclinations of the
young people themselves, the idea never entered
his imagination. "Children don't know
what is good for them," he would reply sharply,
if any one presumed to suggest such a
thought, "and it is the duty of parents and
guardians to decide in such matters."</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose, wishing the connection for his
sons, and respecting even the whims of his friend,
had as yet never interfered, and the young people
had also appeared silently to acquiesce. Rebellious
spirits, however, were hidden under
this apparent calm; and the duke was soon to
learn from experience, that human beings were
rather more difficult to manage than a drove of
turkeys, or a flock of sheep; a fact, of which before
he did not seem to have the slightest suspicion.</p>

<p>The duke had already risen, and was in his
garden, when the messenger of Sir Ambrose arrived
panting for breath, and quite exhausted
by the velocity which, as he expressed it, he
had employed in endeavouring to execute with
the utmost expedition, the implied wishes of his
master. The duke was surprised to see him.&mdash;"What
brings you out so early, Abelard?"
demanded he.</p>

<p>"Oh, your grace," replied the butler, gasping
for utterance, "the haste I have made has
impeded my respiration; and the blood, finding
the pulmonary artery free, rushes with such
force along the arterial canal to the aorta, that&mdash;that&mdash;I
am in imminent danger of being suffocated."</p>

<p>"Pshaw!" said the duke.</p>

<p>"Besides," continued Abelard, "a saline
secretion distils from every pore of my skin, in
a serous transudation, from the excessive exertions
I have made use of."</p>

<p>"And what has occasioned these violent exertions?"</p>

<p>"The earnest desire experienced by Sir Ambrose
to transmit with all the expedition possible,
to your grace, the intelligence he has just
received of the acquisition of a victory by Master
Edmund, in the hostile territory of Germany."</p>

<p>"Victory!" shouted the duke, "Victory&mdash;Rosabella!
Elvira! where are you, girls?
Here's tidings to rouse you from your slumbers.&mdash;And
how is he, Abelard? Is the brave boy
safe himself? God bless him! victory will be
nothing to us, if we are to lose him."</p>

<p>"It occasions me excessive chagrin," replied
Abelard, "that I am totally unable to resolve
that interrogatory to your grace's complete satisfaction.
Taciturnity, however, upon some
subjects, is, I believe, generally considered synonymous
with prosperity; and, as Master Edmund,
to the best of my credence, conveyed no
information relative to his sanity in the communication
made by him to his paternal ancestor,
I humbly opine that there are no reasonable
grounds for supposing it has suffered
any material deterioration in consequence of the
late sanguinary encounter in which he has been
engaged."</p>

<p>The duke had not patience to wait the conclusion
of this speech; but hobbled away as
fast as his infirmities would permit, vociferating
for Elvira and Rosabella, in a voice that might
have silenced Stentor; and Abelard, finding
himself alone, was fain to follow his example,
marvelling as he went along, however, at the
excessive impatience of the fiery spirits of the
age, which would not permit people to remain
stationary, even to hear, what he called, a compendious
replication to the very questions which
they themselves had propounded.</p>

<p>Whatever faults might fall to the share of the
Duke of Cornwall, that of a cold heart was certainly
not amongst the number, and the delight
he felt on hearing of Edmund's triumph
could not have been greater if the youthful
hero had been his own son. His eyes, indeed,
absolutely sparkled with transport, when he
communicated the intelligence to his niece and
daughter; and his tidings were not bestowed
upon insensible ears, for the breasts of both his
youthful auditors throbbed with pleasure at the
news, though the causes of their emotions were
different. Elvira had been the idol of Edmund's
homage from her childhood; and she fancied
she returned his passion with equal fervour;
but she deceived herself, and love was as yet a
stranger to her heart. Endowed with great
beauty and superior talents; accustomed from
her earliest infancy to be worshipped by all
around her; surrounded by flatterers, till even
flattery itself had lost its charm, Elvira was as
yet insensible to love; why she was so, we
leave to philosophers to explain; we merely
state facts and leave others to draw conclusions.</p>

<p>Rosabella's character was essentially different
from that of her cousin. Passion was the
essence of her existence; and her dark eyes
flashed a fire that bespoke the intensity of her
feelings. She loved Edmund, but though
she loved him with all that overwhelming violence,
that only a soul like hers could feel, yet
she would not have scrupled to sacrifice even
him to her revenge, if she had thought he
treated her with negligence or contempt. She
scorned the opinion of the world, and regarded
mankind in general but as slaves, whom she
should honour by trampling beneath her feet.
Ambition, however, was her leading passion,
and even her love for Edmund struggled in
vain for mastery against it. This feeling was
now highly gratified by the tidings of Edmund's
victory. She triumphed in his glory;
and a deeper glow burnt upon her cheek, from
the proud consciousness she felt that she had
not placed her affections upon an unworthy
object.</p>

<p>"We have no time to lose, girls," said the
duke. "I would not miss being with Sir Ambrose
when he receives his letter, for kingdoms.
Here, Hyppolite! Augustus! get a balloon
ready, and let us be off directly. How tedious
these fellows are! They might have removed
a church steeple in the time they have wasted
about that balloon."</p>

<p>"If your grace would have a moment's patience,"
said Hyppolite, holding the cords of
the balloon. But his Grace had no patience;
it was an ingredient Nature had quite forgotten
to put into his composition; and, without waiting
for the ascending ladder to be put down, he
sprang into the car in such haste the moment
the balloon was brought to the door, that he
was in imminent danger of oversetting it. "So!
so!" said he, "very well! that will do,&mdash;and
now girls, that you are safely embarked, we
will be off. Hyppolite! you will steer us:&mdash;and,
Abelard, go you into the buttery, and let
my fellows give you something to eat; you will
want something after your fatigues. There!
there, that will do; don't let us hinder a moment&mdash;&mdash;;"
and the rest of his speech was
lost in air, as the balloon floated majestically
away.</p>

<p>"It has often appeared very astonishing to
me," said Abelard, after watching the balloon
till it was out of sight, "to observe how partial
great people are generally to an aërial mode of
travelling; for my part, I think the pedestrian
manner infinitely more agreeable."</p>

<p>"<i>De gustibus non est disputandum</i>," replied
Augustus, the duke's footman, to whom this
observation was addressed:&mdash;"But I think I
observe symptoms of lassitude about you, Mr.
Abelard. Will you not adjourn to the apartment
of Mrs. Russel, our housekeeper, to repair
by some alimentary refreshment, the excessive
exhaustion you have sustained in the
course of your morning's exertions?"</p>

<p>"Willingly, Mr. Augustus.&mdash;I own candidly,
I feel the want of a little wholesome nutrition.
I shall, besides, be extremely happy to
avail myself of the opportunity fortune so benignantly
presents, of paying my respects to
Mrs. Russel, whom I have not seen these three
days."</p>

<p>The worthy housekeeper was equally rejoiced
with Abelard at this instance of fortune's
benignity; a sort of sentimental flirtation having
been going on between them for the last
thirty years. She accordingly stroked down
her snow-white apron, re-adjusted her mob cap,
and smoothed her grey hairs, which were divided
upon her forehead, with the most scrupulous
exactness, before she advanced to welcome
her visitors. "What will you take, my dear
Mr. Abelard?" said she, as soon as he was within
hearing; "what can you fancy? I have a delicious
corner of a cold venison pasty in my
pantry."</p>

<p>"Words are altogether too feeble to express
the transports of my gratitude at receiving so
gracious an accolade, beauteous Eloisa," replied
the romantic butler; for thus, in allusion to
his own name, was he wont to call her. "But
though you had only the rigours of the Paraclete
to invite me to, instead of the comforts of
your well-stored pantry, still would words be
wanting to express the feeling of my bosom on
thus again beholding you."</p>

<p>"Spare my blushes!" said Mrs. Russel,
casting her eyes upon the ground, and playing
with a corner of her apron. "I feel a roseate
suffusion glow upon my cheeks, as your flattering
accents strike upon the tympanum of
my auricular organs."</p>

<p>"Oh, Mrs. Russel!" sighed Abelard, gazing
upon her tenderly;&mdash;then, after a short
pause, he continued: "As to the aliments with
which your provident kindness would soulage
my appetite&mdash;though venison be a wholesome
viand, and was reckoned by the ancients efficacious
in preventing fevers, and though the very
mention of the savoury pasty makes the eryptæ,
usually employed in secreting the mucus of my
tongue, erect themselves, thereby occasioning an
overflow of the saliva, yet will I deny myself
the indulgence, and content myself simply with
a boiled egg, as being more likely to agree
with the present enfeebled state of the digestive
organs of my stomach."</p>

<p>"You shall have it instantly," cried Mrs.
Russel.</p>

<p>"And will you have the kindness to superintend
the culinary arrangement of it yourself?"
rejoined Abelard. "I do not like the albumen
too much coagulated; and I prefer it
without any butyraceous oil, simply flavoured
by the addition of a small quantity of common
muriate of soda."</p>

<p>The egg was soon prepared and devoured.
"Thank you, thank you! dear Mrs. Russel,"
said Abelard; "this refection was most acceptable.
I had felt for some time the gastric
juice corroding the coats of my stomach; and
still, though I have now given it some solid
substance to act upon, I think it would not be
amiss to dilute its virulence by the addition of
a little fluid. Have you any thing cool and
refreshing?"</p>

<p>"I have some bottled beer," replied Mrs.
Russel; "but I am afraid the carbonic acid
gas has not been sufficiently disengaged during
the process of the vinous fermentation to render
it wholesome; and there is scarcely any
alcohol in the whole composition&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"That is exactly what I want," said Abelard;
"for my physicians have expressly forbidden
stimulants. Provided the gluten that
forms the germ was properly separated in the
preparation of the malt, and the seed sufficiently
germinated to convert the fecula into sugar,
I shall be perfectly satisfied."</p>

<p>"I can guarantee the accuracy of its preparation
both with regard to the malt and the
beer," repeated Mrs. Russel; and the frothing
fluid soon sparkled in a goblet, to the infinite
satisfaction of the thirsty butler, who, after a
hearty draught, vowed nectar itself was never
half so delicious; and that all the gods on
Olympus would envy him, if they could but
taste his fare, and see the blooming Hebe that
was his cup-bearer.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></h3>


<p>When the balloon of the duke approached
the habitation of Sir Ambrose, its occupiers perceived
the worthy baronet walking with hasty
strides towards the mount of the telegraph,
which commanded an extensive view of the
surrounding country, followed by Edric and
Dr. Entwerfen, who appeared vainly endeavouring
to persuade him to relax a speed so little
suited to his advanced years.</p>

<p>"Talk not to me of going slowly, when I
expect news of my darling Edmund!" exclaimed
Sir Ambrose, continuing his rapid pace&mdash;his
heart beating with paternal pride, and
his countenance beaming with exultation.</p>

<p>"I am also anxious to hear of my brother,"
said Edric, "but after the information we have
already received by the telegraphic dispatch, it
appears to me that we have little more to learn
of importance."</p>

<p>"Edric, you are not a father, and you can
have no idea of a father's anxiety," replied Sir
Ambrose, hurrying on to the mount, as though
he hoped the rapidity of his motion would afford
some relief to the impatience of his mind;
whilst the party of the duke, seeing the point
to which he was hastening, opened the valves
of their balloon, and made preparations to descend
upon the same spot.</p>

<p>The duke and Sir Ambrose were always
glad to meet, but as the present occasion
was one of more than ordinary interest, so
they now greeted each other with more than
ordinary pleasure. The duke had always been
warmly attached to Edmund, and his voice
actually trembled with agitation as he exclaimed:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Well, my old friend, you see your brave
boy is determined to keep us alive still. Our
blood would stagnate in our veins, if he did
not give us a fillip now and then to rouse us.
But what does the young rogue say of himself?
I hope he's not wounded?"</p>

<p>"He never mentions himself," replied Sir
Ambrose, tears glistening in his eyes, as he
pressed the hand of his friend warmly in his
own; "Edmund loves his country too devotedly
to think of either peril or reward in her
service."</p>

<p>"But he shall have a reward!" cried the
duke, laughing; "ay and a fitting one too!
Eh, Elvira, what say you?"</p>

<p>Elvira blushed, smiled, and looked down, as
young ladies generally do upon such occasions;
whilst Sir Ambrose, who had now reached the
summit of the mount, was too eagerly looking
round in every direction to hear his friend's
remark.</p>

<p>In those days, the ancient method of conveying
the post having been found much
too slow for so enlightened a people, an ingenious
scheme had been devised, by which the
letters were put into balls and discharged by
steam-cannon, from place to place; every
town and district having a piece of <i>toile metallique</i>,
or woven wire, suspended in the air,
so as to form a kind of net to arrest the progress
of the ball, and being provided with a
cannon to send it off again, when the letters
belonging to that neighbourhood should have
been extracted: whilst, to prevent accidents, the
mail-post letter-balls were always preceded by
one of a similar description, made of thin wood,
with a hole in its side, which, collecting the
wind as it passed along, made a kind of whizzing
noise, to admonish people to keep out of
the way.</p>

<p>The mount on which Sir Ambrose now stood,
commanded an extensive view, and the scene
it presented was beautiful in the extreme. On
one side, innumerable grass fields, richly wooded,
and only divided from each other by invisible
iron fences, appeared like one vast park;
whilst, on the other, the waving corn, its full
heads beginning to darken in the sun, gave a
rich glowing tint to the landscape. But Sir
Ambrose thought not of the prospect, he did
not even see the murmuring brooks and shady
groves, the smiling vales and swelling hills,
that constituted its beauty; no, his attention
was wholly occupied by a small black spot he
had just discovered on the edge of the horizon.
In breathless anxiety, his eyes almost starting
from their sockets, he bent eagerly forwards,
gazing on this small and at first almost imperceptible
speck. It gradually grew larger
and larger&mdash;it rapidly approached! and in a
few seconds a slight noise buzzed through
the air, as the long-expected balls whizzed
past him.</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose's agitation was excessive; with
trembling limbs and livid lips, he hurried to
the nearest station, which luckily was close at
hand, and round which several of his household
were assembled, in their impatience to
hear the news. Sir Ambrose could not speak,
but the person whose province it was to sort
the letters guessed his errand, and opening
the bag held forth the ardently expected treasure.
Gasping for breath, Sir Ambrose eagerly
attempted to take it, but his hands were unequal
to the task, the violence of his emotion
overpowered him, and after a short, but fruitless
struggle, he fell senseless on the ground.</p>

<p>The confusion produced by this unexpected
incident, was indescribable. The old duke
walked up and down, wringing his hands, and
exclaiming, "What shall we do? What will
become of us?" whilst the rest of the party endeavoured
to give assistance to Sir Ambrose.</p>

<p>"Parental affection," said Davis, who had
an unfortunate propensity for making long
speeches precisely at the moment when nobody
was likely to attend to him, "Parental affection
has been universally allowed by all writers,
both ancient and modern, to be one of the
strongest passions of the soul, and the most exalted
instances might be produced of the surprising
energy of this universal sentiment."</p>

<p>"For Heaven's sake help me to raise my
father," cried Edric: "Give him air, or he
will die!"</p>

<p>"Patience," continued Davis, "is necessary
in all things, and is perhaps one of the most
useful and estimable qualities of life. It enables
us to bear, without shrinking, the bitterest
evils that can assail us. Without patience,
philosophy would never have made those wonderful
discoveries that subjugate nature to our
yoke."</p>

<p>"Fetch me some water," exclaimed Edric,
"or he will expire before your eyes."</p>

<p>"It appears to me," said a labourer, who
had been mending a steam digging-machine in
a neighbouring field, and who now stood leaning
upon his work, and looking on gravely at all
that passed, without attempting to offer the
least assistance;&mdash;"It appears to me that it
would be highly improper to administer the
aqueous fluid in its natural state of frigidity,
under the existing circumstances. The present
suspension of animation under which Sir
Ambrose labours, is evidently occasioned by
want of circulation. Now, as it is the property
of hot liquors, rather than cold ones, to supply
the stimulant necessary for the reproduction of
circulation, I opine that hot water would answer
the purpose better than cold."</p>

<p>In the mean time Father Morris had brought
some water from a neighbouring fountain, and
throwing it on the patient's face, Sir Ambrose
opened his eyes: for some moments he stared
wildly around him, but, as soon as he began to
recollect what had passed, he implored Father
Morris to give him his ardently desired letter.</p>

<p>"You are not yet equal to reading it," said
Father Morris compassionately; "I fear the
exertion will be too much for you."</p>

<p>"Oh give it me! give it me," exclaimed the
poor old man; "if a spark of mercy remain
in your soul, do not keep me in this agony!"</p>

<p>It was impossible to resist the tone of real
anguish that accompanied these words, as
Father Morris put the letter into his hands.&mdash;Sir
Ambrose took it eagerly; though he trembled
so, that he could scarcely break the seal.
At last, he tore it open and gazed at its contents,
but he could not read a word; he dashed
away his tears, and rubbed his eyes impatiently&mdash;all
was in vain&mdash;the writing was still illegible&mdash;"Read!
read!" cried he, in a voice
trembling with agitation, "For Heaven's sake,
read!&mdash;will no one have pity on me?"</p>

<p>Father Morris took the letter, and read it
aloud, whilst Sir Ambrose sate&mdash;his eyes raised
to Heaven, his hands clasped together, and
the tears rolling down his aged cheeks, listening
to his words, and drinking in every syllable.
After giving a circumstantial account of the
battle, and assuring his father that he had not
been wounded, Edmund proceeded thus. "The
Queen has written me a letter of approbation in
her own hand, and has been graciously pleased
to signify her intention of honouring me with a
triumphal entry into London; she has likewise
conferred upon me letters of nobility. The
goodness of my sovereign makes a deep impression
upon my breast; but for the rest, I
assure you that neither the applauses of the
multitude, nor the privilege of writing Lord
before my name, can afford a moment's satisfaction
to a heart that pants only for the pleasure
of seeing again those most dear to it;
nor shall I enjoy my triumph unless those I
love be present to give it zest."</p>

<p>"I congratulate you, my dear patron!" exclaimed
Father Morris, as soon as he had finished;
"I congratulate you from my inmost soul!"</p>

<p>"Go to his triumph!" exclaimed the duke,
rubbing his hands in ecstasy; "Yes, yes, that
we will; won't we, my old friend? God bless
him! I'm glad he is not hurt, though. And so,
you see, in spite of all his glory, he can't be
happy without us. How prettily he says that!&mdash;'Not
all the approbation of my sovereign, the
praises of the people'&mdash;nor&mdash;nor&mdash;what is it?
I don't remember the exact words, but I know
the sense was, that he couldn't be happy without
us, and, God bless him! I'm sure I'm as
happy as he can be, at the thought of seeing
him."</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose could not reply, but the tears
ran down his aged cheeks like rain, as his heart
breathed a silent offering of thanksgiving to the
Almighty Being who had thus bestowed victory
upon his son; and his lips murmured some
inarticulate sounds of transport; whilst Elvira
and Rosabella mingled their tears with his, for
joy often becomes painful and seeks for a relief
like grief.</p>

<p>The party now slowly returned to the mansion
of Sir Ambrose, so completely occupied in discussing
Edmund's letter, as to be totally unaware
that Edric had not accompanied them; yet
such was the case. The youthful philosopher's
heart had swelled almost to bursting, as he had
listened to the reading of his brother's letter,
and he now rushed into a thick wood, shelving
down to a romantic stream, which formed part
of the pleasure-grounds of Sir Ambrose.</p>

<p>Almost without knowing where he was going,
Edric plunged amongst the trees, and threw
himself upon a grassy bank under their shade,
upon the border of the rivulet. The gentle
murmuring of the water, gave a delightful sense
of refreshing coolness, particularly agreeable
from the burning heat of the day; and Edric lay,
his eyes fixed upon the sparkling waves as they
danced in the sunbeams, with both his hands
pressed firmly upon his throbbing temples, endeavouring
in vain to analyze the new and
strange emotions that struggled for mastery in
his bosom. By degrees he became more calm;
and though his heart still beat with feelings he
could not quite explain, he felt soothed by the
softly gliding streamlet; and the stormy passions
of his breast seemed lulled to tranquillity
as one hand fell carelessly down by his side, and
the other merely supported the head it no longer
constrained.</p>

<p>It was not envy that occasioned Edric's emotions;
but shame and indignation burnt in his
bosom when he recollected that he was wasting
his days in comparative obscurity, whilst his
brother, only a few years older than himself,
was ennobling the name bequeathed to him by
his ancestors.</p>

<p>"And cannot I also become famous?"
thought he, his heart swelling with emulation.
"Though I abhor the profession of a soldier, are
not other ways open to me of attaining eminence?
Why should I not exert myself? I will remain
in indolence no longer. I, too, will prove myself
worthy of my forefathers, and show the
world that the exalted blood of the Montagus
has not degenerated in my veins!" His eyes
sparkled with the thought, and he half raised
himself, as though eager to put it into immediate
execution. A moment's reflection, however,
restored him to himself, and he could not
help smiling at his own folly. "And yet I
call myself a philosopher," thought he: "Alas!
alas! how little do we know ourselves; and
after all, the pursuit of knowledge is the only
employment worthy of a man of sense: the
transitory applause of the multitude, it is beneath
him to accept. Nature is the goddess I
adore; and if it should be granted to me to explore
her secrets, I shall be the happiest of
mankind. But why should I pass my life in
anxious cravings never destined to be realized?
The events of to-day have only proved yet more
clearly the little value my society is of to my
father. Were I absent, I should soon be forgotten.
Why then should I not travel and
satisfy these restless wishes that gnaw at my
heart and poison every pleasure? I was not
born to rest contented with the dull routine of
domestic life, and I detest hypocrisy: I will
seek my father; and, explaining my real sentiments,
break off this hated marriage and set
off for Egypt immediately."</p>

<p>Satisfied with this resolution, Edric rose and
walked hastily towards his father's mansion,
with all that inward vigour which the consciousness
of having made up one's mind is certain
to bestow; and which, perhaps, is one of
the most agreeable sensations that can be experienced
by the human mind, as that of suspense
or indecision is undoubtedly one of the
most unpleasant.</p>

<p>Edric found his father and the duke busily
engaged in consulting upon their intended journey,
which was an event in both their lives; for
as, since the universal adoption of balloons,
journeys were performed without either trouble
or expense, the rich had lost all inducement to
undertake them, and it was rare for a man of
rank to quit his family mansion unless he had
some post at court.</p>

<p>"I have a palace in London," said the duke,
"which I hope you will make your home;
though it has been so long unused that I doubt
whether it will be fit for your reception."</p>

<p>"Do not distress yourself about making
arrangements for my family," replied Sir Ambrose;
"for you know I have a brother living
in London, and though we have not seen each
other for years, I think upon such an occasion
as this I ought to forget all animosity, and visit
him, if he will receive me."</p>

<p>"True," rejoined the duke; "I never thought
of that: but you are quite right. Though he
did make a foolish marriage, the ties of blood
are too strong to be easily shaken off, and this
is an excellent opportunity for a reconciliation."</p>

<p>"Another thing also weighs with me," continued
Sir Ambrose: "you know that though
I was so much hurt at his marriage, I was
in some measure the cause of it."</p>

<p>"You the cause of it!" exclaimed the duke,
in excessive surprise.</p>

<p>"You know," resumed Sir Ambrose, "my
brother was always a bookworm; and the last
time I visited him, I found him so uncomfortable,
and his domestic affairs so dreadfully
neglected, that I advised him to get an active
managing woman to act as housekeeper. He
did so, and in twelve months made her&mdash;Mrs.
Montagu."</p>

<p>"I always thought your brother was too
learned to know any thing useful, and too clever
to be able to take care of himself; but I own
I never suspected him of being such a fool as
to marry."</p>

<p>"Perhaps I was a greater one than himself
in resenting his conduct, for I believe they get
on very well. Mrs. Montagu does not want
sense."</p>

<p>"I do not doubt her abilities, or that she
was extremely well fitted for her original station;
but very different qualities are required
in the wife of Mr. Montagu from those which
were suited to his housekeeper."</p>

<p>"I know it; and also that there is perhaps
nothing more difficult than for a person in
her situation to preserve the medium between
affectation and vulgarity. However, I am told
that though Mrs. Montagu cannot quite divest
herself of the pedantry she acquired at
a charity-school in her youth; and though
she still talks as learnedly as if she had never
ventured beyond the precincts of the
kitchen; yet, that she makes my brother a
good wife, and they say her daughter Clara
is a charming girl."</p>

<p>"I can imagine nothing good springing from
such a source."</p>

<p>"Prejudice! my dear duke, sheer prejudice!"</p>

<p>"Well, well, I will say no more about it;
for, as you justly say, if Mrs. Montagu makes
your brother a good wife, and he is happy with
her, I don't see any right any body else has to
trouble himself about the matter: and so, as I
don't like quarrels in families, I think you are
quite right in wishing to see your brother.
However, if they do not make you comfortable,
I hope you'll remember you have another
friend, and so we'll now wish you good day:
come, girls!"</p>

<p>And the old duke trotted off, followed by
his fair companions. Edric's heart throbbed
violently when he found himself alone with
his father; the moment was arrived he had
been so ardently wishing for, and yet he was
silent. He had scarcely had patience to wait
the end of his father's conference with the
duke; and whilst it had lasted, he had been
arranging and re-arranging a thousand times in
his mind, the phrases he meant to make use of;
yet now they seemed to have all vanished from
his memory, and he stood gazing through the
open window, his mind feeling a perfect chaos,
and without being able to recollect one single
word of what he had determined to say. Sir
Ambrose, in the mean time, felt perfectly happy,
and in the buoyancy of his spirits tapped his
son upon the shoulder.</p>

<p>"What all amort! Sir Knight of the Woeful
Countenance," said he; "Come, come! I will
have no gloomy looks to-day. But, heyday!
what is the matter with you, Edric? You
don't smile&mdash;are you unhappy? You look as
if you had something upon your mind."</p>

<p>"I have something upon my mind, my dear
father," said Edric, solemnly; "and something
that I wish to communicate to you." He
stopped when he had said this, but Sir Ambrose
did not reply, and, for some minutes, neither
spoke. At length, Edric broke the pause,
which had been one of perfect agony to him,
and, speaking very fast, he exclaimed, "Yet
I don't know why I should hesitate. It is that
I do not love Rosabella&mdash;that I never can
marry her&mdash;that I should be entirely miserable
even to think of it&mdash;and, that this is my fixed
and unalterable determination."</p>

<p>"Heyday!" cried Sir Ambrose; "what is
all this? Not marry Rosabella!"</p>

<p>"Never; no tortures should induce me! I
am convinced she would make me wretched,"
continued Edric, hurrying through what he
meant to say. "Our tempers don't assimilate.
We should both be miserable. I should be
very sorry to cause either you or the duke a
moment's uneasiness&mdash;very sorry&mdash;I would die
first! But to marry Rosabella would be worse
than dying a thousand deaths&mdash;we should be
the most wretched of human beings, and you
would be unhappy at seeing me so."</p>

<p>"Mercy on me!" cried Sir Ambrose, heaving
a deep sigh, and feeling almost out of breath
at the volubility of his son. "I thought you
dumb just now, but I see that you can use
your tongue fast enough when the subject
pleases you. Not marry Rosabella! Is the
boy mad? Is she not young, beautiful, and
highly accomplished? What would you have,
I wonder? You certainly must be out of your
senses to refuse such a woman; and one too,
so superior to yourself, in rank and fortune."</p>

<p>"In fortune I allow her to be superior; but
I think the mystery attached to the name of
her father, more than compensates for any difference
of rank."</p>

<p>"Don't talk about what you can't understand.
Duke Edgar is dead, and his faults
should be buried with him; besides, it is hard
the girl should suffer for the sins of her
father."</p>

<p>"What were those sins, my dear Sir? I have
often heard them darkly hinted at, as something
almost too dreadful to mention; but I never
heard the particulars."</p>

<p>"Edric," said Sir Ambrose, solemnly, "if
you have the least regard for my feelings, or
entertain any duty for me as a son, never again
advert to that subject. Circumstances there
are relating to it, of a deep, awful, and mysterious
nature, with which I am well acquainted,
but which I have taken a solemn oath never to
reveal. Never speak of them again; the bare
remembrance makes me shudder&mdash;oh! would to
Heaven I could forget them!"</p>

<p>"I am very sorry, Sir, that my question was
such as to give you pain: but rest assured that
my curiosity shall never again annoy you."</p>

<p>"I am not angry with you, Edric. You
could not know the feelings your question
would create in my bosom, and it was natural
you should wish to know something of the father
of your intended wife. However, think no
more of him. Consider the present duke as
your future father-in-law; and if possible forget
that such a person as Duke Edgar ever
existed."</p>

<p>"You forget, Sir," said Edric, firmly but
respectfully, "that I have before declared my
determination never to marry Rosabella."</p>

<p>"Nonsense!" rejoined his father, "you don't
know what you are talking about. The world
would call me as mad as yourself if I were to
let you act so foolishly: besides, what would the
duke say?"</p>

<p>"To speak candidly, Sir, that is what principally
annoys me; for I trust that your good
sense and affectionate disposition will soon enable
<i>you</i> to see the affair in its proper light."</p>

<p>"That is to say, you think I am an old fool,
and that you can coax me to any thing you
please. But you shall find your error. You
shall learn I will not be coaxed; I will be
obeyed. You shall marry Rosabella, or you
shall leave my house."</p>

<p>"My dear father!" said Edric, attempting
to take Sir Ambrose's hand.</p>

<p>"Away, Sir!" cried his father, shaking him
off, "obedience far outweighs words. If I am
your dear father, you will act in compliance
with my wishes; and if you do not, it is a
mockery to call me 'dear.'"</p>

<p>"I cannot marry Rosabella."</p>

<p>"Was ever such obstinacy!&mdash;such folly!
The world will think you distracted."</p>

<p>"I care not for the world!" cried Edric, impatiently.</p>

<p>"Youth like!" returned his father. "It is
very strange no one will be contented to take
experience at second-hand. They must buy
it for themselves, and sometimes pay very
dear for it before they profit by its lessons.
You talk like a child, Edric: when you get a
little older, you will find practice and theory
very different things. You say you despise
the world: but you are wrong, the world must
not be despised; nay more, it ought not to be
even slighted. As long as you live in it, you
must conform to its opinions: it is ridiculous
to think otherwise. I don't like to hear people
say they don't care for the world; the world
must be cared for; and when people pretend to
scorn it, it is generally because they are aware
they have done something to make it scorn
them."</p>

<p>"But, my dear father! you would not wish
me to sacrifice my conscience to its dictates."</p>

<p>"And pray, Sir, what has your conscience to
do with the matter in question?"</p>

<p>"Should I not sacrifice it by marrying a woman
I feel I could never love? In my opinion,
nothing can be more sacred than the marriage
vow; and with what feelings could I enter into
this solemn engagement in the presence of
Almighty God, calling upon him to witness it,
when I knew my heart was at variance with
my words? My soul would recoil with horror
at such blasphemy."</p>

<p>"You talk about your conscience, Edric,&mdash;but
should you not rather say your inclinations?
The person of Rosabella does not please your
fancy, I suppose; and to gratify a capricious
whim, you would destroy the happiness of
your father, and ruin your own prospects for
ever."</p>

<p>"It is not of the person of Rosabella that I
complain, my dear father;&mdash;I allow her to be
beautiful as a Venus, and that her talents even
exceed her personal charms: but when I see
her large black eyes flashing fury, and her rosy
lips curved into an expression of indignant
scorn, I forget her beauty, and think only of
the fearful passions of her soul."</p>

<p>"Your objections are futile, Edric; at any
rate, they are of no avail. You must marry
her&mdash;I am sorry it is against your inclination,
but I will not have my authority disputed:&mdash;besides,
the disappointment to the duke would
be dreadful. It was but this morning that he
proposed, that as soon as you and Edmund
should marry, I should give up my estate to
you, and he his to your brother, whilst we two
old folks should retire to the cottage on the
hill; and pass the remainder of our lives in
contemplating with rapture the happiness of
our children."</p>

<p>"I own the duke is so obstinate&mdash;"</p>

<p>"So, you have discovered that, have you?
Well, you are right there; for when he has
taken a fancy into his head, no arguments can
turn him from his point. But there is a difference
between obstinacy and firmness. Now,
though I am not obstinate like the duke, you
shall find I can be firm, Edric. However, as I
have always been an indulgent father, I do not
wish to decide hastily now, and I give you a week
to make up your mind: at the expiration of
which time you shall marry Rosabella or quit
my house for ever. No reply, young man, I will
not hear a word. Begone; leave me now, and
in a week's time let me know your decision."</p>

<p>It was in vain to attempt a reply; and Edric
left his father's presence oppressed by that
strange, mysterious presentiment of evil, which,
like a fearful cloud, dark, gloomy, and impenetrable,
sometimes hangs upon our thoughts,
foreboding horrors; though so dimly and indistinctly,
that, like all the gigantic phantoms
we sometimes fancy through the mist of twilight,
their terrors seem increased tenfold by the
very uncertainty that half shrouds them from
our sight. Mingled with these feelings, however,
was one of wild, unearthly joy. Driven
from his father's house, he would be free to
travel&mdash;his doubts might be satisfied&mdash;he
might, at last, penetrate into the secrets of the
grave; and partake, without restraint, of the so
ardently desired fruit of the tree of knowledge.
Nothing would then be hidden from him.
Nature would be forced to yield up her treasures
to his view&mdash;her mysteries would be revealed,
and he would become great, omniscient,
and god-like. His mind filled with a chaos
of thoughts like these, which he strove in
vain to arrange, and which seemed to swell
his brain almost to bursting, Edric involuntarily
strolled again into the wood he had so
lately quitted, and again throwing himself
upon the banks of the murmuring stream, he
was soon lost in a reverie.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></h3>


<p>In the mean time, different emotions were
agitating violently the bosoms of the two lovely
heiresses of the duke. When they reached
the castle, each of them retired to her separate
apartment to ruminate upon what had passed.
Confidence did not exist between them, for confidence
requires congeniality of mind, and those
of the fair cousins were essentially different.
Each princess, however, had a favourite attendant,
or rather a companion, in whose bosom
she was in the habit of pouring her thoughts;
and, on their arrival at the castle, they parted
immediately, equally eager to find their respective
confidants, and inform them of all that
had happened. Marianne had been the attendant
of Rosabella from her childhood; and
haughty as the Princess naturally was, she
was, like many other haughty people, completely
the slave of her servant. Marianne was
perfectly aware of her power, and she occasionally
used it tyrannically: on the present occasion,
however, she was really alarmed at the
glowing cheeks, sparkling eyes, and agitated
frame of Rosabella, and asked, with an appearance
of deep interest, if she were ill.</p>

<p>"In mind, though not in body," replied
Rosabella, throwing herself upon a sofa, and
hiding her face in both her hands. "Oh, Marianne!
what a wretch I am!"</p>

<p>"What is the matter?" asked the <i>suivante</i>.</p>

<p>"He loves her! he adores her!" cried Rosabella,
starting from her couch and traversing
the room rapidly. "Curses on her beauty!
O that a look of mine could wither it! or
that she could feel the burning fire that rages
here!" Then stopping suddenly, she gazed
upon her attendant with the wildness of a
maniac, and, pressing her hand firmly against
her side, threw herself again upon her couch,
exclaiming, "Oh, Marianne! why am I not
beloved like Elvira?"</p>

<p>"And are you certain that she is beloved?"</p>

<p>"Certain!" reiterated Rosabella, wringing
her hands; "Alas! alas! would I were not
so certain; but can I doubt the evidence of
my senses? This day&mdash;this very day! I saw
Father Morris put a letter into her hands,
which was enclosed in that addressed to Sir
Ambrose. I saw a blush of conscious pleasure
glow upon her cheeks as she perused it,
and I could have stabbed her to the heart,&mdash;yes,
and exulted in her dying agonies&mdash;triumphed
in her groans. Oh, Marianne! is
it not extraordinary that one so great, so noble,
and so exalted as Edmund, can love such a
poor, weak, feeble being as Elvira? But she
loves him not; at least not as he should be
loved. She is incapable of it."</p>

<p>"I wonder Father Morris gave her the letter."</p>

<p>"He could not help it, Marianne. It fell
from its enclosure when Sir Ambrose tore it
open; but she saw it fall. I even saw her eye
rest upon the address; Father Morris merely
picked it from the ground, and placed it in her
hands."</p>

<p>"I thought he would not have given it to
her voluntarily."</p>

<p>"No; I think not. I believe the father is
my friend, though I own sometimes it appears
strange to me, Marianne, that he should seem
to prefer my interest to that of every one else,
when so many ties bind him to Sir Ambrose's
family, and so few to me: nay, though I am
often peevish and unreasonable with him, he
never is offended, and appears to remain still
as warmly attached to me as before:&mdash;I cannot
account for it."</p>

<p>"He has ties that bind him to you that you
know not of," said Marianne, in a low, under
voice; "he was your father's friend."</p>

<p>"Was he?" cried Rosabella, eagerly; "then
perhaps he may enable me to clear off the shade
that has so long hung upon my father's name.
By heaven! neither the gratification of my
love nor of my revenge would give me half the
pleasure."</p>

<p>"You had better not ask him," said Marianne,
in the same low, mysterious tone; "you
can learn nothing upon that subject which it
would give you pleasure to hear." Then changing
her voice, she added, "But what said Edric
to the news of his brother's glory?"</p>

<p>"I know not&mdash;I care not! Ice itself cannot
be colder than Edric. When we met, and he
offered his hand to greet me, his touch seemed
to freeze my very veins. Cold, prudent, calculating,
and cautious, he has all the vices of
age without its excuses:&mdash;I hate him!"</p>

<p>"You do not then, I suppose, long for the
moment when you are to become his bride?"
asked the companion, with a sarcastic smile.</p>

<p>"Long for it, Marianne?" cried Rosabella,
starting from her couch, and clasping her hands
together with energy&mdash;"long for it! No; if
all other resources fail, death shall free me
before the hated moment arrives." And as
she spoke, Rosabella walked up and down the
room, in a state of violent agitation.</p>

<p>"But your uncle?" resumed Marianne.</p>

<p>"My uncle!" repeated Rosabella, stopping
short, "yes, yes; my uncle is positive&mdash;and I&mdash;a
poor dependant, and in his power. But
even that shall not control my will. Poor
and dependant as I am&mdash;I am free; and sooner
would I labour for my bread, sooner would I
perish in the streets, or endure unheard of
torments, than live in a palace surrounded by
crowds of adoring slaves, if the price were that
I must call Edric husband."</p>

<p>Marianne, satisfied with the ease with which
she found she could play upon the feelings of
her mistress, now touched a chord that thrilled
to softer emotions.</p>

<p>"I can never believe," said she, "that a
mind so noble as that of Edmund, can long remain
in the thraldom of Elvira. When he
comes to know her better, and to feel the feebleness
of her soul, he must despise her."</p>

<p>"Ah! do you think so?" cried Rosabella
eagerly. "But you deceive yourself, Marianne;
Edmund is so blinded that he fancies her
very faults perfections."</p>

<p>"But that blindness cannot last for ever, and
when it wears off, disgust must ensue."</p>

<p>"Oh, Marianne, if it were so!" exclaimed
Rosabella; and, sitting down, she rested her
elbows on her knees, and pressed her hands
against her beating forehead, concealing her
face and remaining apparently lost in meditation.
Marianne did not disturb her. She was
aware that she had given her active imagination
a theme to work upon, and she left her to enjoy
it; tranquilly resuming her usual avocations
without seeming to notice her abstraction.</p>

<p>Whilst this scene was passing in the apartment
of Rosabella, Elvira was informing her
confidant, Emma, who had been her governess
and remained her companion, of the pleasure she
had experienced from hearing of the success of
Edmund, and from the tenderness of his letter.
"How I wish I could love him as he deserves,"
said she, "but, alas, I fear it is not in my nature.
I can scarcely even comprehend what he
thinks I ought to feel, and the violence of his
manner terrifies me beyond expression. Is it not
extraordinary, Emma, that this passion, which
seems so universally extended throughout all
nature, should be alone a stranger to my breast&mdash;that
I alone, should be debarred from feeling
its influence? Edmund complains of my
coldness; and I feel that he has reason to do so.
I feel that his love is different from mine: I esteem
and respect him; I have even a sincere
friendship for him, and no one values his worth
more than I; I should also be very sorry if
any misfortune were to befall him; but this is
all, and I do not think I am capable of feeling
more for any one."</p>

<p>"Indeed you deceive yourself," replied
Emma; "I am sure a heart so kind and affectionate
as yours is capable of love. Do not
marry Lord Edmund; I am certain you do not
love him as you will love one day: and if a day
should arrive, when you feel a real passion,
what will be your horror at the recollection of
the sacred ties which bind you to one who is indifferent
to you. I shudder at the thought."</p>

<p>"And so should I, Emma; but that it is
impossible such an event can happen. If I
were married to Edmund, I never could love
another, even if my nature were susceptible of
the passion: a fact I much doubt."</p>

<p>Emma shook her head incredulously. "Oh!"
sighed she; "how little do you know of love!"</p>

<p>"I know more of it than you imagine. In
my opinion, people would never fall in love, if
they had abundance of other thoughts to occupy
their minds. They would marry, of course:
but that, as every body knows, is quite a different
thing."</p>

<p>"Then you disbelieve in love entirely?"</p>

<p>"Not entirely; but I think what is generally
called love is the offspring of idleness. When
people have nothing to do, particularly if they
happen to have warm imaginations, they amuse
themselves by picturing an idol of perfection.
This they endow with all kinds of virtue probable
and improbable; and they are enchanted
with the fantasy, because it is their own creation.
They soon find a face or figure that pleases them,
and to this they attach the charms they had
before given their imaginary idol&mdash;no matter
whether they accord or not. When people are
what is called in love, they are like persons
in green spectacles, they see every thing of a
colour that does not really belong to it. Marriage,
however, lifts up the magic veil, and
displays the real faults and imperfections of
each individual. The self-deluded mortals then
find out their mistake, though too late; and
start back aghast at the appalling spectre that
presents itself, crying out bitterly against deception;
whilst, in fact, they have been only
deceiving themselves."</p>

<p>"You reason admirably; but it is only from
the head, not the heart. If you had ever felt, you
would perceive the fallacy of your arguments."</p>

<p>"I think not; for I am convinced the experience
of ninety-nine persons out of a hundred
would confirm what I say, if they could but be
persuaded to avow their real sentiments. This,
however, they are always, in such cases, very
reluctant to do, as no one likes to own himself
deceived."</p>

<p>"And do you think all love is like that you
have been speaking of?"</p>

<p>"Heaven forbid!&mdash;No&mdash;no, Emma, do not
imagine I am such a heretic as to deny the existence
of true love. I only think it is very
difficult to be met with. That it does exist, I
firmly believe; but few, very few are the bosoms
that are capable of feeling it."</p>

<p>"Now I agree with you perfectly. I thought
you could not mean all you before asserted."</p>

<p>"Excuse me, Emma, I did mean what I
said. But I did not then speak of real love;
I spoke only of the passion, or rather fancy,
that usurps its name. Real, pure, undefiled
love is that absorbing affection that prefers
another's happiness to its own; that devotion
that would sink unknown to the grave, to procure
another's happiness; that seeks not its own
gratification, but would sacrifice all the world
can give, to promote the welfare of another;
that can taste of no pleasure and partake of no
delight, unless it be participated by the beloved
object, and even then, joys in his satisfaction
more than in its own. This is what I call
love. I can imagine such a passion, though I
shall never feel it. However, that it <i>may</i> be
felt I am firmly convinced: though even you
must acknowledge, it is rare to find it."</p>

<p>"Alas! my dear mistress!" said Emma,
sighing heavily. "Every word you utter, convinces
me you deceive yourself. For God's
sake, do not marry Lord Edmund. You could
have no idea of the romantic feelings you describe,
if your heart were not open to receive
them. Lord Edmund does not&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hush! hush, Emma!" exclaimed Elvira,
playfully interrupting her. "It is of no use.
Say what we will, like most people that argue,
we are sure to remain of the same opinion when
we have done. I don't believe anybody ever
yet was convinced by words; we must wait for
facts, and, <i>en attendant</i>, suppose we consult
upon what dress will be most becoming for us
to wear at the approaching ceremony."</p>

<p>Emma gladly consented; and the princess
and her companion were soon involved in a maze
of ribbons, crapes, gauzes, silks and satins,
from which it would be quite in vain for me to
attempt to extricate them.</p>

<p>When Edric next saw his father, after the
partial explanation that had taken place between
them, he was excessively surprised to find
him behave exactly as usual. The youthful
philosopher was rather disconcerted at this
conduct, which completely deranged all his
speculations. In the course of his meditations
in the grove, he had magnanimously made
up his mind to endure every species of persecution
rather than submit in the slightest
degree to alter his opinions; and such is the
strange and whimsical inconsistency of the human
mind, that he was actually disappointed
when he found there appeared little prospect of
his heroic resolutions being called into practice.</p>

<p>It may seem strange to those who are feelingly
convinced of the substantial comforts of
an hospitable mansion and well supplied table,
that any one should be found quixotic enough
to lament that he had lost the chance of
being deprived of them; but Edric's was the
age of romance. His life had hitherto passed
in one dull monotonous round, and the prospect
of bustle and adventure has, in such cases, most
irresistible charms. He also knew nothing of
the world; and was almost as ignorant of the
real evils of life, as the French princess, who,
hearing that some persons had died of hunger,
wondered at their folly, and said that for her
part, rather than be famished, she would eat
bread and cheese. Thus, as we said before,
Edric was rather chagrined than delighted,
when his father greeted him the morning after
their conference as affectionately as before, and
very amicably proposed that as soon as breakfast
was ended, they should take a walk together
to the castle of the duke.</p>

<p>Unwilling to vex his father needlessly by
refusing, and yet fearful of compromising his
firmness, by appearing to accede to what
might be treachery on the part of his opponents,
our young philosopher gave a rather
ungracious assent to this proposition, and remained
apparently absorbed in meditation
during the whole walk. They found the duke
extremely busy. Like many other people who
have few real affairs to occupy them, he was
quite delighted with any thing that seemed to
promise a little bustle, and was firmly resolved
to make the most of it. He was then giving
orders for an illumination, and a public dinner
to his tenants; bell-ringing, speech-making,
and a variety of other things, we have really
neither time nor patience to enumerate. Busy
as he was, however, he was glad to see our
friends, and greeted them most cordially.</p>

<p>"You are come in the very nick of time,"
said he: "I was just upon the point of sending
for you. Do you know, Sir Ambrose, it
has struck me that this triumph of Edmund's
will be an admirable opportunity for his marriage;
ay, and for yours too, Edric. What say
you, Sir Ambrose?"</p>

<p>"Oh! of course I can have no objection."</p>

<p>"And of course," resumed the Duke, "I
do not suppose the young men can have any.
What do you say, Edric?"</p>

<p>But Edric did not speak: for, to own the
truth, he did not exactly know what to say.</p>

<p>"Edric is so delighted, that it has deprived
him of the power of utterance," observed
the baronet, rather maliciously, perceiving the
duke grow impatient.</p>

<p>"I trust your grace will excuse me," said
Edric, at length recovering himself; "but&mdash;&mdash;but&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But what?" said the duke, impatiently.</p>

<p>"I thought," resumed Edric, with considerable
hesitation, "that your grace did not intend
that the princesses should marry&mdash;till&mdash;till they
had passed the age that would render&mdash;that is
to say, that does render them eligible candidates
for the throne.&mdash;"</p>

<p>Edric did not express himself very clearly;
as he was not altogether certain of what he
was saying. The duke, however, heard enough
to put him into a passion.</p>

<p>"So I did," exclaimed he, "I know that
perfectly; but I have altered my mind, I tell
you: Claudia isn't above thirty, and she's likely
to live these fifty years,&mdash;so it is of no use waiting
for her death. Besides, I should like to see
my children married before I die. I am getting
old; and anxiety in these respects increases
with declining years."</p>

<p>"Then my anxiety ought to be greater
than yours, duke, for I am the eldest," said
Sir Ambrose.</p>

<p>"By a couple of years, at least," returned
the duke, laughing, "for I suppose that is
about the difference in our ages. But you
don't answer me, Edric. Do you think you
have eloquence enough to persuade your mistress
to relinquish the prospect of a throne in
your behalf?"</p>

<p>"I would not wish her to make any sacrifice
upon my account," replied Edric.</p>

<p>"Confound such coldness! why, when I
was a young man, my heart would have beat
like a pendulum in perpetual motion at such a
proposition. Go to her, man! and try your
fortune.&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'She is a woman, therefore to be wooed;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She is a woman, therefore to be won;'</span><br />
</p>

<p>or rather what, perhaps, will be better, I will
send for her here, and tell her my will. Egad!
I have a mind to surprise Edmund, and let
you grace his triumph as bride and bridegroom."</p>

<p>"Rosabella would never consent to such a
proposition," exclaimed Edric, willing to postpone
the dreaded explanation as long as possible.</p>

<p>"I think not," resumed the duke, "if you
woo her with that face. However, you need
not distress yourself, as you will have nothing
to say till you get to the altar. I'll take all
the rest upon myself, and I've a notion I
shall prove the better suitor. I know women
well, and how to manage them. I'll defy any
woman in the world to have a will of her own
whilst she is in my custody. I know how to
quiet them and bring them round. You shall
see how I will manage Rosabella. She won't
have a word to say for herself. Here Augustus,
tell the Princess Rosabella I wish to
speak with her."</p>

<p>"Hold!" cried Edric, "I cannot allow you
to send for the princess till I have first explained
my real sentiments&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Nonsense!" said the duke. "However, I
see there is no occasion to send for her; for
yonder she comes. I will meet her and explain
my sentiments, and then it will be quite time
enough to talk about yours."</p>

<p>So saying, he broke from Edric, who attempted
to detain him; and advanced to meet Rosabella.</p>

<p>"Good God!" exclaimed Edric, "what will
become of me? this obstinate old man will tell
her, I wish our union: and for worlds, I would
not mortify the proud spirit of Rosabella, by
publicly declining her hand. What shall I do?
I must request a private interview, and throwing
myself upon her mercy, persuade her to
reject me."</p>

<p>"Then you still persist in your determination,"
said Sir Ambrose. "I had hoped my
kindness in appearing to forget what passed
yesterday, had disposed you to comply with my
wishes. However, since you seem inclined to
adhere to your resolution, you cannot be surprised
that I should follow your example, and
I can only repeat, that if you do not marry Rosabella,
you know the alternative."</p>

<p>"I do," said Edric, firmly; "and I am prepared
to meet it."</p>

<p>In the mean time, the duke had met Rosabella,
and had evidently begun to declare his
wishes to her, for the colour had fled from her
cheeks, and her eyes were cast upon the ground,
whilst her strongly compressed lips, as she walked
silently by his side, showed that it was with
infinite difficulty that she controlled her feelings
sufficiently to hear him with patience.</p>

<p>"In short," said the duke, as they drew
near Sir Ambrose and his son, "I have fixed
upon the day after to-morrow for your wedding,
and, though I own the time is somewhat
short to make preparations, you must be satisfied
to have your wedding clothes after your
marriage instead of before, which I should
think need not make much difference. So now
all you'll have to do, will be to tell your
cousin; and the day after to-morrow your
name will be Montagu."</p>

<p>"And do you know of whom you are disposing
so unceremoniously?" asked Rosabella,
raising her brilliant eyes from the ground, and
fixing them upon him with a look of proud
scorn. The duke shrunk involuntarily from
the withering glance, which seemed to fall upon
him with the fabled power of that of the basilisk.</p>

<p>"Of whom I am disposing?" stammered he,
unconsciously repeating her words, "Of whom
I am disposing? Why, of my niece, to be
sure," he continued, arranging with difficulty
his scattered ideas. "You are my niece, are
you not?"</p>

<p>"Yes," returned Rosabella, "unfortunately
<i>I am</i> your niece; and I blush for an uncle who
does not scruple to abuse so barbarously the
last legacy bequeathed to him by an unfortunate
brother. Yes, my lord duke, I am your
niece&mdash;your protégée&mdash;your dependant. I am
not ashamed to own that I owe my daily bread
to your bounty; but notwithstanding all this,
I am not aware that I am your slave, nor do I
think the pecuniary obligations I am under to
you, sufficient to give you the right of disposing
of me as an article of furniture, or a beast
of burthen."</p>

<p>"You mistake the matter entirely, Rosabella,"
said the duke; "I do not wish to hurt
your feelings."</p>

<p>"Do you think, then, that I am formed of
stone or iron, that I am to be told to marry when
and where you list, without having my inclinations
consulted or my affections gained? Look
at the bridegroom for whom you destine me.
Certainly I must be insensibility itself to resist
such overwhelming ardour."</p>

<p>"You are right, Rosabella," replied the
duke; "he is enough to provoke a stone. I
admire your spirit; a woman should not unsought
be won, and he, I own, looks as if he
expected you to go down upon your knees, and
beg him to accept of your hand."</p>

<p>"You are mistaken," returned Edric, now
taunted into the necessity of avowing himself,
in spite of his former resolutions; "it is not
merely coldness that dictates my conduct. I
should have explained myself before, had you
permitted it, though I would willingly have
spared the princess this public declaration.
However, as I am now forced to avow my real
sentiments, I openly and solemnly protest, that
no torments shall ever force me to become the
husband of Rosabella. I am sorry&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Spare your pity, Sir," said the princess,
haughtily, and interrupting him&mdash;"I, at least,
have no occasion for it; for know, that I too
would sooner experience a thousand deaths than
become your wife. Nothing but the respect I
owe my uncle has prevented my declaring my
sentiments sooner."</p>

<p>"And only my affection for my father kept
me silent."</p>

<p>"What a considerate pair! and how highly
we ought to feel obliged to them!" said
the duke, ironically. "And pray, if your
respect and affection permit you to answer the
question, what may it be your high will and
pleasure to intend doing now?"</p>

<p>"Whatever you please," replied both Edric
and Rosabella, almost at the same instant.</p>

<p>"Dear me! how amazingly condescending!
So, as long as you are permitted to have your
own way, we may have the honour of suggesting
plans for your approbation whenever we
please. How astonishingly kind! I am afraid
we shall never be able to show ourselves properly
grateful, Sir Ambrose."</p>

<p>"This irony, my lord," said Edric, firmly,
"is unworthy both of yourself and us. I will
allow that you and my father have both reason to
be displeased with our conduct, as it has disappointed
hopes which you have long cherished;
but permit me to say, that if you had expressed
your displeasure in serious, manly, and open
terms as he did, it would have been much more
befitting your high rank and the importance of
the subject, than the taunting irony you have
thought proper to make use of."</p>

<p>"Schooled too! by St. Wellington!" exclaimed
the duke. "Upon my word, these are
fine times, when a man of my age and rank
is to be lectured by a beardless stripling!"</p>

<p>"I did not mean to offend your grace,"
said Edric; "and I am sorry the violence of
my feelings compelled me to use language unbefitting
my youth, and disrespectful to an old
and valued friend of my father."</p>

<p>"Say no more, young man," replied the
duke, "apologies only double an offence. If
such are your sentiments, I would rather you
declared than concealed them, as I think
even insolence preferable to hypocrisy. However,
after what has passed, I can never
meet you amicably again, and I shall even
avoid entering the house of my friend, Sir
Ambrose, whilst you remain in it." This was
spoken with dignity, and a majestic firmness of
tone. The duke's voice, however, trembled a
little as he continued&mdash;"I shall be sorry to lose
the society of my old friend, and I should be
equally sorry to induce him to desert you, but
I cannot willingly expose myself to insult; and
I must accordingly decline all farther intercourse
with your family."</p>

<p>"Decline all farther intercourse with our
family!" exclaimed Sir Ambrose. "This from
you, duke! And Edmund! my darling Edmund!
is he to suffer for the faults of his
brother?"</p>

<p>"How do you know that the loss of my
daughter would make him suffer?" asked the
duke, sneeringly. "Perhaps when the moment
came for me to give her to him, he too would
make a bow, and humbly asking my pardon,
beg leave to decline the honour. Oh! curse
such politeness!"</p>

<p>"My dear duke, I would answer for Edmund
with my life. He adores Elvira, and
loves you as a father. You, too, have always
<i>professed</i> to love him&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And so I do. Didn't I rejoice like an old
fool at his triumph? Didn't I determine to
give my daughter, and bestow my estate
upon him? And were not these proofs of
love?"</p>

<p>"They were, they were! my dear friend!
and, as he has never done any thing to offend
you, why should not your favourable intentions
continue? Why should you punish him
on account of this ungrateful idiot, whom I renounce
for ever."</p>

<p>"Oh, my father! my dear father!" exclaimed
Edric; "do not say for ever!"</p>

<p>"Yes, for ever! I repeat," resumed Sir Ambrose.
"Begone and let me never see you
more. I told you yesterday my determination,
and as you have chosen to incur the penalty,
you must take the consequence. Come, my
friend," continued he, taking the arm of the
duke, "let us leave him to his own reflections.
Thank God! we are none of us
answerable for the faults of our children; and it
would indeed be sad, if you and I were to
break a friendship that has lasted half a century,
on account of the childish folly of an inconsiderate
boy!"</p>

<p>"It would, indeed," returned the duke; "and
it would have broken my heart to have quarreled
with my darling Edmund. Yet, it is hard,
at my time of life, to be disappointed in one's
fondest hopes."</p>

<p>And as he walked away with Sir Ambrose,
the tears actually streamed down his cheeks.
Both Edric and Rosabella were affected, but,
wisely considering that they could say nothing
likely to allay the storm, they remained silent
till the old men had gradually disappeared.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></h3>


<p>When Sir Ambrose and the duke thus withdrew,
Edric and Rosabella were left alone together,
and remained for some moments in perfect
silence, for both felt keenly the awkwardness
of their situation. After standing for some
time looking as foolish as their enemies could
reasonably desire, Edric bowed, and would
have made good his retreat, but Rosabella stopped
him.</p>

<p>"Let us be friends, Edric," said she, smiling
and holding out her hand, "though we are no
longer lovers."</p>

<p>Edric took the offered hand, and involuntarily
pressed it to his lips. "Upon my word, you
improve!" continued Rosabella gaily; "I declare
I never saw such an instance of gallantry
from you before, during the whole course of our
courtship!"</p>

<p>Edric smiled as he replied, "If you knew
the burthen that has been taken from my mind
by the explanation of this morning&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hush! hush!" cried Rosabella laughing,
"Now you have spoiled all again. I was afraid
your gallantry was too great to be lasting."</p>

<p>"I acknowledge," replied Edric, joining in
her mirth, "that it is not very polite in me to
rejoice in being freed from your chains: but I
am no flatterer, and&mdash;and&mdash;"</p>

<p>"A truce with apologies," exclaimed Rosabella;
"as my uncle very justly observed just
now, they only make the matter worse. The
case is simply this: you and I were not suited
for each other; we found it out, and we are both
glad to be released from ties that we discovered
were incompatible with our happiness. 'Can
any thing be more clear?' as Dr. Entwerfen says.
You, I presume, are going to travel, and to
gratify your natural love of variety and wish to
acquire information; whilst I, poor unfortunate
damsel that I am, must remain at home and
wear the willow, till I am fortunate enough to
meet with a swain who has the penetration to
discover my charms."</p>

<p>"And most ardently do I hope that it may
soon be the case!" said Edric, astonished at her
affability, and feeling more kindly disposed towards
her than he had ever done before. "You
are right in supposing I wish to travel; but,
alas! I have not now the power. My father
is too much offended to afford me the means;
and without money&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Travelling is far from agreeable," interrupted
Rosabella, smiling: "is not that what
you would say? Why not apply to Father
Morris, then; he can, and I am sure, will help
you. For myself, I am powerless, except as far
as giving advice."</p>

<p>"Your advice, however, is excellent," replied
Edric, regarding her with still increasing amazement;
"and I assure you I will follow it to the
letter. I never thought of applying to the reverend
father, though I now feel it is the best
thing I can do."</p>

<p>"Why then do you look at me so incredulously?"
continued Rosabella; "I can have no
motive for deceiving you; and yet you look as
suspicious as though you thought I had. I
own my behaviour towards you is changed; but
remember the different circumstances in which
I am now placed. Formerly I feared even to
speak to you, lest my words should be deemed
an encouragement of the pretensions I supposed
you to entertain to my hand. Now that
we are both free, that reason no longer exists;
and besides, I feel grateful to you for declaring
your sentiments so openly, and thus saving me
from my uncle's displeasure. 'Can any thing be
more simple?' as your friend Dr. Entwerfen
would say."</p>

<p>Notwithstanding Rosabella's apparent openness,
however, and the plausible reasons she gave
for her conduct, Edric could not divest himself
of the idea that she wished to get him out of
the kingdom as speedily as possible, for some
other motives than those she thought proper to
avow. There likewise appeared some mystery in
her speaking so confidently of the assistance of
Father Morris; for as the duke's family had a
regular confessor, Father Murphy, it seemed
strange that Rosabella should have an intercourse
with any other priest, beyond that required
by the common forms of society; and so
slight an intimacy could scarcely warrant the
positive assertion she had made use of. Edric,
however, was too anxious to avail himself of any
opportunity that offered of proceeding to
Egypt, to trouble himself with long investigation
of the subject; and when he quitted Rosabella,
he proceeded in search of Father Morris
as a matter of course, and almost without
any volition of his own.</p>

<p>The suite of rooms appropriated to Father
Morris in the mansion of Sir Ambrose was in
a wing partly detached from the main dwelling;
and thither Edric bent his steps. As he
approached, however, to his great surprise he
heard a sound of blows followed by deep groans.
Knowing that it was the hour of dinner for the
domestics, and that none of the other inmates of
the mansion were at home but the friar and himself,
he could not at first account for this strange
and fearful noise; but finding, as he advanced,
the sounds proceeded from the inner chamber of
the priest, where no one but himself ever ventured,
he soon became satisfied that Father
Morris was performing a penance of self-flagellation;
and as it was deemed impious to interrupt
a penitence, he seated himself quietly in
the outer chamber, waiting the priest's leisure;
wondering, however, to himself, what crime so
holy a man could possibly have committed, that
could require so severe an expiation.</p>

<p>When Father Morris made his appearance,
it was with his usual downcast eyes and composed
look. He expressed his astonishment at
seeing Edric, but made no allusion to the penance
he had just been performing, and listened
with a cold unmoved aspect to Edric's communication.</p>

<p>"Then I am to understand," said he, when it
was finished, "that you are like the prince we
were reading of the other day, in a book we
found in your tutor's library. You cannot be
happy because you have never been miserable;
and you are going to plunge into all the cares
and troubles of the world, merely to learn how
to enjoy retirement."</p>

<p>"Not exactly so, father;" rejoined Edric;
"I have two other motives,&mdash;the anger of my
father, and the earnest tormenting wish I before
confessed to you, of diving into the secrets
of the grave."</p>

<p>"And how is that to be accomplished by
your leaving England?"</p>

<p>"I wish to try to resuscitate a mummy."</p>

<p>"The scheme is wild, vague, and impracticable."</p>

<p>"Not if Dr. Entwerfen's hypothesis be true.
For, supposing the souls of the ancient Egyptians
to be chained to their bodies, and to be remaining
in them in a torpid state,&mdash;it is very
possible that by employing so powerful an
agent as galvanism, re-animation may be produced.
I have already seen some wonderful
instances of the vivifying power of the machine;
and as the Egyptians took care to preserve the
bodies of their dead quite entire, probably
from the idea I have just alluded to,&mdash;I think
the mummies are the best subjects we can possibly
fix upon for our experiments."</p>

<p>"The ancient Egyptians did not imagine the
souls of their dead remained in the bodies, but
that they would return to them after the expiration
of a certain number of years; so that
your hypothesis, as far as it rests upon their
opinions, falls to the ground."</p>

<p>"Do not call it my hypothesis," returned
Edric, "it is that of Dr. Entwerfen; my own
opinion is decidedly different&mdash;for I cannot
imagine any idea of death that does not imply
a separation between the body and soul.
The subject, however, is curious; to me highly
interesting; and I own, candidly, there are
many mysteries connected with it, which it
would give me the highest satisfaction to have
explained."</p>

<p>"And these mysteries, which have vainly
excited the speculation of the learned since
the commencement of the world, you think
your journey to Egypt will enable you to
unravel," said Father Morris, with a sardonic
sneer. Edric felt irritated at his manner, and
replied warmly:&mdash;</p>

<p>"I am not presumptuous, father; but as
even you must allow, man is often but a blind
instrument in the hands of fate, it is possible
that the racking desire I feel to explore these
mysteries may be an impulse from a superior
power, and a proof that I am destined to be
the mortal agent of their revelation to man.
Egypt is a country rich in monuments of
antiquity; and all historians unite in declaring
her ancient inhabitants to have possessed
knowledge and science far beyond
even the boasted improvements of modern
times. For instance, could we attempt to
erect stupendous buildings like the pyramids,
where enormous masses are arranged with
geometrical accuracy, and the labours of man
have emulated the everlasting durability of
nature? Are we even capable of conceiving
works so majestic as those they put in
execution? No; assuredly not. In every
point they surpassed us."</p>

<p>"Even in their religion?" asked Father
Morris sarcastically.</p>

<p>"No," returned Edric; "every scheme of
religion falls infinitely below the divine perfection
of Christianity; but as Christianity was
not in the times we are speaking of, revealed, it
cannot be denied that the Egyptians made some
approach to wisdom even in their devotions.
They worshipped Nature, though they disguised
her under the symbols of her attributes, and
gratified the vulgar taste by giving them tangible
objects to represent ideas too sublime for their
unenlightened comprehension. That they entertained
the divine idea of a resurrection, and
of rewards and punishments in a future life, is
evident, not only from their favourite fable of
the Ph&#339;nix, and the use they made of the now
hackneyed image of the Butterfly; but by the
care they bestowed upon the preservation of
the body; their mournings for the loss of
Osiris, and rejoicings when he was found; and
the kind of trial to which they subjected the
human corpse after death, when, if serious
crimes were alleged, and proved against it, it
was denied the rites of sepulture, and left to
rot, unlamented. Then, can any modern institutions
excel the wisdom of the laws enacted by
the Pharaohs? or can any modern magnificence
equal that displayed in the cities of Memphis
and Thebes? And since this will hardly be disputed,
what country can be more fitting than that
once so highly favoured, to be the scene of the
most important discovery ever made by Man?
Deride me if you will; I feel a superior power
inspires my wishes. I feel irresistibly impelled
forward. I feel called upon to act by a force
far superior to my own, and I will obey its
dictates. You smile, and secretly ridicule
my projects; but remember that excessive incredulity
sometimes savours as strongly of folly
as credulity itself, and that both are alike injurious
to the progress of science."</p>

<p>"I do not doubt it," said Father Morris,
with provoking coldness; "though it must
certainly be allowed not to be the prevailing
foible of the present day. However, without
staying to discuss that point at present, I
humbly suggest, that, as I happen unfortunately
to be rather pressed for time, it may
be as well to condescend to bestow a few minutes'
attention upon the best human means
of enabling you to fulfil the high destinies
that await you in Egypt&mdash;as, notwithstanding
the imperious nature of the impulse that
invites you there, I presume you are aware
that the vulgar agency of money will be
necessary, as well as the scientific one of galvanism."</p>

<p>The feelings of Edric were too highly
wrought to bear this irony; and, snatching up
his hat, he rushed out of the room, casting a
look of indignation at the priest, who vainly
endeavoured to stop him. Maddened by the
conflicting emotions that struggled in his bosom,
and disgusted alike with himself, Father Morris,
and all the world, Edric hurried on, totally
unaware which way he was going, till his career
was stopped by his coming suddenly and
violently in contact with another person, who
was running equally heedlessly with himself,
but in an opposite direction. Both recoiled
some paces from the shock, and Edric found,
to his surprise, it was Abelard whom he had
greeted so unceremoniously. Curiosity to know
what could have occasioned the abstraction of
the worthy butler, (he being generally remarkable
for his peculiar attention to matters of
ceremony,) diverted the thoughts of Edric from
himself, and he, for the moment, forgot his own
woes, whilst he inquired into those of Abelard.</p>

<p>"Alas! alas!" said the old man, shaking his
grey head, whilst the tears streamed in torrents
down his wrinkled cheeks, "that I should
ever have lived to see this day! Oh, Master
Edric! how could you irritate your respectable
progenitor? Alas! alas! I feel my lachrymal
gland suffused almost to overflowing, whenever
the recollection of what has passed shoots across
my piamater."</p>

<p>"For Heaven's sake! tell me what is the
matter!"</p>

<p>"Oh dear! oh dear!" sobbed the unhappy
butler, "that such longevity should have been
granted me only that I might see so promising
a young gentleman turned out of doors."</p>

<p>"Tell me the worst; though, indeed, I now
fear I comprehend your meaning but too well."</p>

<p>"Sir Ambrose commands that you depart
immediately, and never enter again into the
mansion of your paternal ancestors."</p>

<p>"What will become of me!" exclaimed
Edric, clasping his hands together, and raising
his eyes to Heaven; then, after a short pause,
he added more composedly, "Well, come what
will, I am resigned. Fate urges me onward
with irresistible violence, and I feel it would be
in vain to attempt to combat against her dictates.
I, at least, am prepared to execute her will."</p>

<p>"But where will you go?" sobbed Abelard.
"You will want money and friends. Alas!
alas! that I should ever see the son of my old
master stand in need of pecuniary assistance!"</p>

<p>"He but repeats the words of Father Morris,"
said Edric; "and yet how differently his
doubts affect me. The irony of the priest
drove me to despair, but the grief of this old
man soothes my wounded spirit. He surely
loves me."</p>

<p>These words were uttered in so faint a key,
that the name of Father Morris only caught
the ear of Abelard, and he replied:</p>

<p>"I don't like Father Morris, and I never
did; though it is now twenty years since he
first entered the family, and though I have
never seen any thing in him to censure particularly,
throughout the entire of that long
period, yet my aversion remains undiminished.
I suppose it must be a natural antipathy, and
that the pores of my body don't assimilate
in shape with the atoms that emanate from
his."</p>

<p>"He drove me almost to madness," said
Edric.</p>

<p>"I am not surprised at that," returned Abelard;
"for I know he can take a fiend-like
pleasure in tormenting. He can employ the
most provoking, tantalizing expressions, and
yet preserve the same soft, smooth voice, and
keep his palebræ half closed, and his visual
organs fixed upon the ground. Indeed, I
never saw the iris of his eyes dilated in my
life; and then he has such a manner of raising
his supercilia, curving his nose, and drawing
down his depressor anguli oris when he listens
to any one or replies to them, as to give the
expression of a perpetual sneer to his saturnine
countenance."</p>

<p>Edric's own recent personal experience bore
testimony only too forcibly to the justice of
those remarks; and as the wounded man
shrinks from the slightest touch, so did Edric
find the words of Abelard jar upon his nerves;
as turning away from him to hide his emotions,
he encountered the earnest gaze of Father Morris
himself.</p>

<p>"Why do you appear astonished?" said the
priest, smiling. "You are an infant, Edric;
you quarrel with your best friends, and then appear
surprised that you do not find them as capricious
as yourself. You fancy you are very
angry with me, for instance, and yet I am not
conscious of having done any thing to offend
you. Was it a crime to attempt to moderate an
enthusiasm that I feared might mislead you?
was it a fault to warn you against the dangers
of a world of which as yet you know so little?
No, no; I am confident your own reason and
excellent good sense will acquit me, if you
will but suffer them to act. Your imagination
is too vivid, Edric; it sweeps away all before it,
like a torrent. If you would view things calmly,
you would perceive your folly. The world
will teach you wisdom. Go then, travel; experience
personal privations and evils of every description,
that you may learn to enjoy the pleasures
that even now lie within your grasp, but
which you spurn from you with contempt. So
true it is that we never learn the real value of
any blessing till we have experienced the misery
that attends its privation."</p>

<p>"If this be the case," replied Edric, soothed
in spite of himself, by the insinuating manner of
the monk, "why should my feelings be an exception
to the general rule? And since all our
pleasures acquire a new zest by the force of
contrast, and mine have long since lost all relish,
is it not even wisdom to try the effect of
change?"</p>

<p>"And yet it seems a folly," said Father
Morris, in his smooth, plausible, hypocritical
voice, with his eyes again fixed upon the ground,
"to incur a certain evil in the hope of attaining
an uncertain good."</p>

<p>Edric started, and fixed his eyes upon him,
with an expression the monk well understood;
and, not wishing again to provoke him past endurance,
he continued in a different tone: "But
it is useless for age to preach lessons of prudence
to youth, and as your father says, every one
must purchase his own experience; so we will
now, if you please, change the subject to that
of making preparations for your journey. You
are still determined to visit Egypt, I suppose?"</p>

<p>"It is my most ardent wish."</p>

<p>"Return then to your own apartment, and
by to-morrow all shall be ready for your departure."</p>

<p>"He must not enter the house!" said Abelard;
"alas! alas! that I should live to say
it! Sir Ambrose has forbidden him even to
cross the threshold."</p>

<p>"Can you not remain concealed in the apartment
of Dr. Entwerfen?" asked Father Morris,
after a short pause; "no one enters there but
himself; and one of the windows looks upon
this terrace, so that you may reach it unobserved;
Abelard, I am confident, will not betray
you; and I will accompany you, as I wish to
consult with the doctor respecting your intended
voyage."</p>

<p>Edric hastily assented, and bidding Abelard
an affectionate adieu, he and Father Morris easily
climbed through the window that led to the
adytum of Dr. Entwerfen, whilst Abelard, clasping
his hands together, exclaimed as he retired,
"God bless him! Well, he shall not want for
pecuniary assistance at any rate, if Mr. Davis
and I can help it; that is one comfort."</p>

<p>When Edric and Father Morris entered the
study of Dr. Entwerfen, they found him engaged
in what, certainly considering his age and station,
seemed a very extraordinary amusement.
He was apparently dancing a hornpipe, drawing
his heels together, and alternately rising and
sinking like a clown in a pantomime, twisting
his face, in the mean time, into the most hideous
grimaces.</p>

<p>"What is the matter?" cried Edric and Father
Morris, both at the same instant, gazing
at him with surprise.</p>

<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;I am galvanized," cried the doctor,
in a piteous tone; nodding his head with a sudden
jerk, that seemed to threaten every instant to
throw it out of its socket; and then, suddenly
starting, he kicked out one leg horizontally, and
twirled round upon the other with an air of an
opera dancer.</p>

<p>"How did it happen?" cried Edric, excessively
shocked at the unnatural contrast exhibited
between the doctor's serious countenance,
and involuntary antics.</p>

<p>"I can't&mdash;exactly&mdash;tell," replied the doctor,
bolting forth his words with difficulty, and still
swimming, grinning, and capering, to the inexpressible
horror of his companions, till by degrees
his grimaces subsided, and he was enabled
at last to stand tolerably steady. He now informed
his friends, that trying some experiments
with his galvanic battery, he had unfortunately
operated upon himself; and in his turn listened
to their account of what had passed between
Edric and Sir Ambrose. Instead of expressing
sorrow, however, when he found his pupil
had quarrelled with his father, the doctor's
eyes sparkled with joy&mdash;"Then you must inevitably
travel," exclaimed he. "We shall
visit the pyramids, we shall animate the mummies,
and we shall attain immortality."</p>

<p>There was something in this violent expression
of the doctor's transports that did not
quite harmonize with Edric's feelings, especially
as he fancied he perceived a satirical
smile lurking round the lips of Father
Morris.</p>

<p>"When shall you be ready to set off?" asked
he abruptly.</p>

<p>"To-morrow, if you will," replied the doctor.
"I have foreseen this result some time,
and I have been preparing every thing accordingly.
I never knew a young Englishman in
my life, Father Morris, who was not fond of
travelling. The inhabitants of other countries
travel for what they can get, or what they hope
to learn; but an Englishman travels because
he does not know what to do with himself.
He spares neither time, trouble, nor money;
he goes every where, sees every thing;
after which, he returns&mdash;just as wise as when
he set out. Not that I blame curiosity&mdash;no&mdash;I
admire it above all things!&mdash;it is that which
has led to all the great discoveries that have
been made since the creation of the world, and
it is that which now impels us to explore the
pyramids."</p>

<p>Edric looked excessively annoyed at the
conclusion of this speech, and, to change the
subject, hastily asked the doctor, if he thought
his galvanic battery powerful enough for the
experiment they meant to try with it.</p>

<p>"Powerful!" exclaimed the doctor; "why I
feel it even now tingling to my fingers' ends.
I should think, Sir, the effect it has had upon
me is a sufficient proof of the force of the machine."</p>

<p>"Undoubtedly!" replied Father Morris;
"nay, if we are to judge by that, I only tremble
lest you should animate the pyramids as well
as the mummies, and you must allow it would
be an awkward sight to see them come tumbling
and slipping along the plain."</p>

<p>"Sir!" said the doctor, staring at him.</p>

<p>"Do you intend visiting any other country
than Egypt?" asked Father Morris, fearful he
had gone too far, and wishing, for reasons
he did not openly avow, not to offend his companions.</p>

<p>"I should like to see India," said the doctor;
"some black-letter pamphlets in my possession,
allude to its being once governed by an old woman;
and as the regular historians make no mention
of the fact, I should like to see what traditions
I could gather respecting it on the spot.
The religion of the ancient Hindoos, before they
were converted to Christianity, has been said to
have resembled that of the ancient Egyptians;
by comparing the monuments of both, one might
be made to illustrate the other. I should also
like, before we quit Africa, to see the celebrated
court of Timbuctoo. I have long been in
correspondence with a learned pundit there,
who has communicated to me some of the most
sublime discoveries."</p>

<p>"The whole of the interior of Africa must
be interesting," observed Father Morris, "particularly
the rising states on the banks of the
Niger. It is generally instructive as well as
amusing to watch the birth and struggles of
infant republics; and to remark first how fast
the people encroach, and then the governors.
Whilst the rulers are weak, they are always
liberal; but their exalted sentiments in general
decrease in exact proportion as they become
powerful."</p>

<p>"In short," resumed the doctor, "I would
willingly traverse the whole world; I know but
one country that I should dislike to visit."</p>

<p>"And which is that?" asked Edric.</p>

<p>"America," replied the doctor. "I have no
wish to have my throat cut, or my breath stopped
by a bowstring. I have a perfect horror
of despotic governments."</p>

<p>"Then how do you endure the one we live
under?" asked Father Morris.</p>

<p>"The case is quite different," returned the
doctor. "With us, the spur of despotism is
scarcely felt; and the people, being permitted
occasionally to think and act for themselves, are
not debased and brutalized as the slaves of absolute
power are in general. Despotism, with
us, is like a rod which the schoolmaster keeps
hung up in sight of his boys, but which he has
very seldom any occasion to make use of. From
such despotism as that of the Americans, however,
Heaven defend us!"</p>

<p>"Amen!" said Edric; "for, as we are happy
now, we should be idiots to desire a change."</p>

<p>"What an unphilosophical sentiment!" exclaimed
the doctor: "I am really quite shocked
that you, Edric, should utter such a speech.
What an abominable doctrine! Remember,
that if you once allow innovation to be dangerous,
you instantly put a stop to all improvement&mdash;you
absolutely shut and bolt your doors
against it. Oh! it is horrible, that such a doctrine
should be ever broached in a civilized
country. You could not surely be aware of
what you were saying?"</p>

<p>"To-morrow," said Father Morris, addressing
Edric, and without noticing the indignation
of the learned doctor, "you must proceed to
town, where you can remain at the house of a
friend of mine, till you are ready for your voyage
to Egypt. I would not, however, advise
you to stay long before you go there; for, as
your father intends visiting London in a day
or two, you might meet, and the consequences,
be unpleasant. I have already dispatched a
carrier-pigeon to advise my friend, Lord Gustavus
De Montfort, of your arrival; he, I
am sure, will give you a hearty welcome, and
not only afford you the shelter of his house,
but afford you all the assistance in his power,
to enable you to make preparations for your
journey; for which purpose, also, I will take
care to supply you with money. No thanks,"
continued he, stopping Edric, who was about
to speak, "I detest them. If you really feel
obliged to me, you will prove it by remaining
silent. I must leave you now, as my longer
absence might create suspicion. Adieu! God
bless you! A balloon will wait for you to-morrow
morning, at the corner of the wood.
The doctor will, of course, accompany you.
I think you may safely rest here concealed till
then. Once more, adieu!"</p>

<p>"Now Father Morris is gone," said Doctor
Entwerfen to his pupil, "I have a treat for
you. I will show you a curious collection of
ballads, all of which are at least three hundred
years old, which a friend of mine picked up in
London for me the other day, and sent me
down this morning by the stage-balloon. They
are all of the genuine rag paper, a certain proof
of their antiquity; for, you know, the asbestos
paper we now use has not been invented more
than two hundred years. But you shall see
them: follow me."</p>

<p>So saying, the doctor trotted off to his library,
that paradise of half-forgotten volumes,
most of which had been accidentally saved
from their well-merited destination of covering
over butter, and wrapping up cheese, to be drawn
from the dust and obscurity in which they had
lain for centuries, to ornament the shelves of
Doctor Entwerfen; and whose authors, if they
could have taken a peep upon earth, and beheld
them, would have been quite astonished to
find themselves immortal. Entering this emporium
of neglected learning, the doctor hastily
advanced to a table, on which lay his newly
acquired treasures, and holding them up, exclaimed,
"Look, Edric, how beautifully dirty
the paper is; no art could counterfeit this
dingy hue. This sooty tinge is the genuine
tint of antiquity. You know, Edric, in ancient
times, the caloric employed in culinary purposes,
and indeed for all the common usages of
life, was produced by the combustion of wood,
and of a black bituminous substance, or amphilites,
drawn from the bowels of the earth, called
coal, of which you may yet see specimens in the
cabinets of the curious. As these substances
decomposed, or rather expanded, by the force
of heat, the attraction of cohesion was dissolved,
and the component parts flew off in the shape
of smoke or soot. This smoke, rising into the
air, was dispersed by it, and the minute particles,
or atoms, of which it was composed, falling
and resting upon every thing that chanced
to be in their way, produced that incomparable
dusky hue, which the moderns have so often
tried, though in vain, to imitate. I beg your
pardon, Edric, for using such vulgar language
to express what I wished to say, but really,
treating upon such a subject, I did not know
how to explain myself elegantly."</p>

<p>"Oh! I understood you very well, Sir. After
all, the only true use of language is to convey
the ideas of one person to the understanding
of another; and, provided that end be attained,
I really do not see that it is of any consequence
what words we make use of."</p>

<p>"True, Edric dear! you make very just
observations sometimes. Well, but the ballads;
I was going to show you my treasures,&mdash;my
jewels! as the Roman lady said of her children.
Look what beautiful specimens these are! A
little torn here and there, and with a few of
the lines illegible&mdash;but genuine antiques. I'll
warrant every one of them above three hundred
years old. Look, it is real linen paper; you
may tell it by the texture; and then the spelling,
see what a number of letters they put into
their words that were of no use. Look at the
titles of them. Here is the 'Tragical end of
poor Miss Bailey'&mdash;and here 'Cherry Ripe'&mdash;and
'I've been roaming.' Here is 'The loves
of Captain Wattle and Miss Roe'&mdash;and here are
'Jessy the flower of Dumblane,' and 'Dunois
the brave.' But this is my Ph&#339;nix&mdash;here is
what will be the envy of collectors! here is my
invaluable treasure. This, I believe, is absolutely
unique, and that I am so blest as to possess
the only copy extant. The date is wanting,
but the manners it describes are so unpolished,
that I should almost think it might be traced
back to the times of the aboriginal Britons.&mdash;Thus
it begins:&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'At Wednesbury there was a cocking,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A match between Newton and Scroggins;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The nailers and colliers left work,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And to Spittle's they all went jogging.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Tol de rol lol.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>I used to be very much puzzled at this burthen,
which is one of frequent recurrence in
ancient songs. At first, I thought it a relic of
some language now irrevocably lost. Then it
struck me, it might be an invocation to the
deities of the aborigines. In short, I was quite
perplexed, and knew not what to think, when
a learned friend of mine hit upon an idea the
other day, which seems completely to solve
the difficulty. He suggests that it was an
ancient manner of running up and down the
scale; and that 'Tol de rol lol' had the same
signification as 'Do re mi fa;'&mdash;which solution
is at once so simple and ingenious, that I am
sure you, as well as myself, must be struck
by it. I here omit a few stanzas, in which the
author enumerates his heroes exactly in the
Homeric manner. The names are so barbarous,
that I am afraid of loosening my teeth in pronouncing
them:&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'There was plenty of beef at the dinner,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of a bull that was baited to death;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bunny Hyde got a lump in his throat,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Which had like to have stopt his breath.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>What a beautiful simplicity there is in that
last line,</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Which had like to have stopt his breath.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>Oh, we moderns have nothing equal to it!&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'The company fell in confusion,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To see this poor Bunny Hyde choke,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So they hurried him down to the kitchen,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And held his head over the smoke.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>"This develops a curious practice of antiquity.
You know, Edric, I explained to you just
now the manner in which combustion was formerly
effected, and the causes of the production
of what was called smoke. I own, however, it
seems a strange way of reviving a half-suffocated
man, to hold his head over smoke, which, being
loaded, as I said before, with innumerable atoms
of all sorts and sizes, would, one might think
be more likely to impede respiration than restore
it. The fact, however, is undoubted; and it
not only affords a curious illustration of the
manner of the ancients, but is of itself a strong
proof of the authenticity of the ballad; for
such an idea never could have entered the head
of a modern. To return to poor Hyde&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'One gave him a kick o' th' stomach,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And another a thump o' th' brow,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His wife cried throw him i' th' stable,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And he will be better just now.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>This unfeeling conduct of his wife does not
say much in commendation of the ladies of those
times. Here follows an hiatus of several stanzas:
I find, however, by a word or two here and
there, that they celebrated the exploits of two
gallic heroes:&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'The best i' th' country bred;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The one was a brassy-wing black,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the other a dusky-wing'd red.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>These unfortunate victims of the cruelty of man
seem both to have perished. There is a stanza,
however, before this catastrophe, which seems
to relate to the combat.</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'The conflict was hard upon each,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Till glossy-wing'd blacky was choked,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The colliers were nationally vex'd,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the nailers were all provoked.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>This passage seems very obscure: 'Nationally'
is evidently a sign of comparison, but I cannot
say I ever saw it employed before. It is,
however, another proof of the amazing antiquity
of the ballad. After this, it appears that
the people broke in upon the ring, and both
cocks were crushed to atoms. I don't know
whether you are acquainted with the manner in
which these gallic combats were conducted,
Edric. A kind of amphitheatre was formed, upon
which the birds were pitted one against the
other, whence the name cock-pit. The combatants
were armed with large iron spurs, and
the victor generally left his rival dead upon
the field. The ballad proceeds:&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'The cock-pit was near to the church,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As an ornament to the town;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One side was an old coal-pit,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the other was well gorsed round.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>Gorse was a kind of heath or furze.</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Peter Hadley peep'd through the gorse,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In order to see the cocks fight;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spittle jobb'd his eye out with a fork,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And said, "Blast you, it sarves you right."'</span><br />
</p>

<p>This is very spirited and expressive, though the
false quantities render it difficult to read.</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Some folks may think this is strange,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Who Wednesbury never knew,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But those who have ever been there,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Won't have the least doubt but it's true.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For they are all savage by nature,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And guilty of deeds that are shocking,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Jack Baker he whack'd his own feyther,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And so ended the Wednesbury cocking.'"</span><br />
</p>

<p>"It is very fine certainly," said Edric,
who was half asleep.</p>

<p>"Upon my word," returned the doctor, "I
don't think you have heard a single word I
have been saying."</p>

<p>"Oh! yes, I have," replied Edric, "every
syllable. It was about a man killing his own
father, and putting his eyes out with a fork."</p>

<p>"Eh?" cried the doctor, somewhat annoyed
at this unequivocal proof that though his words
might have struck upon the auricular organs of
his pupil, they had not reached his brains. The
exclamation of the doctor restored Edric to his
senses, and he began to apologize.</p>

<p>"I am really very sorry," said he, "but you
must excuse my inattention. Sometimes, you
know, the mind is not in tune for literary discussions,
even when proceeding from the most
eloquent lips. This is my case at the present
moment. My mind is so occupied by the important
change that has just taken place in my
affairs, that, I own, even your learning and eloquence
were thrown away upon me."</p>

<p>"If that be the state of your mind," replied
the doctor, with chagrin, "it is of no use to
show you any more of my literary treasures;
else I have some of matchless excellence. Here
is a letter addressed to Sheridan, a witty writer
of comedies, in the eighteenth century, which
has never been opened,&mdash;and here is a tailor's
bill of the immortal Byron, which may possibly
never have been looked at. But here is the
most inestimable of my relics. Look, at least,
at this. This piece of paper, covered carelessly
with irregular strokes and lines, was once in the
possession of that enchanting, that inimitable
novelist of the nineteenth century, generally
distinguished in the works of contemporary
writers by the mysterious title of 'The Great
Unknown!' See, here is half the word
'Waverley,' written upon it, and doubtless all
these other irregular marks and scratches proceeded
directly from his pen. I confess, Edric,
I never contemplate this relic of genius without
a feeling of reverence, and almost of awe. 'Perhaps,'
say I to myself, when I look at it, 'when
these letters were formed, the first idea had but
just arisen in the mind of the author of those
immortal works, which were afterwards destined
to improve and delight mankind. Perhaps,
at that very moment gigantic thoughts
were rushing through his brain, and a variety
of new ideas opening their treasures to his imagination.'
Oh, there is something in the mere
random stroke of the pen of a celebrated character,
inexpressibly affecting to the mind;&mdash;it
carries one back to the very time when he lived&mdash;it
seems to make one acquainted with him,
and to let us into the secrets of his inmost
thoughts. But I see you are not attending to
me, Edric!"</p>

<p>"I am very sorry&mdash;another time I should be
happy&mdash;but now&mdash;I cannot. However, when
we return, perhaps&mdash;"</p>

<p>"It may be then too late," said the doctor,
with solemnity; and locking up his cabinet, he
led the way back to his common sitting-room,
in high dudgeon.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></h3>


<p>The morning after the events just recorded,
as Mr. Montagu, the brother of Sir Ambrose,
was sitting at the breakfast-table with his wife
and daughter, they were all startled by the unexpected
arrival of a letter from Sir Ambrose.
"Bless me!" cried Mr. Montagu, moved for
once to forget his usual habits of indifference&mdash;"I
do believe it is a letter from my
brother."</p>

<p>"Your brother!" screamed Mrs. Montagu,
starting up to examine it, and in her agitation
overturning a patent steam coffee-machine, by
which coffee was roasted, ground, made, and
poured out with an <i>ad libitum</i> of boiling milk
and sugar, all in the short space of five minutes.
"Oh!" continued she&mdash;"I am scalded
to death!"</p>

<p>"I hope not, my dear," said Mr. Montagu,
calmly taking up his letter, and carefully examining
it on all sides without opening it.
"Yes," continued he, "it is indeed from my
brother, and I hope it contains no ill news, for
I do not perceive any signs of mourning about
it." And so saying, he very tranquilly laid his
letter again upon the table, and recommenced
sipping his coffee.</p>

<p>"La! papa, hadn't you better open your
letter and read it?" asked Clara, who was busily
employed in assisting her mother.</p>

<p>"Ah!" resumed Mr. Montagu. "True! I
never thought of that&mdash;I think I had." Then
again taking the letter in his hand, he broke
the seal and gave it to Clara to read.</p>

<p>"And do you think my daughter is to leave
me when I am in this miserable condition, Mr.
Montagu, to read letters from your brother,
Mr. Montagu&mdash;a man who has always treated
me with such disrespect, Mr. Montagu,&mdash;and I
half scalded to death!"</p>

<p>"I am sure I'm very sorry, my dear," began
Mr. Montagu.</p>

<p>"Oh, spare your sorrow," exclaimed his
wife&mdash;"for I'm sure you don't care one single
straw about me. You're a cruel man&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hadn't I better read the letter?" asked
Clara, trembling at the thought of the domestic
sparring she saw about to ensue.</p>

<p>"Yes, yes! read, my dear," said her father,
glad of any pretext to avert the coming storm:
for though he seldom disturbed himself about any
thing, provided his study was not swept oftener
than once a month, and he was not obliged to
submit to the insupportable fatigue of arranging
his ideas in the tense form, necessary for conversation;
he had yet a most inconceivable horror
of his wife's fluency of tongue, thus affording a
striking proof of the ingratitude of mortals, who
often ungraciously find fault with the very things
for which they have most occasion to be thankful;
as it must be allowed that nothing could
really be more convenient for a man of a taciturn
disposition, than to have a wife who could
manage to talk at once for him and herself too.</p>

<p>Notwithstanding the encouragement of her
father, Clara, however, still paused, looking
with a timid eye towards her mother, for that
lady's permission to begin. Curiosity struggled
powerfully with anger in the breast of Mrs.
Montagu for some minutes; but at last the
former prevailed, and with a nod she permitted
Clara to read. She immediately began as
follows:&mdash;</p>

<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear brother</span>."</p>

<p>"Humph," observed Mrs. Montagu, "his
last letter began&mdash;<i>Sir</i>. He's getting wonderfully
civil, I think."</p>

<p>"Pshaw!" exclaimed her husband.</p>

<p>Clara continued,&mdash;"I am happy to inform
you, that my dear Edmund has gained a glorious
victory."</p>

<p>"And what is that to us, I should like to
know?" said Mrs. Montagu: "for my part,
I have too much pride to trouble myself about
people, who don't trouble themselves about
me."</p>

<p>Clara went on.&mdash;"We are all coming up to
London, to be present at a grand triumph the
Queen is going to give him; and thinking it
a pity there should be a misunderstanding&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ah! what's that, child?" exclaimed Mr.
Montagu, laying down a problem which he
had been studying ever since she began.&mdash;"Read
that again, Clara."</p>

<p>"And thinking it a pity there should be a
misunderstanding any longer existing between
you and me, we being both fast approaching to
the grave, I intend, with your and Mrs. Montagu's
permission&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Mrs. Montagu's permission!" cried the
delighted Mrs. Montagu; "are you quite sure
he says that, Clara?" and she pressed over her
daughter's shoulder to ascertain the joyful fact.
"Well, well, I do declare he really does says
so. Look, my dear, there it is,&mdash;'Mrs. Montagu's
permission.' He never called me Mrs.
Montagu before. God bless him! a nice old
gentleman! I am sure I shall be very glad to
see him and his brave son, too. Only think,
my dear! what an honour it is to have a hero
in one's family! Read on, Clara; I feel quite
interested to know all the particulars of my nephew's
victory. You know, he is my nephew,
Mr. Montagu, as well as yours, as I am your
wife, and he is your own brother's son; so,
read on, Clara, and let us know all about him."</p>

<p>Clara obeyed the moment her mother gave
her an opportunity. "I intend, with your and
Mrs. Montagu's permission, to take the opportunity
of visiting you. I remain, with kind remembrances
to Mrs. Montagu and my niece,
to whom I long to be introduced, your affectionate
brother,</p>

<p>"<span class="smcap">Ambrose Montagu</span>."</p>

<p>"Very well," said Mr. Montagu, "I shall
be very glad to see him; I always loved my
brother, and I was quite sorry when we were
not friends."</p>

<p>"Here is a postscript," resumed Clara, and
she read:</p>

<p>"I quite forgot to inform you, that the Queen
has conferred a title upon my son, and that
I shall have to present him to you as Lord Edmund."</p>

<p>"I am very glad to hear it," exclaimed the
gratified uncle.</p>

<p>"And so am I," reiterated his wife. "My
nephew, Lord Edmund Montagu. I wonder
when they will be here: I must set about making
preparations for them immediately. Strike
the kitchen automaton, Clara, to summon all
the domestic assistants together, that I may
give my orders. Dear me! what a bustle I
am in."</p>

<p>In one corner of the room stood a kind of organ,
by playing certain notes upon which, intimation
was given in the lower regions of what
was wanted in the parlour; the organ having
long tubes communicating with the kitchen,
through which the sound was conveyed. Clara
accordingly sat down, and by striking a few
chords, soon assembled all the domestics of her
father.</p>

<p>"I expect company," said Mrs. Montagu,
with an air of excessive consequence. "My
brother-in-law, Sir Ambrose Montagu, and my
nephew, Lord Edmund Montagu, are coming
to stay with us during a triumph, with which
her most gracious Majesty the Queen intends
to honour Lord Edmund, my nephew. When
did my brother-in-law, Sir Ambrose, say that
he and my nephew, Lord Edmund, intended
coming, Mr. Montagu? Clara, look at Sir
Ambrose's letter. 'I intend,' says he, addressing
Mr. Montagu, 'with your and Mrs.
Montagu's permission, to be with you on
such a day,' but I forget what day he mentions."</p>

<p>"He does not say which day," replied
Clara, consulting the letter.</p>

<p>"Well, at any rate, it will be very soon,"
resumed Mrs. Montagu; "and we must prepare
accordingly. You know, the connexions
of my brother-in-law, Sir Ambrose, are very
high, and I do not doubt but his intimate
friend, the Duke of Cornwall, will call to see
him&mdash;nay, perhaps, he may dine at my table
with the two princesses, his daughter and
niece. Indeed there's no knowing, but, perhaps,
even her most gracious Majesty the
Queen may condescend to enter my humble
doors. Do you hear, all of you?&mdash;you must all
be attentive. You Angelina, as cook, will
have the most upon your hands&mdash;remember,
nothing can be too plain for great people. Fricassees
and ragouts are only devoured by the
<i>canaille</i>."</p>

<p>"I am instructed of that, Ma'am," replied
Angelina, a great, fat, bonny-looking cook,&mdash;"but
I flatter myself I know how to concoct
dishes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"That is the very thing I want to avoid,"
interrupted her mistress. "It is the fashion
now for great people to have only one dish,
and that as plainly cooked as possible. I have
been told by a friend of mine, who got a peep
at the great dinner the Queen gave the other
day to the foreign ambassadors, that there was
nothing in the world upon the table, but a
huge round of boiled beef, and a great dish of
smoking potatoes, with their jackets on."</p>

<p>"Well, Ma'am," returned Angelina, "I
will rally both my physical and mental energies
to afford you all the satisfaction in my
power; notwithstanding which, I am free to
confess, that, in my opinion, the gastronomic
science is now cruelly neglected, and that I do
not think the digestive powers of the stomach
can be properly excited from their dormant
state by such unstimulating food as that you
mention. Besides, the muscular force of the
stomach must be strained to decompose such
solid viands, and I should think the diaphragm
seriously injured&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You, Alphonso," continued Mrs. Montagu,
addressing the footman, and cruelly interrupting
the learned harangue of the cook,
"must have a new suit of livery. In the mean
time, arrange properly the best drawing-room,
and clean the pictures. There is a fine large
painting of one of the old English artists,
over the door, the colours of which are quite
faded; I am afraid you have used something
improper to clean it."</p>

<p>"Indeed, Madam," returned Alphonso, "I
think the fault is in the picture itself. It did
not dry well originally; I don't think the oil
that was used in its composition had the carbon
and hydrogen mingled in proper proportions.
You know, Madam, that oil in general
has an amazing affinity for oxygen, and absorbs
it rapidly; now, though the oil of this picture
has been exposed for years to the action of the
common atmospheric air, yet it has never
thickened properly into a concrete state."</p>

<p>"Eustace! you, as butler, must take care
not to bring any variety of wines to the table:
nothing is drunk now but port and sherry;
and even they are going out of fashion. Have
plenty of strong ale, however, and porter, for
they are now reckoned the most elegant liquors
for the ladies."</p>

<p>"I shall do my utmost endeavour to obey
your injunctions, Madam," said Eustace, bowing
respectfully, "but I cannot imagine that
any species of corn, even if it have undergone
the vinous fermentation, can produce a liquid
so agreeable to the palate, as well as conducive
to the sanity of the body, as the juice of the
grape."</p>

<p>"And you, Evelina and Cecilia," continued
Mrs. Montagu, addressing her housemaids,
"must superintend the arrangement of the
dormitories: let the air out of the beds and
re-inflate them&mdash;examine the elastic spring mattresses&mdash;mend
the gossamer curtains&mdash;sweep
the velvet carpets, and take care the tubes for
withdrawing the decomposed air, and admitting
fresh, are in proper order;&mdash;also, clean
out the baths attached to each chamber, and
take care there is an abundant supply of
water."</p>

<p>"I am told that ablution in the common
aqueous fluid is becoming more fashionable
than any medicated baths," said Evelina, "and
that some people of rank actually use a composition
of alkali and oil to remove the pulverous
particles that may have lodged upon their
epidermis in the course of the day."</p>

<p>"I fear from the commands you have issued,
Madam," rejoined Cecilia, "that you were oblivious
of the alteration that has been effected
in the superior dormitory. The air there is
no longer changed by means of tubes&mdash;but
there is a fan-feather ventilator fixed in the
ceiling, which by its gentle undulations occasions
a free circulation of the aëriform fluid;
I do not think, however, that it is quite adequate
to supply the place of the tubes; as upon
entering the room the other morning, I perceived
a strong sensation of azote, and I am
confident that the proportion of nitrogen more
than trebled that of oxygen in the air contained
in the whole apartment."</p>

<p>"I am sorry for that," said Mrs. Montagu,
"as it is the best sleeping-room: however,
as it is too late to change it, we must do the
best we can; and so go all of you and attend
to my directions, for I should be very sorry to
have my brother-in-law Sir Ambrose, and my
nephew Lord Edmund, put to any inconvenience,
during their sojourn in my dwelling; to
say nothing of the great and noble guests who
may perchance also honour the mansion with
their presence."</p>

<p>Whilst this bustle was taking place in the
house of Mr. Montagu, Edric and his tutor
were on their way to London. It was with infinite
difficulty, however, the doctor could be
persuaded to set off without alarming the
family; for, again and again, he would return
to survey the treasures he was leaving behind,
and the moment Edric thought he had him
safe, he would recollect some indispensable requisite
for their journey, and hurry back again
to find it. At last they were fairly started,
and a favourable wind blew them rapidly towards
London. Edric had never seen this
vast metropolis, and his astonishment and delight,
when its magnificent palaces, its superb
streets, its public buildings, its theatres, and its
churches, broke upon him, was quite beyond
description. His transports and exclamations,
indeed, at length became so violent, as quite to
annoy the learned doctor.</p>

<p>"If you feel such rapture at the sight of
London," said he, peevishly, "I suppose you
will be reluctant to quit it; and I dare say you
already repent having proposed to travel."</p>

<p>"Oh! what is that?" cried Edric, without
attending to him, as, lost in amazement, he saw
a house in the suburbs gently slide out of its
place, and glide majestically along the road, a
lady at one of the windows kissing her hand to
some one in another house as she passed. "Do
my eyes deceive me, or does that house move?"</p>

<p>"Certainly it does," replied the doctor.
"Did you never see a moving house before?
You must have heard of them at any rate,
for nothing can be more common. It certainly is
convenient, when one wants to go into the country
for a few weeks, to be able to take one's house
with one: it saves a great deal of trouble in
packing, and permits one to have all one's little
conveniences about one. You see there are
grooves in the bottom of the houses that just fit
on the iron railways; and as they are propelled
by steam, they slide on without much trouble.
It does not answer, however, with any but
small houses, for large ones can't well be made
compact enough. However, you must postpone
your admiration of that, as well as of the other
wonders of London, for here we are at Lord
Gustavus's door. What a noble mansion! is
it not? This street, Edric, is called the Strand,
and is the most fashionable in London; because
it adjoins the Queen's favourite palace at Somerset
House."</p>

<p>"Is that the palace?" said Edric. "It seems
a noble pile of building."</p>

<p>"The gardens are fine," replied the doctor;
"but as they are thrown open to the public,
and nothing is paid for admission, it is reckoned
vulgar to walk in them. You English do
not like any thing you do not pay for; but
more of this hereafter. We must now prepare
to pay our respects to our noble host."</p>

<p>Lord Gustavus de Montfort received them
very kindly, but Edric found something in his
voice and manners excessively forbidding. He
had a pompous disagreeable manner of speaking,
with a nasal accent so strong, that it was
absolutely torture to Edric, whose sense of
hearing was uncommonly fine, to listen to
him. He had also a conceited dictatorial way of
delivering his opinion, which Edric thought extremely
unpleasant. He generally commenced
his speeches with "Thinking as I think, and
as I am positive every one who hears me must
think, or at least ought to think;" and this
exordium formed an epitome of his character;
as he was firmly persuaded that every one who
differed in the slightest degree from his opinion,
was decidedly wrong, whilst the possibility of
his ever being mistaken himself never entered
his imagination. His father had been one of
the counsellors of the late Queen, and his eldest
brother having declined to take the father's
place upon his death, Lord Gustavus had been
appointed to it. Thus he was really a person
of some consequence in the state; and though
his being so was quite a matter of chance,
arising from the circumstances above-mentioned
and the indolence of the Queen, he affected
to regard it as a matter of personal favour to
himself, and endeavoured to persuade his
hearers that the affairs of government could not
possibly go on without him. Knowing his foible
of wishing to be thought of importance in
the realm, and feeling the want of a leader of
rank, some of the discontented spirits of the
kingdom had endeavoured to gain him over to
their party; and though Lord Gustavus was
strictly loyal, and even particularly fond of
talking of her gracious Majesty the Queen,
and boasting of the confidence she placed in
him, yet his vanity could not altogether resist
the able attacks made upon it by the rebels.
He wavered, he began to talk of reform, and
to mingle boasts of his popularity amongst the
people, with those he had before indulged in,
of enjoying the favour of his sovereign. Thus
he hung upon the balance, ready to incline to
either side, according to the circumstances that
time or chance might produce.</p>

<p>"I am extremely happy," said he, as he advanced
to meet his guests, "that my worthy
and respected friend Father Morris has procured
me the honour of such illustrious visitors.
The holy father has informed me of the sublime
purpose that animates your bosoms and leads
you to traverse realms of air, to explore the
hitherto undiscovered secrets of the grave. His
partiality for me has also led him to imagine that
my humble means may perchance prove conducive
to so great an end, and he has requested
me to give you all the assistance in my power to
promote the gigantic objects you have in view.
Thus you may rest assured, no efforts shall be
wanting on my part to fulfil his wishes, and as,
though insignificant in myself, I am so happy as
to be honoured by the protection and favour of
her Majesty the Queen, my most gracious sovereign;
and also as my feeble attempts to promote
the public good have been rewarded by the gratitude
of the people; it may perchance be in my
power to serve you; and in the mean time I hope
you will do me the honour to partake of such
hospitality as my humble mansion can afford."
So saying, Lord Gustavus led the way through
a sumptuous suite of rooms, to one where an
elegant cold collation was laid out, of which he
invited his guests to partake. Nothing could be
more splendid than the furniture and embellishments
of this apartment. The rooms were hung
with crimson silk, trimmed with gold; valuable
paintings decorated the walls; statues of inestimable
price filled each corner, and magnificent
mirrors increased tenfold the magic of the scene.
Lord Gustavus secretly enjoyed the astonishment
and admiration painted upon the countenances
of his guests; and whilst he openly affected
to talk of his "poor house," and his "humble
attempts to entertain them," &amp;c. his heart covertly
exalted in the grandeur around him, and
his eyes sparkled with pleasure at the effect he
saw it produced upon the strangers. Nothing
makes one so much disposed to be in a good
humour with the world, as being in a good
humour with oneself; and nothing is so certain
to produce that delightful sensation, as to see
what we possess excite the admiration of others.
Thus, as the flattery conveyed by looks far
outweighs that expressed by words, and as the
looks of Edric and the doctor unequivocally
declared their sentiments, Lord Gustavus was
quite enchanted with his visitors, and spared no
pains to render them equally happy as himself.
He ordered a large apartment to be prepared
for the doctor, that he might make his arrangements
for the intended Egyptian expedition
quite at his ease; he commanded his servants to
obey his directions implicitly, and he directed
tradesmen to supply every thing that might be
wanted at his own expense.</p>

<p>Having thus given the doctor <i>carte blanche</i>,
he next turned his attention to Edric, and, finding
it was his first visit to London, volunteered
to show him all the wonders of that immense
metropolis, which then, spreading enormously in
every direction, seemed like the fabled monster
of the Indians, to stretch its enormous arms on
every side and swallow up all the hapless villages
which were so unfortunate as to fall within
its reach.</p>

<p>In the mean time, Sir Ambrose had begun to
repent, though secretly, of the unwarrantable
severity with which he had treated his son. It
is a trite though undeniable observation, that we
never know the real value of any possession till
we have lost it; and thus Sir Ambrose, though
he had thought nothing of the respectful and
dutiful attentions of his son, whilst he was in
the habit of constantly receiving them, now felt
their want, and regretted bitterly the ill-timed
harshness that had deprived him of them for
ever. Still, however, he was too obstinate to
own he had been wrong; and though he knew
that by recalling his son he should restore his
lost happiness, he, like many other persons in
similar situations, most magnanimously determined
to persist in being miserable.</p>

<p>The Duke of Cornwall was quite astonished,
and even indignant, at what he termed the inconsistency
of his friend. "How can you be so
weak as still to regret the loss of that peevish
boy?" said he, as, on the second morning after
Edric's departure, he entered the library of Sir
Ambrose, attended by his confessor, Father
Murphy. "Depend upon it, it is bad policy;
for patience robs care of its bitterest sting, as
this holy father says. You often preach that
doctrine to me, don't you, Father Murphy?"
Father Murphy was an Irishman, and gifted
with a rich brogue, which, aided by his comely
figure, round rosy face, and little laughing black
eyes, gave a peculiar raciness to every thing
he said. He had not long filled the office he
then held, and though he had been recommended
to it, on the death of the duke's late confessor, by
Father Morris, yet no two human beings could
be more different than he and that reverend personage.
Father Murphy, indeed, was a general
favourite, and the whole household of the duke
concurred in thinking him quite a nonpareil of
a priest; for, as he was not very fond of doing
penance himself, so he was not very rigid in imposing
it upon others, and consequently he and
his penitents were always upon the best terms
imaginable. In short, he seemed especially designed
by Nature to be good friends with all the
world; and on his side he certainly did the utmost
not to thwart the beneficent old lady's kind
intentions.</p>

<p>He now smiled good-humouredly at the
duke's question, and replied, "Och! and is it
me ye're quoting from, yere Grace? And
where's the use of that, pray? when ye know
I'm just here and ready to quote for myself."</p>

<p>"If all your observations are as good as that
the duke has just repeated," said Sir Ambrose,
"I don't know any body that might be quoted
from with more advantage."</p>

<p>"Sure! and is it of myself ye're saying
that?" asked Father Murphy, "for if ye are,
ye never made a better spach in all your life;
only there's a little mistake if ye think the observation
ye're talking of came out of my own
head, for it didn't do any such thing."</p>

<p>"Do not be alarmed," said Father Morris,
who now approached, and who spoke with his
usual satirical sneer: "No one who knows you
will ever suspect you of any thing so atrocious."</p>

<p>"Good-nature and integrity are sometimes
more than equivalent to brilliant talents," said
Sir Ambrose bitterly.</p>

<p>"True," rejoined Father Morris, in one of his
softest, most insinuating tones; "but they become
inestimable when united, as in the example
before us:" bowing to Father Murphy as he
spoke. Sir Ambrose turned, and looked earnestly
at the tall thin figure of the monk as he
stood before him, his arms crossed upon his
breast, and his head, as usual, bent towards the
ground, but he did not speak. A short pause
ensued, which was broken by the duke's suddenly
exclaiming, "Did you not say Dr. Entwerfen
has gone off with Edric?"</p>

<p>"Certainly, I did."</p>

<p>"Then, depend upon it, the whole was a
planned thing. They have taken some wild
scheme into their heads, and they are gone to
execute it."</p>

<p>"Impossible!" exclaimed Sir Ambrose.</p>

<p>"I see no impossibility in the business," resumed
the duke. "I think the case is clear.
They did not know how to get off decently;
and so Edric pretended to quarrel with you and
me, to give the thing a face."</p>

<p>"I cannot fancy Edric guilty of such meanness,"
cried Sir Ambrose passionately.</p>

<p>"I don't think the matter admits of a single
doubt. But what do you think on the subject,
Father Morris?"</p>

<p>"Men devoted to austere professions like
myself," replied the priest, without raising his
eyes from the ground, "know but little of what
is passing in the world. Thus, though my
body be no longer shrouded in the gloom of a
cloister, my mind remains still too much abstracted
from the busy scenes around me, for
me to be a competent judge of the effect of
human passions."</p>

<p>"Och, then, ye are very right to say nothin'
about them," cried Father Murphy; "for
though I'm in a passion every day of my life,
I nevher know what to say when I begin to talk
of it. And so I jist think it's the wisest way to
holdth my tongue."</p>

<p>Neither Sir Ambrose nor the duke made
any reply; and after settling that they should
commence their journey on the following morning,
they separated.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h3>


<p>The journey of the duke and Sir Ambrose
to London had nothing in it to distinguish it
from hundreds of other journeys, and they did
not meet with a single adventure worthy of
being recorded.</p>

<p>It happened by one of those singular coincidences
in real life, which would be called
improbable in a novel, that Mr. Montagu's
mansion adjoined that of the duke, Mrs.
Montagu having, like most of the <i>parvenu</i>
genus, a most violent <i>penchant</i> for the neighbourhood
of the great; perhaps, in the hope
that gentility might be infectious, and that she
might catch a little by being near it. Both
houses were in the Strand, which was, as we
have before stated, in those days the most
fashionable part of London, and both had beautiful
gardens shelving down to the Thames.</p>

<p>Mrs. Montagu received her brother-in-law
with all that awkward overstrained civility,
with which persons raised above their original
grade in society, generally endeavour to show
their respect to those whom they consider as
their superiors; whilst Mr. Montagu welcomed
him with warm affection, and presented his
daughter Clara to her uncle with all the fondness
of a parent.</p>

<p>Clara Montagu well deserved his partiality,
for she was a charming girl; and her light
fairy form and animated features seemed to
realize all that poets feign of Hebe. Sir Ambrose
was delighted with her, and half his dislike
of the mother banished, as he contemplated
the budding charms of the daughter. It
was well he had such an antidote, for poor
Mrs. Montagu, in her over-anxiety to render
herself agreeable, contrived to be most excessively
annoying to him. Perhaps, indeed, there
are few things more troublesome than this vulgar
attempt at politeness, and the good temper
of the baronet was almost exhausted ere he
retired for the night.</p>

<p>Abelard, who had accompanied his master to
town, and who often officiated as groom of the
chamber, assisted him to undress, and, as usual
with servants in those days, took the liberty of
giving his opinion freely of their hostess. Sir
Ambrose felt no interest in his remarks, but he
did not check them, as he hoped, after he had
exhausted this theme, he might turn the conversation
upon Edric. The baronet was indeed
excessively anxious to hear some news of his
son, though he was by far too proud to make
any inquiries respecting him.</p>

<p>"So you really think Mrs. Montagu disagreeable,
Abelard," said Sir Ambrose.</p>

<p>"She is a perfect nuisance, your honour,
to all civilized society. Why, I have observed
her all day, and I verily believe she has never
left your honour for ten minutes, nor ever
ceased for more than half an hour at a time,
pressing your honour to eat."</p>

<p>"True," said Sir Ambrose, laughing, "one
would think she took me for a slave, and wanted
to feed me up fat before she sent me to
market to be sold."</p>

<p>"Then she is so curious and inquisitive,"
resumed Abelard. "When she saw me bow to
Master Edric just now, she was quite in a
fever to know who he was; but I would not
satisfy her."</p>

<p>"Master Edric!" exclaimed the baronet.
"What, then! have you seen my son?"</p>

<p>"Yes, your honour, and it startled me so
that it made me raise the adnatæ of my visual
organs like one of the anas genus when the
clouds are charged with electric fluid; and my
heart leaped from its transverse position on my
diaphragm, and seemed to stick like a great
bone right across my &#339;sophagus."</p>

<p>"How did he look?" asked Sir Ambrose.
"Not that I feel the slightest anxiety respecting
him. No&mdash;no, his own conduct has quite
precluded that."</p>

<p>"He was in a balloon, and when he saw
me, he wrote something on a piece of paper
with a pencil, and threw it down, desiring me
to give it to your honour."</p>

<p>"Where is it?" cried Sir Ambrose, endeavouring
to conceal his anxiety.</p>

<p>Abelard searched his pockets, and opened a
large pocket-book, which he carefully examined,
but in vain. "I am afraid I have lost it, your
honour. No; here&mdash;here it is. Yes,&mdash;no. These
are some verses of my own, in the acromonogrammatic
style, only every line begins with
the same <i>word</i> with which the last ended, instead
of the same letter. Shall I read them
to your honour?"</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose groaned in the spirit, and the
unmerciful Abelard, taking that for a token of
assent, deliberately unfolded the paper, and
read as follows:&mdash;<br />
<br /></p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"ON LOVE.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Of all the powers in Heaven above,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Above all others, triumphs Love:</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Love rules the soul&mdash;the heart invades,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Invades the cities and the shades.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shades form no shelter from its power,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Power trembles in his courtly bower.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bower of beauty&mdash;art thou free?</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Free thou art not&mdash;nor canst thou be!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be every other class released,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Released from love, thy woe's increased;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Increased by all the weight of care,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Care flowing from complete despair."</span><br />
<br /></p>

<p>"Humph!" said Sir Ambrose.</p>

<p>"I hope your honour is pleased with this
little effusion of my Muse?"</p>

<p>"Oh yes, it is very fine, Abelard."</p>

<p>"And your honour thinks it well turned,
and well expressed."</p>

<p>"Excellently! only I own I don't understand
why despair comes in the last line."</p>

<p>"Despair&mdash;despair: oh! to rhyme with care,
your honour."</p>

<p>"That reason is unanswerable," returned
Sir Ambrose, smiling.&mdash;"And so you are
quite sure you have lost Edric's note!&mdash;Not
that it is of the least consequence, as nothing
he could say, can possibly alter my opinion of
his conduct; but, if you had had it&mdash;I thought
I might as well have read it, to avoid the imputation
of obstinacy."</p>

<p>"It is irrevocably gone, your honour."</p>

<p>"Well then, good night; and, if you should
see Edric again, you may as well tell him the
fate of his note;&mdash;for, shamefully as he has behaved,
I would not give him reason to accuse
me of obstinacy."</p>

<p>This was the second time the baronet had
made the same observation; and ill-natured
people might have said;&mdash;but what do the remarks
of ill-natured people signify to us? We
hope all our readers will be good-natured ones,
and as they will assuredly put the best possible
construction upon Sir Ambrose's conduct, we
will not be so malicious as to suggest an evil
one.</p>

<p>Edric was exceedingly agitated by his encounter
with Abelard; and, feeling convinced his
father was in town, he determined to delay his
journey no longer, as his dread of meeting him
was excessive. He therefore resolved to seek
his tutor, and, if he found him still inclined
to procrastinate, to set off without him. On
reaching the doctor's chamber, however, he
found half his anger converted into laughter
at the ludicrous situation of the poor philosopher,
who, surrounded as he was on every side
by a crowd of tradesmen clamorous for orders,
looked something like Mercury encircled by a
tribe of discontented ghosts upon the banks of
the Styx.</p>

<p>"Yes, yes, Mr. Jones," said he; "I see you
understand me. The coats are to be those woven
in machines, where the wool is stripped off the
sheep's back by one end, and the coat comes
out completely made, in the newest fashion, at
the other."</p>

<p>"Very well, Sir," said Mr. Jones, wagging
his ears in token of assent; for in those days of
universal education, even the muscles of the
head were trained to perform functions which
in former days it was only supposed possible
they <i>might</i> attain: "You are quite right, Sir,&mdash;no
person of fashion ever wears any thing else
now."</p>

<p>"Oh, Edric!" cried the doctor, "I shall be
ready to attend to you directly;&mdash;and so, Mrs.
Celestina, you must make the soup, if you
please, water-proof; and you, Mr. Crispin,
must have the boots ready to dissolve, at a
moment's notice. Oh, dear! oh, dear, what a
perplexity I am in, my head is going just
like a steam-boat, at the rate of sixty miles
an hour!"</p>

<p>"Upon my word, doctor," said Edric, looking
round in dismay, "if we are to take half
the things assembled here, I do not know
where we shall find a balloon large enough
and strong enough even to raise us from the
ground."</p>

<p>"I will show you one," replied the doctor,
mysteriously; and solemnly drawing forth
from his bosom a key, which appeared to have
been suspended by a ribbon from his neck,
he slowly opened, with great difficulty, a secret
drawer in his escritoire, and produced from its
inmost recesses a small bottle of Indian rubber.
The gravity of the doctor's manner, and the
length of time that he had employed in this
operation, had excited Edric's curiosity, and he
burst into a violent and uncontrollable fit of
laughter when he saw the result.</p>

<p>"What is the matter, Edric?" asked the
doctor, with the utmost solemnity; "what can
be the occasion of this unceremonious and ill-timed
levity?"</p>

<p>"Parturient mountains, my dear doctor,"
replied Edric, still laughing,&mdash;"you know the
rest."</p>

<p>"Ridicule, Edric," said the doctor gravely,
"is by no means the test of truth. Fools often,&mdash;nay,
generally, laugh at what they cannot understand,
and when I shall have explained the
motives of my conduct, I trust you will feel
ashamed of your present weak and unseasonable
mirth.</p>

<p>"Caoutchouc, Edric, is a substance capable
of astonishing dilation and contraction; whilst
the peculiar elasticity and tenacity of its fibres
give it a strength and solidity, very rare in bodies
when in a state of extreme tension. There
are several very extraordinary phenomena relating
to elastic bodies, which I am happy to
have an apposite opportunity of explaining to
you." (Edric yawned.) "You know, elastic
substances have the power of wonderfully resisting
a force which would annihilate solids,
apparently infinitely stronger than themselves,
as a feather-bed will repulse a cannon-ball that
would penetrate with ease through a thick
table. Now the reason for this is clear: the
elastic body has the power of summoning
all its forces to its assistance, for the effect of
a blow may be traced even to its remotest
extremity; whereas the solid substance can
only oppose its enemy by the mere resistance
of the identical part struck."</p>

<p>"Certainly," said Edric, striving to suppress
a yawn; "nothing can be more clear."</p>

<p>"Nothing," resumed the doctor. "I was
sure you would admire the force of my reasoning;
indeed, I see the excess of your admiration
in the involuntary yawns in which
you have been indulging. On some occasions,
Edric, man shakes off the artificial restraints
of society, and breaks forth into the full freedom
of honest and unsophisticated nature:&mdash;thus
it was with you, Edric. In ancient times,
the extension of the jaws was held synonymous
with the extension of the understanding, and
the opening of the mouth and eyes was considered
as the greatest possible sign of pleasure
that could be given. In the works of an ancient
author, whose poetry was doubtless once esteemed
very fine, since it is now quite unintelligible,
we find the following passage:&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'And Hodge stood lost in wide-mouth'd speculation.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>Again,</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'His eyes and mouth the hero open'd wide.'</span><br />
</p>

<p>&mdash;And divers others, which&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"We will leave till a more convenient opportunity,
if you please," said Edric, interrupting
him. "At present, do favour me for
five minutes with your attention. We cannot
take all these things."</p>

<p>"Why not?" asked the doctor, gazing at his
pupil with surprise; "for my part, I do not
think we can dispense with a single article."</p>

<p>"These cloaks," said Edric, "and those
hampers, for instance, cannot be of the slightest
use."</p>

<p>"I beg your pardon," returned the doctor.
"The cloaks are of asbestos, and will be necessary
to protect us from ignition, if we should
encounter any electric matter in the clouds;
and the hampers are filled with elastic plugs
for our ears and noses, and tubes and barrels
of common air, for us to breathe when we get
beyond the atmosphere of the earth."</p>

<p>"But what occasion shall we have to go beyond
it?"</p>

<p>"How can we do otherwise? Surely you
don't mean to travel the whole distance in the
balloon? I thought, of course, you would adopt
the present fashionable mode of travelling, and
after mounting the seventeen miles or thereabouts,
which is necessary to get clear of the
mundane attraction, to wait there till the turning
of the globe should bring Egypt directly
under our feet."</p>

<p>"But it is not in the same latitude."</p>

<p>"True; I did not think of that! Well,
then," sighing deeply, "I suppose we must do
without the hamper?"</p>

<p>"Certainly; and without those boxes and
bottles too, I hope."</p>

<p>"Oh no! we can't do without those. Those
bottles contain my magic elixir, that cures all
diseases merely by the smell:&mdash;a new idea that.
You know it has been long discovered, that
the whole materia medica might be carried
in a ring, and that all the instruments of surgery
might be compressed into a walking-stick.
But the idea of sniffing health in a pinch of
snuff is, I flatter myself, exclusively my own."</p>

<p>"Very likely; but we cannot be encumbered
with your panaçea in our aërial tour."</p>

<p>"Then that box contains my portable galvanic
battery; that, my apparatus for making
and collecting the inflammable air; and that,
my machine for producing and concentrating
the quicksilver vapour, which is to serve as the
propelling power to urge us onwards, in the
place of steam; and these bladders are filled
with laughing gas, for the sole purpose of
keeping up our spirits."</p>

<p>"The three first will be useful," said Edric;
"but I will positively have no more."</p>

<p>"Adieu! adieu! then, my precious treasures!"
exclaimed the doctor, looking sorrowfully
around: "Dear offspring of my cares!
children of my mind! and must I leave you
to some rude hand, which, heedless of your inestimable
worth, may scatter your beauties to the
winds? Alas! alas!"</p>

<p>"Breakfast is ready, and my lord is waiting!"
interrupted the shrill voice of one of Lord Gustavus's
servants.</p>

<p>"Then we must go!" said the doctor; and
the rest of his pathetic lamentation remained
for ever buried in his own bosom.</p>

<p>Lord Gustavus was already seated when they
entered the room, with two gentlemen, whom
he introduced to our travellers as Lord Noodle
and Lord Doodle. These noble lords were
both counsellors of state as well as their illustrious
host, and had attained that high honour
in exactly the same way, viz. they had both
succeeded their respective fathers. It is not
easy to be very diffuse in their description, as
they were members of that honourable and
numerous fraternity, who never take the trouble
of judging for themselves, but contentedly
swim with the stream, whichever way
it may flow, and have nothing about them to
distinguish them in the slightest degree from
the crowd. Lord Gustavus was at present their
leading star, and they might very appropriately
be termed his satellites. Thus, when any new
idea was started, they cautiously refrained
from giving an opinion till they found what
<i>he</i> thought of it:&mdash;they would then look wise,
shake their heads, and say, "Exactly so!"
"Certainly!" "Nobody can doubt it!" or some
of those other convenient <i>ripieno</i> phrases, which
fill up so agreeably the pauses in the conversation,
without requiring any troublesome exertion
of the mental powers of either the hearer or
the speaker. These gentlemen had now visited
Lord Gustavus, for the purpose of accompanying
him and Edric to the Queen's levee, and as
soon as they had taken breakfast, the whole
party, with the exception of Dr. Entwerfen,
proceeded to court.</p>

<p>When arrived there, however, they found
the Queen had not yet risen. "Her Majesty
is late this morning," observed Lord Maysworth,
a gentleman loaded with orders and
decorations, addressing Lord Gustavus:&mdash;"I
am not surprised," said his lordship,
"for her most gracious Majesty told me the
other day, that she has slept badly for some
time."</p>

<p>"Which, of course, caused you great grief?"
asked Dr. Hardman, a little, satirical-looking
gentleman in a bob-wig.</p>

<p>"Thinking as I think," said Lord Gustavus
gravely, "and as I am sure every one here
must think, or at least ought to think, her Majesty's
want of sleep is a circumstance of very
serious importance."</p>

<p>"Oh! very!" exclaimed Lord Noodle,
shaking his head. "Most assuredly!" cried
Lord Doodle, shaking his.</p>

<p>"Why?" demanded the doctor; "of
what possible consequence can it be to her
subjects, whether her Majesty sleeps soundly
or has the night-mare?"</p>

<p>"Of the greatest consequence," replied Lord
Gustavus solemnly.</p>

<p>"Nothing can be greater!" echoed his satellites.</p>

<p>"Well!" observed Lord Maysworth, "for
my part, I am such a traitor as to think we
might exist, even if the Queen did not sleep
at all."</p>

<p>"Or if she slept for ever," rejoined the doctor
significantly.</p>

<p>"Oh, fie!" cried Lord Gustavus; "what
would become of us, if the great sun of the
political hemisphere were to set!"</p>

<p>"We must watch the rising of another, I
suppose," said Lord Maysworth.</p>

<p>"Yes," continued Dr. Hardman: "and then
the energies of the people would be roused.
They want awakening from their present slumber&mdash;they
have slept too long under the paralyzing
effects of tyranny. The government
wants reform; corruption has eaten into its
root, and it must be eradicated ere England
can be free, or its people happy. Would to
Heaven I might live to aid in the glorious struggle;
that I might see the people assert their
rights, and the fiend, Despotism, sink beneath
their blows."</p>

<p>"I have ever admired," said Lord Maysworth,
"the high integrity and fine principles
of the worthy doctor, which have not
only obtained for him the applause of England,
but the admiration of Europe. The
courage, wisdom, and purity of his mind
cannot be too highly extolled; and all who
know him concur in calling him the firm and
devoted friend of mankind. I also have been
an humble supporter of plans of economy and
retrenchment; and it was I who had the honour
of suggesting to the council the other day, that
an humble petition should be presented to her
Majesty, requesting her respectfully to order
a diminution of the lights in her saloon,
proving incontestably, that there were, at least,
six more than were absolutely necessary."</p>

<p>"Thinking as I think, and as I am sure
every one here must think," began Lord Gustavus,&mdash;but
ere he had time to finish his
exordium, the folding doors at the back of
the audience chamber were thrown open, and
the Queen appeared, sitting upon a gorgeous
throne, and surrounded by the officers of her
household all splendidly attired.</p>

<p>The usual ceremonies then took place:&mdash;Claudia
smiled graciously on Edric, as he
kissed her hand, and inquired when he intended
to depart. Edric informed her on the
morrow; when, condescending to express regret,
and desiring to see him on his return,
she wished him an agreeable voyage, and dismissed
him.</p>

<p>During their ride home, Lord Gustavus
could talk of nothing but the graciousness
of the Queen, upon which he was still expatiating,
when the balloon stopped; and
Edric, who, though he felt grateful for her
kindness, was annoyed by hearing so much said
of it, hastened to leave him as soon as he
possibly could with propriety. On his road
to his own apartment, however, he heard a
strange and fearful noise, like the voice of
some one screaming in an agony of rage and
pain, which seemed to proceed from the chamber
appropriated to his learned tutor; and he
was going there to ascertain the cause, when
the agitated form of the unfortunate philosopher
burst upon him.</p>

<p>Sad, indeed, was the condition in which this
splendid ornament of the twenty-second century
now presented himself before the eyes of his
astonished pupil. His face glowed like fire;
his hat was off, and water streamed from every
part of his body till he looked like the effigy of a
water deity in a fountain.</p>

<p>"Here is management!" cried he, as soon as
his rage permitted him to speak; "here is
treatment for one devoted to the service of mankind!
But I will be revenged, and centuries
yet to come, shall tremble at my wrath."</p>

<p>In this manner he continued, and being too
much occupied in these awful denunciations, to
be able to give any information as to what calamity
had brought him into this unseemly plight,
it will be necessary to go back a little to explain
it for him.</p>

<p>When Dr. Entwerfen left the breakfast-room
of Lord Gustavus, which he did not do till a
considerable time after the rest of the party had
quitted it, he was so absorbed in meditation
that he did not know exactly which way he was
going; and, happening unfortunately to turn to
the right when he should have gone to the left,
to his infinite surprise he found himself in the
kitchen, instead of his own study.</p>

<p>Absent as the doctor was, however, his attention
was soon roused by the scene before him.
Being, like many of his learned brotherhood,
somewhat of a gourmand, his indignation was
violently excited by finding the cook comfortably
asleep on a sofa on one side of the room,
whilst the meat intended for dinner, a meal it
was then the fashion to take about noon, was
as comfortably resting itself from its toils on the
other. The chemical substitute for fire, which
ought to have cooked it, having gone out, and
the cook's nap precluding all reasonable expectation
of its re-illumination, the doctor's wrath
was kindled, though the fire was not, and in a
violent rage he seized the gentle Celestina's
shoulder, and shook her till she woke.</p>

<p>"Where am I?" exclaimed she, opening her
eyes.</p>

<p>"Any where but where you ought to be,"
cried the doctor, in a fury. "Look, hussy!
look at that fine joint of meat, lying quite cold
and sodden in its own steam."</p>

<p>"Dear me!" returned Celestina, yawning,
"I am really quite unfortunate to-day! An unlucky
accident has already occurred to a leg of
mutton which was to have formed part of today's
aliments; and now this piece of beef is
also destroyed. I am afraid there will be nothing
for dinner but some mucilaginous saccharine
vegetables, and they, most probably, will be
boiled to a viscous consistency."</p>

<p>"And what excuse can you offer for all
this?" exclaimed the doctor, his voice trembling
with passion.</p>

<p>"It was unavoidable;" replied Celestina,
coolly; "whilst I was copying a cast from the
Apollo Belvedere this morning, having unguardedly
applied too much caloric to the vessel
containing the leg of mutton, the aqueous fluid
in which it was immersed, evaporated, and the
viand became completely calcined. Whilst the
other affair&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hush, hush!" interrupted the doctor; "I
cannot bear to hear you mention it. Oh, surely
Job himself never suffered such a trial of his
patience! In fact, <i>his</i> troubles were scarcely
worth mentioning, for he was never cursed with
learned servants!"</p>

<p>Saying this the doctor retired, lamenting his
hard fate in not having been born in those halcyon
days when cooks drew nothing but their
poultry; whilst the gentle Celestina's breast
panted with indignation at his complaint. An
opportunity soon offered for revenge; and seeing
the doctor's steam valet ready to be carried
to its master's chamber, she treacherously applied
a double portion of caloric: in consequence
of which, the machine burst whilst in the act
of brushing the doctor's coat collar, and by discharging
the whole of the scalding water contained
in its cauldron upon him, reduced him
to the melancholy state we have already mentioned.</p>

<p>The fear of the ridicule attached to this incident,
in a great measure reconciled the doctor to
Edric's project of a speedy departure, and the
following morning they bade adieu to Lord
Gustavus, and, stepping into their balloon, sailed
for Egypt.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></h3>


<p>No event of any importance occurred to our
travellers in the course of their aërial voyage.
They were too well provided with all kinds of
necessaries to have any occasion to rest by the
way, and in an incredibly short space of time
they were hovering over Egypt. Different,
however, oh! how different from the Egypt of
the nineteenth century, was the fertile country
which now lay like a map beneath their feet.
Improvement had turned her gigantic steps towards
its once desert plains; Commerce had
waved her magic wand; and towns and cities,
manufactories and canals, spread in all directions.
No more did the Nile overflow its banks: a
thousand channels were cut to receive its waters.
No longer did the moving sands of the Desert
rise in mighty waves, threatening to overwhelm
the way-worn traveller: macadamized
turnpike roads supplied their place, over which
post-chaises, with anti-attritioned wheels, bowled
at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. Steamboats
glided down the canals, and furnaces
raised their smoky heads amidst groves of palm-trees;
whilst iron railways intersected orange
groves, and plantations of dates and pomegranates
might be seen bordering excavations
intended for coal pits. Colonies of English and
Americans peopled the country, and produced
a population that swarmed like bees over the
land, and surpassed in numbers even the wondrous
throngs of the ancient Mizraim race;
whilst industry and science changed desolation
into plenty, and had converted barren
plains into fertile kingdoms.</p>

<p>Amidst all these revolutions, however, the
Pyramids still raised their gigantic forms, towering
to the sky; unchanged, unchangeable,
grand, simple, and immoveable, fit symbols of
that majestic nature they were intended to
represent, and seeming to look down with
contempt upon the ephemeral structures with
which they were surrounded; as though they
would have said, had utterance been permitted
to them&mdash;"Avaunt, ye nothings of the
day. Respect our dignity and sink into your
original obscurity; for know, that we alone are
monarchs of the plains." Indestructible, however,
as they had proved themselves, even their
granite sides had not been able entirely to
resist the corroding influence of the smoke with
which they were now surrounded, and a slight
crumbling announced the first outward symptom
of decay. Still, however, though blackened
and disfigured, they shone stupendous
monuments of former greatness; and Edric and
his tutor gazed upon them with an awe that
for some moments deprived them of utterance.</p>

<p>The doctor, however, who was too fond of
reasoning ever long to remain willingly silent,
after surveying them a few minutes, broke forth
as follows:&mdash;"What noble piles! What majesty
and grandeur they display in their formation,
and yet what dignified simplicity! Can
the imagination of man conceive any thing more
sublime than the thought that they have stood
thus frowning in awful magnificence, perhaps
since the very creation of the world, without
equals, without even competitors,&mdash;mocking the
feeble efforts of man to divine their origin, and
seeing generation after generation pass away,
whilst they still remain immutable, and involved
in the same deep and unfathomable mystery as
at first."</p>

<p>"It is very strange," observed Edric, "that,
in this age of speculation and discovery, nothing
certain should be known concerning them."</p>

<p>"It is," returned the doctor; "but the thick
mysterious veil that has rested upon them for so
many ages, seems not intended to be removed by
mortal hands. They remind one of the sublime
inscription upon the temple of the goddess Isis,
at Sais:&mdash;'I am whatever was, whatever is, and
whatever shall be; but no mortal has, as yet,
presumed to raise the veil that covers me.'"</p>

<p>"Your quotation is apt, doctor," resumed Edric,
"for both relate to Nature. Indeed, Nature
appears to be the deity which the ancient Egyptians
worshipped, under all the various forms in
which she presents herself; and their strange and
animal deities were but reverenced as her symbols.
It was Nature whom they worshipped
as Isis; it was Nature that was typified
in the Pyramids; and the good taste of the
Egyptians made them prefer the simple, the
majestic, and the sublime, in those works which
they destined to last for ages. Formerly, from
the immensity of their population, and high
state of their civilization, labour was so divided,
and consequently so lightened, that multitudes
were enabled to exist exempt from toil. These
persons, devoting themselves to study, became
<i>initiati</i>; and either enrolled themselves amongst
the priesthood, or passed their lives in making
themselves masters of the most abstract sciences.
The consequences were natural: they followed
up the ramifications of creation to their original
source; they penetrated into the most profound
secrets of Nature, and traced all her wonders
in her works: aware, however, of the
taste of the vulgar for any thing above their
comprehension, and of the natural craving of the
human mind for mystery, they wrapped the discoveries
they had made in a deep and impenetrable
veil, and concealed awful and sublime
significations under the meanest and most disgusting
images."</p>

<p>"You are right," said the doctor, "in your
observations upon the religion of the ancient
Egyptians; but it does not appear to me that
the Pyramids were erected by them."</p>

<p>"What! I suppose you draw your conclusions
from the want of hieroglyphics in their principal
chambers; and, from what Herodotus says
of their having been erected by a shepherd,
you think they were the work of the Pallic
race."</p>

<p>"No; though I allow much may be said in
favour of that hypothesis, particularly as Herodotus
says the kings under whom they were
erected, ordered all the Egyptian temples to
be closed, which we know the shepherd or
Pallic sovereign did; but I cannot imagine
that an ignorant, Goth-like race of shepherds,
men accustomed to live in tents or in the open
air, and possessing no talents but for war, were
capable of constructing such immense piles.
No, no, the Pyramids required gigantic conceptions,
highly cultivated minds, and unwearied
perseverance; all qualities quite incompatible
with a warlike wandering race. No, I do not
think the Palli were capable of imagining such
structures, much less of constructing them. I
think they were the work of evil spirits."</p>

<p>"Evil spirits!" exclaimed Edric.</p>

<p>"Yes," returned the doctor. "We are told
that the evil spirits, after their expulsion from
Paradise, were under the command of the Sultan,
or Soliman Giam ben Giam, as he is called
by Arabic writers, but who is supposed to have
been the same as Cheops; and that he employed
them in this vast work."</p>

<p>"I do not know by what analysis etymologists
can draw the name of Cheops from that
of Giam ben Giam: but, supposing the fact to
be correct, that they designated the same person,
I think it only proves more strongly my
hypothesis; for the Palli came from Mount
Caucasus, where the evil spirits were said to
have been enchained, and if Cheops was a Pallic
king, it is possible the Egyptians might poetically
call their conquerors evil spirits."</p>

<p>"That is a good idea, Edric; though I do
not think it by any means certain that Cheops
was a Pallic king. However, we shall soon be
able to see his tomb, and judge for ourselves;
for we have now approached near enough to the
Pyramids to descend. Foh! what a smoke and
what a noise! It is enough to rouse the mummies
from their slumbers before their appointed
time, and without the aid of galvanism. Have
you opened the valves, Edric? Oh yes! I
perceive we are getting lower; we will not
lose a moment before we visit the Pyramid.
But what a crowd of brutes are assembled to
witness our arrival! they stare as though they
had never seen a balloon before. Egypt is certainly
a fine country, but the inhabitants are a
century behind us in civilization."</p>

<p>An immense crowd had gathered together to
witness the descent of our travellers, and they
did indeed stand staring, lost in stupid astonishment
at the strange sight that presented itself;
for though the Egyptian people had occasionally
seen balloons, they had never before beheld
one made of Indian rubber. The odd
figure of the doctor, too, amused them exceedingly,
as he sat wrapt up in the most dignified
manner in an asbestos cloak, his bob-wig pushed
a little on one side from the heat of the weather
and the warmth of his argument; his round,
red, oily face attempting to look solemn, and his
little, fat, punchy figure trying to assume an
air of majesty. The Egyptians were amazingly
struck with this apparition, and being,
like most colonists, somewhat conceited and not
very ceremonious in their manners, they looked
at him a few minutes in silence, and then burst
into immoderate fits of laughter.</p>

<p>The doctor was exceedingly indignant at this
rude reception, and rising, shook his fist at
them in anger; a man&#339;uvre, however, that only
redoubled the mirth of the unpolished Egyptians,
whose peals of laughter now became so
tremendous, that they actually shook the skies,
and occasioned a most unpleasant vibration in
the balloon. Edric, who was almost as much
annoyed as the doctor, had yet sufficient self-command
to continue calmly making preparations
for his descent; and without taking the
least notice of the crowd below, he screwed the
top upon the propelling vapour-bottle; he let the
inflammable air escape from the balloon, which
rapidly collapsed as they approached the earth,
and throwing out their patent spring grappling-irons,
they caught one of the lower stones
of the Great Pyramid, and in a few moments
the car in which our travellers were sitting,
was safely moored at a convenient distance
from the earth for them to alight. Edric
now unloosed the descending ladder, and reverentially
assisted the doctor, who was encumbered
with his long cloak, to reach terra
firma in safety,&mdash;amidst the bustle and exclamations
of the crowd, who thronged round
them expressing their wonder and astonishment
audibly, in broad English.</p>

<p>"Where the deuce did this spring from?"
cried one; "the car would load a waggon!"</p>

<p>"And what is gone with the balloon?" said
another; "it is clean vanished!"</p>

<p>"Well, I never saw such a thing in all my
life before!" exclaimed a third; "I think they
must be come from the moon."</p>

<p>"Hush! hush," cried an old gentleman
bustling amongst them, who seemed as one
having authority. "What's the matter? what's
the matter?"</p>

<p>"We are strangers, Sir," said Edric, advancing
and addressing him: "we come
here to see the wonders of your country, and
we wish to explore the Pyramids&mdash;but the reception
we have met with&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Say no more&mdash;say no more!" interrupted
the worthy justice, for such he was. "Get
about your business, you rapscallions, or I'll
read the riot act! Here, Gregory, call out the
posse comitatus, and set a guard of constables
to keep watch over these gentlemen's balloon,
whilst they go to explore the Pyramids. Eh!
but where is the balloon? I don't see it. I
hope neither of the gentlemen has put it in
his pocket!" laughing at his own wit.</p>

<p>"No, Sir," returned Edric, smiling, "though
it is a feat which might easily be accomplished,
for that is our balloon," pointing to the caoutchouc
bottle, now shrunk to its original dimensions.</p>

<p>"Very strange, that!" said the Justice;
"Very curious, very curious indeed! Well,
gentlemen, if you wish to proceed immediately,
you'll want a guide of course. These cottages
at the foot of the Pyramids are all inhabited
by guides, who get their living by showing
the sights. They are sad rogues, most of
them, but I can recommend you to one who is
a very honest man. Here, Samuel," continued
he, knocking against a small door, "Samuel!
I say!"</p>

<p>Samuel made his appearance, in the guise of
a tall, raw-boned, stupid-looking fellow, with a
pair of immensely broad stooping shoulders,
which looked as though he could have relieved
Atlas occasionally of his burthen, without much
trouble to himself. Coming forth from his hut
in an awkward shambling pace, he scratched his
head, and demanded what his honour pleased
to want.</p>

<p>"You must show these gentlemen the Pyramids,"
said the Justice.</p>

<p>"Ay, that I will with pleasure!" returned
Samuel; "I've got my living by showing them
these fifty years, man and boy; and I know
every crink and cranny of them, though I'm
old now and somewhat lame. So walk this way,
gentlemen."</p>

<p>"We are very much obliged to you, Sir,"
said the doctor, bowing to the Justice; who was
in fact one of those good-natured, busy, bustling
men, who are always better pleased to transact
any other person's business than their own;
and are never so happy as when a new arrival
gives them an opportunity of showing off their
consequence. Indeed, there is a pleasure in
showing wonders to a stranger, that only those
who have little else to occupy their minds can
properly estimate: a man of this kind feels his
self-love gratified by the superiority his local
knowledge gives him over a stranger; and, as it
is, perhaps, the only chance he ever can have of
showing superiority, they must be unreasonable
who blame him for making the most of it. Justice
Freemantle was accordingly exceedingly
delighted with travellers who seemed disposed
to submit implicitly to his dictation; and he
returned a most gracious reply to the doctor's
thanks.</p>

<p>"Don't mention it! don't mention it, my dear
Sir!" said he; "I am never so happy as when I
can make myself useful. Is there any thing else
I can do for you? You may command me, I
assure you; and you may depend upon it, no
injury shall be done to your luggage, whilst you
are away."</p>

<p>"What a very civil, obliging, good-natured
old gentleman," said the doctor, as they walked
towards the entrance of the Pyramids;
"I declare he almost reconciles me to the country,
though, I own, I thought at first the people
were the greatest brutes I had ever met
with."</p>

<p>"Which Pyramid does your honour wish to
see?" asked the guide.</p>

<p>"That which contains the tomb of Cheops,
man!" cried the doctor solemnly; who, encumbered
with his long cloak, and loaded with his
walking-stick and galvanic battery, had some
difficulty in getting on.</p>

<p>"Won't your honour let me carry that pole
and that bag?" said the man; "you'd get on a
surprising deal better, if you would."</p>

<p>"Avaunt, wretch!" exclaimed the doctor,
"nor offer to touch with thy profane fingers the
immortal instruments of science."</p>

<p>The man stared, but fell back, and the whole
party walked on in perfect silence.</p>

<p>In the mean time, Edric had walked on before
his companions, completely lost in meditation. A
crowd of conflicting thoughts rushed through his
mind; and now, when he found himself at the
very goal of his wishes, the daring nature of the
purpose he had so long entertained, seemed to
strike him for the first time, and he trembled at
the consequences that might attend the completion
of his desires. With his arms folded
on his breast, he stood gazing on the Pyramids,
whilst his ideas wandered uncontrolled
through the boundless regions of space: "And
what am I," thought he, "weak, feeble worm
that I am! who dare seek to penetrate into the
awful secrets of my Creator? Why should I
wish to restore animation to a body now resting
in the quiet of the tomb? What right have I
to renew the struggles, the pains, the cares, and
the anxieties of mortal life? How can I tell
the fearful effects that may be produced by the
gratification of my unearthly longing? May I
not revive a creature whose wickedness may involve
mankind in misery? And what if my
experiment should fail, and if the moment when
I expect my rash wishes to be accomplished,
the hand of Almighty vengeance should strike
me to the earth, and heap molten fire on my
brain to punish my presumption!"</p>

<p>The sound of human voices, as the doctor and
the guide approached, grated harshly on
the nerves of Edric, already overstrained by
the awful nature of the thoughts in which he
had been indulging, and he turned away involuntarily,
to escape the interruption he dreaded,
quite forgetting for the moment from whom the
sounds most probably proceeded.</p>

<p>"Lord have mercy on us!" said the guide;
"I declare that gentleman looks as if he were
beside himself! and see there! if he hasn't
walked right by the entrance to the Pyramid
without seeing it! Sir! Sir!" halloed he.</p>

<p>Excessively annoyed, but recalled to his recollection
by these shouts, Edric returned.</p>

<p>"These Pyramids are wonderful piles," said
the doctor, as he stumbled forward to meet
him. "I really had no adequate conception
of the enormity of their size. They did not
even look half so large at a distance as they
do now."</p>

<p>"Immense masses seldom do," replied
Edric; compelling himself with difficulty to
speak.</p>

<p>"True," returned the doctor; "the simplicity
and uniformity of their figures deceive the
eyes, and it is only when we approach them
that we feel their stupendous magnitude and
our own insignificance!"</p>

<p>"They give an amazing idea of the grandeur
of the ancient kings of Egypt," said Edric,
without exactly knowing what he was saying.
"Their palaces must have been superb, if they
had such mausoleums."</p>

<p>"How absurdly you reason, Edric!" replied
the doctor peevishly; for, being annoyed with
his burthens and his cloak, he was not in a humour
to bear contradiction. "I thought we
had settled that question before. In the first
place, I think it very doubtful whether the
Egyptians had any thing to do with the building
of these monuments; and if they had, I
think they were meant for temples, not mausoleums;
and in the next place, even if they
were intended for tombs, their greatness affords
no argument for the splendour of the surrounding
palaces; as the Egyptians were celebrated
for the superiority of their burying-places,
and for the immense sums they expended
upon them. Indeed, you know, ancient writers
say they went so far as to call the houses of the
living only inns, whilst they considered tombs
as everlasting habitations;&mdash;a circumstance, by
the way, that strongly corroborates my hypothesis,
at least as far as their opinions go; as
it seems to imply that both soul and body were
designed to remain there."</p>

<p>They had now entered the Pyramid, and
were proceeding with infinite difficulty along a
low, dark, narrow passage: "Observe, Edric,"
said the doctor, "how the difficulty and obscurity
of these winding passages confirm my
opinion: you know, the religion of the ancient
Egyptians, like that of the ancient Hindoos,
was one of penances and personal privations;
and, granting that to be the case, what can be
more simple, than that the passages the <i>initiati</i>
had to traverse before they reached the adytum,
should be painful and difficult of access. Besides
this, as you know, the bones of a bull,
no doubt those of the god Apis, were found
in a sarcophagus in the second Pyramid, it
seems probable that it was sacred to his worship:
and its vicinity to the Nile, which was
indispensable to the temples of Apis, as, when
it was time for him to die, he was drowned in
its waters, confirms the fact. Indeed, I am only
surprised that any human being, possessing a
grain of common sense, can entertain a single
doubt upon the subject."</p>

<p>"How do you account for the tomb we are
about to visit being placed in the Pyramid, if
you think they were only designed for a temple?"
asked Edric.</p>

<p>"The question is futile," said the doctor.
"A strange fancy prevailed in former times
that burying the dead in consecrated places,
particularly in temples intended for divine
worship, would scare away the evil spirits,
and the practice actually prevailed in England
even as lately as the nineteenth or twentieth
century. Indeed, it was not till after
the country had been almost depopulated by
the dreadfully infectious disease that prevailed
about two hundred years ago, that a
law was passed to prevent the interment of
the dead in London, and that those previously
buried in and near the churches there,
were exhumed and placed in cemeteries beyond
the walls."</p>

<p>Edric did not reply, for in fact his ideas were
so absorbed by the solemn object before him,
that it was painful for him to speak, and the
doctor's ill-timed reasoning created such an irritation
of his nerves, that he found it required
the utmost exertion of his self-command to
endure it patiently. The passage they were
traversing, now became higher and wider,
shelving off occasionally into chambers or recesses
on each side, till they approached a kind
of vestibule, in the centre of which, yawned
a deep, dark, gloomy-looking cavity, like a
well.</p>

<p>"We must descend that shaft," said the
guide, "and that will lead us to the tomb of
King Cheops; but as the road is dark, and
rather dangerous, we had better, each of us,
take a torch."</p>

<p>As he spoke, he drew some torches from a
niche where they were deposited, and began to
illuminate them from his own. The red glare
of the torches flashed fearfully on the massive
wails of the Pyramid, throwing part of
their enormous masses into deep shadow, as
they rose in solemn and sublime dignity around,
and seemed frowning upon the presumptuous
mortals that had dared to invade their recesses,
whilst the deep pit beneath their feet
seemed to yawn wide to engulf them in its
abyss. Edric's heart beat thick: it throbbed
till he even fancied its pulsations audible; and
a strange, mysterious thrilling of anxiety, mingled
with a wild, undefinable delight, ran
through his frame. A few short hours, and his
wishes would be gratified, or set at rest for
ever. The doctor and the guide had already
begun to descend, and their figures seemed
changed and unearthly as the gleams of the
torches fell upon them. Edric gazed for a
moment, and then followed with feelings worked
up almost to frenzy by the over-excitement
of his nerves; whilst the hollow sound that re-echoed
from the walls, as they struck against
them in their descent, thrilled through his
whole frame.</p>

<p>No one spoke; and after proceeding for some
time along the narrow path, or rather ledge,
formed on the sides of the cavity, which gradually
shelved downwards, the guide suddenly
stopped, and touching a secret spring, a solid
block of granite slowly detached itself from the
wall, and, rising majestically like the portcullis
of an ancient fortress, showed the entrance to a
dark and dreary cave. The guide advanced,
followed by our travellers, into a gloomy
vaulted apartment, where long vistas of ponderous
arches stretched on every side, till
their termination was lost in darkness, and
gave a feeling of immensity and obscurity to
the scene.</p>

<p>"I will wait here," said the guide; "and
here, if you please, you had better leave your
torches. That avenue will lead you to the
tomb."</p>

<p>The travellers obeyed; and the guide, placing
himself in a recess in the wall, extinguished
all the torches except one, which he
shrouded so as to leave the travellers in total
darkness. Nothing could be now more terrific
than their situation: immured in the recesses
of the tomb, involved in darkness, and their
bosoms throbbing with hopes that they scarcely
dared avow even to themselves, with faltering
steps they proceeded slowly along the path
the guide had pointed out, shuddering even
at the hollow echo of their own footsteps,
which alone broke the solemn silence that
reigned throughout these fearful regions of
terror and the tomb.</p>

<p>Suddenly, a vivid light flashed upon them,
and, as they advanced, they found it proceeded
from torches placed in the hands of two colossal
figures, who, placed in a sitting posture,
seemed guarding an enormous portal, surmounted
by the image of a fox, the constant guardian
of an Egyptian tomb. The immense dimensions
and air of grandeur and repose about these
colossi had something in it very imposing; and
our travellers felt a sensation of awe creep over
them as they gazed upon their calm unmoved
features, so strikingly emblematic of that immutable
nature which they were doubtless placed
there to typify.</p>

<p>It was with feelings of indescribable solemnity,
that the doctor and Edric passed through
this majestic portal, and found themselves in an
apartment gloomily illumined by the light shed
faintly from an inner chamber, through ponderous
brazen gates beautifully wrought. The
light thus feebly emitted, showed that the room
in which they stood, was dedicated to Typhon,
the evil spirit, as his fierce and savage types
covered the walls; and images of his symbols,
the crocodile and the dragon, placed beneath the
shadow of the brazen gates, and dimly seen by
the imperfect light, seemed starting into life,
and grimly to forbid the farther advance of
the intruders. Our travellers shuddered, and
opening with trembling hand the ponderous
gates, they entered <i>the tomb of Cheops</i>.</p>

<p>In the centre of the chamber, stood a superb,
highly ornamented sarcophagus of alabaster,
beautifully wrought; over this hung a lamp
of wondrous workmanship, supplied by a potent
mixture, so as to burn for ages unconsumed;
thus awfully lighting up with perpetual
flame the solemn mansions of the dead, and
typifying life eternal even in the silent tomb.
Around the room, on marble benches, were arranged
mummies simply dried, apparently those
of slaves; and close to the sarcophagus was
placed one contained in a case, which the doctor
approached to examine. This was supposed
to be that of Sores, the confidant and
prime-minister of Cheops. The chest that
enclosed the body was splendidly ornamented
with embossed gilt leather, whilst the parts
not otherwise covered were stained with red
and green curiously blended, and of a vivid
brightness.</p>

<p>The mighty Phtah, the Jupiter of the Egyptians,
spread its widely extended wings over
the head, grasping in his monstrous claws a
ring, the emblem of eternity; whilst below, the
vulture form of Rhea proclaimed the deceased
a votary of that powerful deity; and on the sides
were innumerable hieroglyphics. The doctor
removed the lid, and shuddered as the crimson
tinge of the everlasting lamp fell upon the
hideous and distorted features thus suddenly
exhibited to view. This sepulchral light, indeed,
added unspeakable horror to the scene,
and its peculiar glare threw such a wild and
demoniac expression on the dark lines and
ghastly lineaments of the mummies, that even
the doctor felt his spirits depressed, and a supernatural
dread creep over his mind as he
gazed upon them.</p>

<p>In the mean time, Edric had stood gazing
upon the sarcophagus of Cheops, the sides of
which were beautifully sculptured with groups
of figures, which, from the peculiar light thrown
upon them, seemed to possess all the force and
reality of life. On one side was represented
an armed and youthful warrior bearing off in
his arms a beautiful female, on whom he gazed
with the most passionate fondness. He was
pursued by a crowd of people and soldiers, who
seemed rending the air with vehement exclamations
against his violence, and endeavouring in
vain to arrest his progress; whilst in the background
appeared an old man, who was tearing
his hair and wringing his hands in ineffectual
rage against the ravisher.</p>

<p>The other side, presented the same old man
wrestling with the youthful warrior, who had
just overpowered and stabbed him; the helpless
victim raising his withered hands and failing
eyes to Heaven as he fell, as though to implore
vengeance upon his murderer, whilst the crimson
current was fast ebbing from his bosom. The
dying look and agony of the old man were forcibly
depicted, whilst upon the features of the
youthful warrior glowed the fury of a demon.</p>

<p>The sarcophagus was supported by the lion,
emblem of royalty, the symbol of the solar
god Horus; and above it sat the majestic hawk
of Osiris, gazing upwards, and unmindful of
the subtle crocodile of Typhon, that, crouching
under its feet, was just about to seize its breast
in its enormous jaws. Neither of the travellers
had as yet spoken, for it seemed like sacrilege
to disturb the awful stillness that prevailed even
by a whisper. Indeed, the solemn aspect of the
chamber thrilled through every nerve, and they
moved slowly, gliding along with noiseless steps
as though they feared prematurely to break the
slumbers of the mighty dead it contained.
They gazed, however, with deep but undefinable
interest upon the sculptured mysteries of
the tomb of Cheops, vainly endeavouring to
decipher their meaning; whilst, as they found
their efforts useless, a secret voice seemed to
whisper in their bosoms&mdash;"And shall finite
creatures like these, who cannot even explain
the signification of objects presented before
their eyes, presume to dive into the mysteries
of their Creator's will? Learn wisdom by this
omen, nor seek again to explore secrets above
your comprehension! Retire whilst it is yet
time; soon it will be too late!"</p>

<p>Edric started at his own thoughts, as the
fearful warning, "soon it will be too late," rang
in his ears; and a fearful presentiment of evil
weighed heavily upon his soul. He turned to
look upon the doctor, but he had already seized
the lid of the sarcophagus, and, with a daring
hand, removed it from its place, displaying in
the fearful light the royal form that lay beneath.
For a moment, both Edric and the doctor
paused, not daring to survey it; and when they
did, they both uttered an involuntary cry of
astonishment, as the stern, but handsome, features
of the mummy met their eyes, for both
instantly recognized the sculptured warrior in
his traits. Yes, it was indeed the same, but
the fierce expression of fiery and ungoverned
passions depicted upon the countenance of the
marble figure, had settled down to a calm, vindictive,
and concentrated hatred upon that of
its mummy prototype in the tomb.</p>

<p>Awful, indeed, was the gloom that sat upon
that brow, and bitter the sardonic smile that
curled those haughty lips. All was perfect as
though life still animated the form before them,
and it had only reclined there to seek a short
repose. The dark eyebrows, the thick raven
hair which hung upon the forehead, and the
snow-white teeth seen through the half open
lips, forbade the idea of death; whilst the
fiend-like expression of the features made Edric
shudder, as he recollected the purpose that
brought him to the tomb, and he trembled at
the thought of awakening such a fearful being
from the torpor of the grave to all the renewed
energies of life.</p>

<p>"Let us go," whispered the doctor to his
pupil, in a low, deep, and unearthly tone, fearfully
different from his usually cheerful voice.
Edric started at the sound, for it seemed the
last sad warning of his better genius, before he
abandoned her for ever. The die, however,
was cast, and it was too late to recede. Indeed,
Edric felt worked up to frenzy by the overwrought
feelings of the moment. He seized
the machine, and resolutely advanced towards
the sarcophagus, whilst the doctor gazed upon
him with a horror that deprived him of either
speech or motion.</p>

<p>Innumerable folds of red and white linen,
disposed alternately, swathed the gigantic but
well-proportioned limbs of the royal mummy;
and upon his breast lay a piece of metal, shining
like silver, and stamped with the figure of a
winged globe. Edric attempted to remove this,
but recoiled with horror, when he found it bend
beneath his fingers with an unnatural softness;
whilst, as the flickering light of the lamp fell
upon the face of the mummy, he fancied its
stern features relaxed into a ghastly laugh of
scornful mockery. Worked up to desperation,
he applied the wires of the battery and put the
apparatus in motion, whilst a demoniac laugh
of derision appeared to ring in his ears, and the
surrounding mummies seemed starting from
their places and dancing in unearthly merriment.
Thunder now roared in tremendous
peals through the Pyramids, shaking their
enormous masses to the foundation, and vivid
flashes of light darted round in quick succession.
Edric stood aghast amidst this fearful
convulsion of nature. A horrid creeping seemed
to run through every vein, every nerve feeling
as though drawn from its extremity, and
wrapped in icy chillness round his heart. Still,
he stood immoveable, and gazing intently on
the mummy, whose eyes had opened with the
shock, and were now fixed on those of Edric,
shining with supernatural lustre. In vain Edric
attempted to rouse himself;&mdash;in vain to turn
away from that withering glance. The mummy's
eyes still pursued him with their ghastly
brightness; they seemed to possess the fabled
fascination of those of the rattle-snake, and
though he shrunk from their gaze, they still
glared horribly upon him. Edric's senses
swam, yet he could not move from the
spot; he remained fixed, chained, and immoveable,
his eyes still riveted upon the
mummy, and every thought absorbed in horror.
Another fearful peal of thunder now
rolled in lengthened vibrations above his head,
and the mummy rose slowly, his eyes still fixed
upon those of Edric, from his marble tomb.
The thunder pealed louder and louder. Yells
and groans seemed mingled with its roar;&mdash;the
sepulchral lamp flared with redoubled
fierceness, flashing its rays around in quick
succession, and with vivid brightness; whilst
by its horrid and uncertain glare, Edric saw
the mummy stretch out its withered hand as
though to seize him. He saw it rise gradually&mdash;he
heard the dry, bony fingers rattle as it
drew them forth&mdash;he felt its tremendous gripe&mdash;human
nature could bear no more&mdash;his senses
were rapidly deserting him; he felt, however,
the fixed stedfast eyes of Cheops still glowing
upon his failing orbs, as the lamp gave a
sudden flash, and then all was darkness! The
brazen gates now shut with a fearful clang, and
Edric, uttering a shriek of horror, fell senseless
upon the ground; whilst his shrill cry of anguish
rang wildly through the marble vaults,
till its re-echoes seemed like the yell of demons
joining in fearful mockery.</p>

<p>How long he lay in this state he knew not;
but when he reopened his eyes, for the moment,
he fancied all that had passed a dream. As his
senses returned, however, he recollected where
he was, and shuddered to find himself yet in
that place of horrors. All now was dark, except
a faint gleam that shone feebly through the half-open
gates; these ponderous portals slowly unclosed,
and the form of a man, wrapped in a
large cloak, and bearing a torch, entered, peering
around as it advanced, as though half afraid
to proceed. Edric's feelings were too highly
wrought to bear any fresh horrors, and he
shrieked in agony as the figure approached.
The sound of his voice subdued the terrors of
the intruder, and the doctor, for it was he,
shouted with joy, as he rushed forward to embrace
him.</p>

<p>"Edric! Edric! thank God he is alive!"
exclaimed he. "Edric! my beloved Edric! for
God's sake, let us leave this den of horrors!
come, come!"</p>

<p>Reassured by his tutor's voice, Edric arose,
and taking one hasty, shuddering glance around
as the light gleamed on the sarcophagus, he
hurried out of the tomb. Neither he nor the
doctor spoke as they passed through the vestibule,
where the colossal figures still sat in awful
majesty; indeed, as their torches were extinguished,
their gigantic forms looked still more
terrific than before, from the wavering and indistinct
light thrown upon them. Edric shuddered
as he looked, and hurried on with hasty
strides to the place where they had left the
guide, whom they found kneeling in a corner,
hiding his face in his hands, and roaring
out, "O Lord, defend us! Heaven have mercy
upon us! Lord have mercy upon us! Heaven
have mercy upon us!"</p>

<p>"He has been in that state for more than an
hour," said the doctor mournfully; "for, after
I came to myself again, I tried to rouse him,
but all to no purpose."</p>

<p>"Then you also fainted?" said Edric, with
difficulty compelling himself to speak.</p>

<p>"Why," resumed the doctor with some hesitation,
"I don't know that you can exactly call
it fainting; but the fact was, that when I saw
you touch the plate upon the mummy's breast,
and start back, looking so horribly frightened,
I&mdash;I thought I had better call for assistance;
so as I ran for that purpose, somehow or other,
I fell down, and lay insensible I don't know how
long. When I came to myself, however, I tried
to rouse the guide, and when I found I could
not, I came to seek you; but now that we are
both recovered, I really don't know what is to
become of us; for this fellow will never be able
to show us the way out, and I'm sure I don't
know the road."</p>

<p>"Let us try to find it, at any rate," said Edric
faintly.</p>

<p>"Oh, for God's sake, take me too!" screamed
the guide. "If you have any mercy, don't
leave me in this fearful place."</p>

<p>"Take the light then, and lead the way," said
Edric. The guide obeyed, shaking every limb,
and every now and then casting a terrified look
behind, whilst the quivering flame of the torch
betrayed the unsteadiness of the trembling hands
that bore it. In this manner they proceeded,
starting at every sound, and frightened even at
their own shadows, without daring to stop till
they reached the plain.</p>

<p>"Thank God!" cried the doctor, the moment
they stepped out of the Pyramid; looking
round him, gasping for breath, and inhaling the
fresh air with rapture.</p>

<p>"Thank God!" reiterated Edric and the
guide, as they walked rapidly towards the
place where they had left their balloon.
When arrived there, however, they looked
for it in vain; and fancying themselves under
the influence of a delusion, they rubbed their
eyes, and again looked, but without success.</p>

<p>"Dear me, it is very strange!" said the doctor;
"this is certainly the place, and yet,
where can it be?"</p>

<p>"Where, indeed!" repeated Edric; "horrors
and unaccountable incidents environ us at every
step; I am not naturally timid, yet&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ah!" screamed the doctor, as he tumbled
over a man lying with his face upon the
ground; "Oh!" groaned he, as Edric and the
guide with difficulty raised him; "would to
Heaven I were safe at home again in my own
comfortable little study, indulging on pleasing
anticipations of that which I find is any thing
in the world but pleasing in reality."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></h3>


<p>We left Dr. Entwerfen in the last chapter
uttering a very moral, if not a very new, exclamation
on the vanity of human expectations;
which had scarcely escaped from his lips, ere
cruel Fate, resolving not to be accused in vain,
supplied him with yet more abundant cause for
lamentation. We have before mentioned, that
the doctor had stumbled as he quitted the Pyramids,
and that his friends raised him from the
ground; but what was his consternation and
dismay, when, on looking round to thank them,
he found he was surrounded by armed men,
who commanded him in the royal name to surrender!
Sadly did the doctor turn his woeful
eyes upon Edric, but, alas! he was in the same
predicament as himself; and, in spite of their
entreaties, they were marched off to prison,
without being at all informed of what crime
they had committed.</p>

<p>Sadly passed the night, and gloomy dawned
the day upon the unfortunate travellers, whose
minds were harassed and bewildered by the
extraordinary success of their awful experiment,
and whose misery was infinitely increased
by the suspense they had to suffer,
both on account of their ignorance of the crime
of which they were accused, and its probable
punishment if they should be found guilty.
Soon after daybreak, however, a summons for
them arrived, and they were conducted as criminals
before the same magistrate who, the day
before, had treated them with such officious
kindness.</p>

<p>Very different, however, was the solemn
judge who, clothed in all the insignia of magisterial
dignity, now sate upon the bench, from
the easy, good-tempered gentleman of the Pyramids;
and the unlucky travellers saw, in an instant,
that they were not likely to experience
any favour from their previous acquaintance
with him. The court was thronged with people,
and the prisoners saw that they were regarded
with curiosity, mingled with horror and supernatural
fear. It is not agreeable to feel oneself an
object of disgust to any one; and though Edric
magnanimously and frequently repeated to himself
that it was quite indifferent to him what
such ignorant wretches as Egyptians thought of
him; yet, if he would have avowed the truth,
he would have been quite as well contented to
have found himself the object of their admiration
instead of their hatred; and he would have been
very glad to have been safely at home again;
whilst the doctor openly and loudly lamented
the much regretted comforts of his own dear
delightful study at Sir Ambrose's. Little time,
however, was allowed for reflection; for as soon
as the prisoners were placed at the bar their examination
commenced.</p>

<p>"So, gentlemen!" said the learned judge,
"you stand convicted&mdash;no, I mean accused, of
a most horrible, heinous, and sacrilegious offence&mdash;an
offence that makes our hair start with
horror from our heads, and every separate lock
rise up in vengeance against you." The justice
paused, that the prisoners might admire his eloquence;
but, alas! such was the absorbing nature
of self-love, that they were only thinking of
what was going to be done with them, and to
what this terrible exordium was likely to lead.
After a short pause, Edric, supposing they were
expected to speak, addressed the judge, and
begged to know of what crime they were accused.</p>

<p>"We are strangers," said he, "and gentlemen.
We were attracted to your country by an
account of the wonders it contained; we declared
our purposes openly; we have affected
no concealment; and we have done nothing we
need blush to avow&mdash;"</p>

<p>A confused murmur ran through the court
as he spoke, expressive of the utmost disgust
and abhorrence; Edric felt indignant, and he
looked round proudly as he added:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Yes, I repeat we have done nothing we
need blush to avow, and nothing derogatory
to our characters as Englishmen and gentlemen."</p>

<p>"Sorcerers! wizards! demons in disguise!"
cried the crowd. "Down with them! burn
them! guillotine them! destroy them!"</p>

<p>"Is this fair? is this generous?" asked
Edric. "If we have done wrong, let our crime
be proved, and we are ready to submit to any
punishment you may think proper to inflict;
but do not condemn us unheard. In England,
every man is deemed innocent until he be
proved guilty. You boast of having imported
and improved upon all the useful regulations
of the mother country, and cannot surely have
omitted her most glorious law. Let us then
have a fair trial, and God forbid that the course
of justice should be impeded."</p>

<p>"You talk well, Sir," said the judge; "but
it's of no use here. My chair, Sir, is made of
witch-elm, and the whole court is lined with
consecrated wood; so you may take your familiars
to another market, for here they will avail
you nothing."</p>

<p>"Good God!" exclaimed Edric, wringing
his hands, "what ignorance! what gross superstition!
And yet, in this man's power are
our lives!"</p>

<p>"Oh! oh!" said the judge, who saw his despair,
though he did not exactly know the cause;
"I have brought you to, have I? Yes, yes;
I tell you, no incantations will be of any avail
here; and so, clerk, call the witnesses&mdash;"</p>

<p>The first person examined was the man who
had been left in charge of the balloon, and
he deposed as follows:&mdash;"Why, Sir," said he,
scratching his head, as though he supposed
wisdom dwelt in his fingers, and that their
touch might give a little to his brain, "your
honour told me to call out the <i>posse comitatus</i>,
and set a guard of constables over the gentlemen's
whirligig; but I thought as how, seeing
it was but a queer-looking thing, and not likely
to tempt anybody to steal it, I might as well
save the gentlemen from throwing their money
away upon a parcel of idle fellows, and keep
watch over it myself."</p>

<p>"And so get the reward instead of them,"
observed the judge.</p>

<p>"Why, your honour," said the fellow, grinning,
"I thought they might give something
that might do <i>me</i> some good, but that it would
be nothing amongst so many."</p>

<p>"Very true!" remarked the judge; "Go on
Gregory."</p>

<p>"Well," continued Gregory, "as I was sitting
there, thinking of nothing at all, and somehow,
I believe, I had fallen into a bit of a doze,
I heard a queer sort of a buzzing, and I opened
my eyes, and there I saw the gentlemen's whirligig
buzzing and puffing like a steam-engine
on fire, and i' th' midst o' the smoke I'll take
my oath I saw the mummy of King Cheops as
plain as I see his worship there sitting in his
throne."</p>

<p>"Oh!" groaned the horror-struck crowd;
"Oh!" groaned the judge and jury.</p>

<p>"Yes," continued the man; "I'll take my
oath, if it was the last word I had to speak, that
I saw him there vomiting fire, and his big eyes
flaring like a fiery furnace."</p>

<p>"Oh!" groaned the judge, crowd, and jury,
a degree louder than before.</p>

<p>"And then," resumed Gregory, "something
went whiz, and off it all fled together like a flash
of lightning&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh!" shrieked the whole court, in a convulsion
of horror. Some of the fair sex in particular,
screamed and covered their faces, as
though they feared the next exploit of the redoubtable
magicians would be to blow up the
court, and send them all flying after the resuscitated
mummy.</p>

<p>"With your permission, Sir," said Edric,
as soon as the tumult had somewhat abated,
"this proves nothing against either my friend
or myself. We are, in fact, injured by it, and
we have a claim against you instead of your
being able to substantiate a charge against us.
We left our balloon, containing valuable articles,
and money to a considerable amount, in
your charge, or, at least, in the custody of a
man whom you recommended. When we
quitted the Pyramid, we, of course, inquired for
our balloon&mdash;it had vanished; and instead of
making us amends for our loss, you throw us
into prison and tell us a wild, extravagant story
of the disappearance of our property, which no
man in his senses can possibly believe."</p>

<p>Another confused murmur, though very different
in its character from the former, ran
through the court on the conclusion of this
speech; and the judge, if such an expression be
not profane when speaking of a representative
of justice, looked most excessively foolish.</p>

<p>"Had not your worship better call the other
witnesses?" whispered the clerk, pitying the
dilemma of his principal.</p>

<p>"True, true!" said the Lycurgus of Anglo-Egypt;
"your observation is premature, young
man; when the case has been proved against
you, it will be time enough for you to think of
your defence."</p>

<p>Edric bowed assent, and the examination continued.
The guide was the next witness.</p>

<p>"Well, Samuel," said the judge; "what do
you know about this matter?"</p>

<p>"Why, Sir," replied Samuel, "ye see, my
dame and I were sitting by the fire, and we'd
got a black pudding, as we was a going to
have for our dinners. And so says dame,
'I likes it cut in slices and fried,' and so says
I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hold, fellow!" cried the judge, with great
dignity. "Don't abuse the patience of the
Court. We have nothing to do with your dame
or the black pudding; it is quite irrelevant to
the matter now before us. Go on."</p>

<p>But Samuel could not go on; and, like his
predecessor in the witness-box, he only stood
still and scratched his head.</p>

<p>"Why don't you speak, fellow?" asked the
clerk.</p>

<p>"Because I doesn't know what to say," replied
Samuel.</p>

<p>"You must tell all you know about this
affair," pursued the clerk.</p>

<p>"But I doesn't know where to begin!" rejoined
the perplexed witness; "his worship
says it is not reverent."</p>

<p>"Begin with the Pyramid," said the judge;
"and, if you can, give a clear account of all
that happened after you left the old passage by
the moveable block in the wall that was last
discovered."</p>

<p>"Why I can't say there was any thing very
particular happened, as I know of, Sir," said
Samuel, "after that, till we got to the shaft,
and then we went down, Sir, you know, as we
always does, till we came to the tomb of King
Cheops; and then I turned the gentlemen in
by themselves, as we always does, for the 'fect,
as Parson Snorum calls it. And then I sits
me down i' the vault, to wait for 'em, and I'd
just rolled myself up, and was dozed asleep,
when I hears such a noise as if the Pyramids
were all coming tumbling about my ears. So
up I jumped and rubbed my eyes, for I did
not know very well where I was; and then I
saw something that seemed to strike the torches
out of the hands of the two great sitting figures,
and put them out; and then I saw a great tall
figure come gliding by me; and when he came
up to the light, I saw his great flaming eyes;
and then I fell upon my knees, and he laid
hold of my shoulder and griped it. Look, your
honour!" laying bare his shoulder as he spoke,
and showing the deeply indented marks of the
bony fingers of the Mummy. Again a groan
of horror and indignation ran through the
Court; and when another witness proved that
the sarcophagus of Cheops had been examined,
and was found empty, the judge seemed to
think it was a clear case, and called triumphantly
upon Edric for his defence.</p>

<p>"I do not see that what has been proved,"
said Edric, shuddering in spite of himself,
"can affect either my tutor or myself. These
people say that a mummy has revived, and,
quitting the Pyramid in which he had been so
long immured, has flown away with our balloon:
but, supposing the tale to be true, what
proof have you that we were at all implicated
in the business? We were in the Pyramid, it
is true; but so was also this man, whom you
have brought forward as a witness against us.
Supposing it was the intervention of some human
aid that roused the Mummy from its tomb&mdash;a
fact, by the way, by no means proved,
why may not he be the agent instead of us?
What is there to fix the charge against us?
Have we gained any thing by the adventure?
Have we not, on the contrary, been serious
losers by it? Where is our balloon, and the
valuable articles it contained? If we are
wizards, it must be confessed that we are very
foolish ones; for we have lost our property,
and thrown ourselves into prison, without reaping
the smallest possible advantage! And if
we have the power you seem to attribute to
us, why do we stay here to be questioned,
when we might so easily fly away in a flame
of fire, or turn you all to statues, and walk
quietly off without your being able to follow
us?"</p>

<p>Every one shuddered, and many turned pale
at this speech, seeming to fear that Edric was
about to put his suggestions into execution;
whilst the judge seemed posed, and in vast perplexity
as to what he had better determine;&mdash;and
the people were dreadfully afraid, lest they
might, after all, lose the edifying spectacle of
of an <i>auto-da-fé</i>, for which they had been so impatiently
longing.</p>

<p>Edric marked the hesitation of the judge,
and endeavoured to improve it to his own advantage.&mdash;"For
my part," continued he, "I
am a British subject, and as such, under the
protection of my own Court; my Sovereign has
a consul here, and to him I make my appeal.
I am neither ignoble, nor unknown in my own
country,&mdash;my name is Montagu, and I am brother
to the celebrated general of that family,&mdash;whose
victories, no doubt, have reached even
this remote province!"</p>

<p>"My dear Mr. Montagu!" said the judge,
"I really beg your pardon: why did you not
acquaint me sooner with your dignity? I dare
say there is no truth at all in the charge:&mdash;only
assure me upon your honour that you did not
touch the mummy, and that you know nothing
of what is become of it at present,
and I will instantly order you to be set at
liberty."</p>

<p>"I certainly do not know what is become of
it," replied Edric. "But&mdash;"</p>

<p>"No!" interrupted Dr. Entwerfen, coming
forward with the air of a determined martyr,
"I will not suffer such equivocation.&mdash;I
would rather perish at the stake, than disavow,
for a moment, my opinions, or betray the
sacred interests of science with which I feel I
am entrusted. No, Sir! my pupil cannot make
the public declaration you require. I know he
would not&mdash;and he cannot if he would;&mdash;on the
contrary, I avow the fact. We came here for the
express purpose of endeavouring to resuscitate
the mummy of Cheops, and I glory in the
proud thought that we have succeeded." (A
groan of horror.) "Yes, Sir, I do not hesitate to
avow openly, that the grand object of my life,
for several successive years, has been to detect
in what consisted the strange, inexplicable secret
of life. We live, Sir, we die: we are born,
and we are buried: we know that time, sickness,
or violence, may kill us; but who can say
in what the mysterious principle of life consists?
Various theories have been broached, with
which, no doubt, a gentleman of your intelligence
and extensive information is well acquainted;&mdash;and
life has been successively stated
to depend upon the heart, the brain, the circulation
of the blood, and the respiration of the
lungs. All, however, are fallacious; the heart
has been wounded, and the brain has been
removed, and yet the patient has lived, whilst
the operations of respiration and circulation
have been kept up for hours, in a body from
which the vital spirit had departed. Weighing
all these and divers other arguments in my
mind, it has struck me, and indeed I may say,
that after mature deliberation, I have confidently
arrived at the conclusion, that both the faculties
which we call life and soul depend entirely
upon the nervous system. Do not all
philosophers agree that we receive ideas merely
through the medium of the senses? And can
our senses be operated upon otherwise than
through the influence of the nerves? Ergo, the
nerves alone convey ideas and sensations to the
mind&mdash;or rather, the nerves alone are the mind.
Not a single instance, I believe, is known in
which life remained after the sensorium had
been destroyed, or even seriously injured. What
then can be more simple than to suppose life
resides there? Pursuing this idea, I have long
been convinced that where the nervous system
remained uninjured, and the appearance of
death was only occasioned by a suspension of
the operation of the animal functions, that life
might be restored, if, by the intervention of
any powerful agency, the nervous system could
be excited to re-action; and as this, of course,
could not be effected where any kind of decomposition
had taken place, it appeared to me that
a mummy was the only body upon which the
experiment could be tried with the least prospect
of success. From various circumstances,
however, it has never till now been in my power
to realize my wishes on this head; but for a
few weeks past, my pupil has entertained similar
longings to myself; and yesterday saw our
hopes accomplished. Yes; I flatter myself
there cannot now remain a shadow of doubt to
the world, that, in ordinary cases, before decomposition
has taken place, that resuscitation
is not only possible, but probable, and that dead
bodies may be easily restored to life."</p>

<p>The horror and consternation produced by
this extraordinary speech, amongst the Anglo-Egyptians
who heard it, far exceeded any human
powers of description. Their terror at what
they considered as the doctor's daring impiety, being
considerably augmented by their not understanding
above one-tenth part of what he said,&mdash;and
when he had finished, there was a dead
pause which no one dared to interrupt, till a
sudden gust of wind happening to blow open the
door of the justice's retiring-room, the terrified
crowd fell back aghast one upon another, pale
and trembling, as though they absolutely expected
his Infernal Majesty to appear before
them in <i>propriâ personâ</i>.</p>

<p>When tranquillity was in some degree restored,
the judge ordered the prisoners to be
reconducted to prison.</p>

<p>"After the dangerous and impious speech we
have just heard," said he, "it would be madness
to trust such suspected persons at large;
and yet, I would willingly take time to consider
the case, and to ascertain whether this young
man be indeed the person he represents himself;
as, I own, I should be sorry to inflict
the full penalty of the law upon the brother
of her Britannic Majesty's Commander-in-chief."</p>

<p>Remonstrance was useless, and the prisoners
were again conducted to their dungeon where
they were heavily chained, and left to ruminate
upon the calamities that had befallen them.
Far from agreeable were these meditations; for
Edric was too angry with the doctor's ill-timed
candour to be inclined to speak; and the doctor
was too much ashamed of the effect already
produced by his eloquence, to wish to make any
farther display of it. At length, as his eyes
became accustomed to the faint glimmering
light admitted into the dungeon, he perceived
the wall to which he was chained was covered
with hieroglyphics, and endeavoured to divert
his chagrin by examining them.</p>

<p>"I congratulate you, Sir," said Edric, when
he perceived this, feeling rather indignant at
his tutor's coolness&mdash;"I congratulate you most
sincerely upon your philosophy, and most earnestly
do I wish that I could imitate it."</p>

<p>"Ah, Edric!" returned the doctor, "all
men are not equally gifted."</p>

<p>"With either the art of making blunders, or
forgetting them," said Edric pointedly.</p>

<p>"These hieroglyphics are very curious," observed
the doctor, who had his own reasons for
not wishing to pursue the subject; "see how
beautifully the ancient Egyptians worked in
granite. The fine polish they contrived to give
this hard substance would be perfectly astonishing,
if we did not recollect that they always
edged their tools with emerald dust."</p>

<p>"Humph!" said Edric, in a tone which
seemed to imply "and what does it matter to
me if they did?" The doctor, however, was unabashed,
and continued: "You see, as usual,
the figure of the bull is frequently repeated
here. This wall is evidently built of stones
gathered from some ancient ruin. By the way,
Edric, I don't think I ever explained to you
why the ancient Egyptians chose a bull as one
of their deities, or, rather, as their principal
one. You know, that anciently the year began
in Taurus, though, by the precession of the
equinox, it has now advanced past Aries. Well,
as the ancient Egyptians found that the sun
began its career in Taurus, what could be more
natural than that they should identify a bull
with the vivifying principle? The same theory
may account for that legend of the Chaldeans,
which supposes the world to have been produced
by a bull's striking chaos with his horn&mdash;which
horn, by the way, was probably the origin of
the fable of Amalthea, or the Horn of Plenty."</p>

<p>Edric made no reply, and the doctor dreading
a pause, which might give his pupil an opportunity
of upbraiding him, went on:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Though the Egyptians had a number of
divinities, they clearly worshipped only two,
viz. the principles of good and evil. Osiris,
Isis, Cneph, Phath, Horus, and all their host
of inferior deities, were clearly types of the
first, and light and life were their essence;
whilst Typhon, Campsa, and the malignant
deities, exemplified the second, and their attributes
were invariably darkness and death."</p>

<p>"For Heaven's sake!" cried Edric, "say no
more upon the subject, for it is not in the power
of language to describe the horror I have at the
mere thought of any thing Egyptian. Let us
escape from this fearful country, and I most
sincerely hope nothing may ever happen to recall
even its recollection to my imagination."</p>

<p>"Such and so changeable are the desires of
human life!" said the doctor. "But a few short
weeks since, Egypt was the goal of your wishes,
and the prospect of re-animating a corpse&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh! do not mention it!" cried Edric,
shuddering. "Oh God! how justly am I punished,
by the very fulfilment of my unhallowed
hopes!&mdash;even now the fearful eyes of that hideous
Mummy seem to glare upon me; and even
now I feel the gripe of its horrid bony fingers
on my arm!"</p>

<p>"Oh yes, no doubt," exclaimed the doctor,
"he pinched hard. He was a king, and kings
should have strong arms, you know."</p>

<p>"For God's sake! do not jest upon such a
subject," returned Edric; "a subject so wild
and fearful, that I can still scarcely believe but
that all which has passed was a dream."</p>

<p>"If it be," said the doctor, "it is one from
which I freely avow I should be very happy to
awake, for I must confess this prison is not at
all to my taste."</p>

<p>"And yet, is it not your fault&mdash;?" began
Edric.</p>

<p>"Recrimination, Edric, is always folly," interrupted
the doctor, who did not now feel very
proud of the part he had acted before the magistrate,
nor very anxious to have it alluded to;&mdash;"and
instead of losing time in regretting
past errors, it is the part of a wise man to endeavour
to find means of remedying them, and
avoiding them in future."</p>

<p>"Agreed!" returned Edric; "and as I presume
you are now convinced your learned dissertation
on the probable seat of human life was,
to say the least, ill-timed, we will drop the subject.
But, even if we get out of prison, what
is to become of us? Our money and valuables
were all in the balloon; and here we are, in a
foreign country, entirely destitute."</p>

<p>"Not entirely, Edric&mdash;not entirely!" cried
the doctor, a glow of satisfaction spreading itself
again over his face; "no, no; I have
guarded against that; ah, what a thing it is to
have foresight! Well! some persons are certainly
singularly gifted in that line, and it is a happy
thing for you that you have somebody to think
for you. See here!" displaying the things as
he spoke; "here is a bed, bolster, and pillows,
ready for inflation; a portable bedstead, linen,
soap, pens, ink, paper, candles, fire, knives, forks,
spoons, and money; all snugly packed up in
my walking-stick!"</p>

<p>"Your supporter," returned Edric, smiling,
"as you used to call it; and as it now seems
likely to prove, in more senses than one."</p>

<p>"Yes, yes!" cried the doctor, "let us only
get out of prison, and all the rest will be
easy."</p>

<p>"But that only, doctor."</p>

<p>"Of that we must take time to consider."</p>

<p>"Well, it is some comfort that we are likely
to be allowed time enough, as my hint respecting
the British consul did not seem thrown away
upon the judge. Oh, doctor, if you had not
spoken!"</p>

<p>"Why, surely you would not have given
him the declaration he required?"</p>

<p>"There was no occasion. He neither wished
nor expected more than I had already said.
After what I had mentioned of my family, he
only wished a decent pretext for setting us at
liberty."</p>

<p>"At any rate," said the doctor, by way of
changing the subject, "you see my doctrine
is proved completely by the resuscitation of
the mummy, for it must have been perfectly restored
to life and consciousness, or it could not
have flown away with the balloon."</p>

<p>"For my part," returned Edric, "I can
scarcely believe what has occurred to be real:
there must be some deception. And yet, by
whom can a deception have been practised, and
for what purpose? In short, I am quite bewildered."</p>

<p>The doctor being much in the same condition,
could only sympathize with his pupil; and in
this state we must leave them, whilst we inquire
respecting the mysterious object of their speculations.</p>

<p>The mummy thus strangely recalled to life,
was indeed Cheops! and horrible were the sensations
that throbbed through every nerve as
returning consciousness brought with it all the
pangs of his former existence, and renewed circulation
thrilled through every vein. His first
impulse was to quit the tomb in which he had
been so long immured, and seek again the regions
of light and day. Instinct seemed to guide
him to this; for, as yet, a mist hung over his
faculties, and ideas thronged in painful confusion
through his mind, which he was incapable
of either arranging or analyzing.</p>

<p>When however he reached the plain, light
and air seemed to revive him and restore his
scattered senses; and gazing wildly around he
exclaimed, "Where am I? what place is this?
Methinks all seems wondrous, new, and strange!
Where is my father? And where! oh, where,
is my Arsinoë? Alas, alas!" continued he
wildly; "I had forgotten&mdash;I hoped it was a
dream, a fearful dream, for methinks I have
been long asleep. Was it, indeed, reality? Are
all, all gone? And was that hideous scene true?&mdash;those
horrors that still haunt my memory
like a ghastly vision? Speak! speak!" continued
he, his voice rising in thrilling energy as he
spoke&mdash;"speak! let me hear the sound of another's
voice, before my brain is lost in madness.
Have I entered Hades, or am I still on
earth?&mdash;yes, yes, it is still the earth, for there
the mighty Pyramid, I caused to be erected,
towers behind me. Yet where is Memphis?
where my forts and palaces? What a dark,
smoky mass of buildings now surrounds me!&mdash;Can
this be the once proud Queen of Cities?
Oh, no! I see no palaces, no temples&mdash;Memphis
is fallen. The mighty barrier that protected
her splendour from the waste of waters, must
have been swept away by the encroaching inroads
of the swelling Nile. But is this the
Nile?" continued he, looking wildly upon the
river; "sure I must be deceived. It is the
fatal river of the dead. No papyrine boats
glide smoothly on its surface; but strange, infernal
vessels, vomiting forth volumes of fire and
smoke. Holy Osiris, defend me! where am I?
where have I been? A misty veil seems thrown
upon the face of nature. Awake, awake!"
cried he, with a scream of agony; "set me
free; I did not mean to slay him!" Then
throwing himself violently upon the ground,
he lay for some moments, apparently insensible.
Then slowly rising, he looked at himself,
and a deep, unnatural shuddering convulsed his
whole frame. His sensations of identity became
confused, and he recoiled with horror
from himself: "These are the trappings of a
mummy!" murmured he in a hollow whisper.
"Am I then dead?" The next instant, however,
he broke into a wild laugh of derision:&mdash;"Poor,
feeble wretch!" cried he; "what do
I fear?&mdash;Need <i>I</i> tremble, in whose bosom
dwells everlasting fire? No&mdash;no! let me rather
rejoice. I cannot be more wretched; why then
should I dread a change? I should rather
welcome it with transport, and bravely dare
my fate."</p>

<p>At this moment the car of the balloon
caught his eye: "Ah! what is that?" cried
he; "I am summoned! 'Tis the boat of Hecate,
ready to ferry me across the Mærian Lake,
to learn my final doom. I come! I come! I
fear no judgment! My hell is here!" and,
striking his bosom, leaped into the car, and
stamped violently against its sides.</p>

<p>At this instant Gregory awoke; his terror
was not surprising. The dried, distorted features
of the Mummy looked yet more hideous
than before, when animated by human passions;
and his deep hollow voice, speaking in a language
he did not understand, fell heavily upon
his ear, like the groans of fiends. Gregory
tried to scream, but he could not utter a
sound. He attempted to fly, but his feet
seemed nailed to the spot on which he stood,
and he remained with his eyes fixed upon the
Mummy, gasping for breath, while a cold sweat
distilled from every pore. In the mean time,
Cheops had stumbled over the box containing the
apparatus for making inflammable air, and striking
it violently, had unintentionally set the machinery
in motion. The pipes, tubes, and bellows,
instantly began to work; and the Indian-rubber
bottle became gradually inflated, till it swelled
to an enormous magnitude, and fluttered in the
air like an imprisoned bird, beating itself against
the massive walls to which it was still attached.</p>

<p>"Still it goes not," cried Cheops, again stamping
impatiently. The quicksilver vapour bottle
had fallen beneath his feet, and it broke as he
trod upon it. The vapour burst from it with
inconceivable violence, and tearing the balloon
from its fastenings, sent it off through the air,
like an arrow darting from a bow.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h3>


<p>In the mean time, Sir Ambrose Montagu
had been presented to the Queen, and the evening
after his arrival in town he attended her
drawing-room. The splendour of the English
Court at this period defies description. The
walls of the room in which the Queen received
her guest, were literally one blaze of precious
stones, and these being disposed in the form of
bouquets, wreaths, and trophies, were so contrived
as to quiver with every movement.
These magnificent walls were relieved by a colonnade
of pillars of solid gold, around which, were
twined wreaths of jewels fixed also upon elastic
gold wires, so as to tremble every instant. The
throne of the Queen was formed of gold filigree
beautifully wrought, richly chased and superbly
ornamented, whilst behind it was an immense
plate of looking-glass, stretching the whole
length and height of the apartment, and giving
the whole the effect of a fairy palace. The
carpet spread upon the floor of this sumptuous
saloon was so exact an imitation of green moss,
with exquisitely beautiful groups of flowers
thrown carelessly upon it, that a heedless
spectator might have been completely deceived
by the delicacy of their shape and richness
of their colouring, and have stooped to
pick them up, supposing them to be real.
The suit of rooms appropriated to dancing
was equally splendid, and fitted up in the
same manner, save that the floors were painted
to imitate the effect of the carpet, and rows
of trees were placed on each side, hung with
lamps. This imitative grove was so exquisitely
managed, that the spectator could scarcely
believe it artificial; and the music for dancing
proceeded from its leaves, or from automaton
birds placed carelessly amongst its
branches.</p>

<p>The dresses of the Queen and her attendants
were worthy of the apartment they occupied.
Brocaded silks, cloth of gold, embroidered velvets,
gold and silver tissues, and gossamer nets made
of the spider's web, were mingled with precious
stones and superb plumes of feathers in a profusion
quite beyond description. The most beautiful
of the female habiliments, however, were robes
made of woven asbestos, which glittered in the
brilliant light like molten silver. The ladies were
all arrayed in loose trowsers, over which hung
drapery in graceful folds; and most of them carried
on their heads, streams of lighted gas forced
by capillary tubes into plumes, fleurs-de-lis, or
in short any form the wearer pleased; which <i>jets
de feu</i> had an uncommonly chaste and elegant
effect. The gentlemen were all clothed in the
Spanish style, with slashed sleeves, short cloaks,
and large hats, ornamented with immense plumes
of ostrich feathers, it being considered in those
days extremely vulgar to appear with the head
uncovered. It would, perhaps, have been difficult
to imagine more perfect models of male and
female beauty than those which now adorned
the Court of Queen Claudia, for the <i>beau ideal</i>
of the painter's fancy seemed realized, nay surpassed
by the noble living figures there collected.
The women were particularly lovely, and
as they stood gathered round their Queen, or
lightly threaded the mazes of the graceful
dance, dressed as above described, their brows
bound with circlets of precious stones, and their
glossy hair hanging in rich luxuriant ringlets
upon their ivory shoulders, they looked like a
group of Houris, or the nymphs of Circe, ready
with sparkling eyes and witching voices to lure
men to destruction.</p>

<p>Claudia was very handsome, and though her
countenance wanted expression, her noble figure
and majestic bearing well qualified her to play
her part as Queen amongst this bevy of beauties,
with becoming dignity. There is something in
the habit of command, when it has been long
enjoyed, that gives an imposing majesty to the
manner, which the parvenu great strive in vain
to imitate; and Claudia had this in perfection.
The consciousness of beauty, power, and high
birth swelled in her bosom; and even when she
wished to be affable, she was only condescending.</p>

<p>She now, however, received Sir Ambrose most
graciously; she gave him her snowy hand to kiss,
and addressed a few words of compliment to
him, which sank deep into his heart. It is
one of the privileges of greatness easily to
excite emotion; one word of commendation
from those above us, far outweighs all the
laboured flattery of our inferiors. Thus the
words of Claudia, and the warm praise she bestowed
on Edmund, gave the purest transport
to his father's heart; and affected him so
violently, that he would have fallen at her feet,
had he not been supported by a young man
who stood near him.</p>

<p>"You seem faint, Sir," said the youth;
"will you permit me to lead you to a seat."</p>

<p>"Thank you, thank you," cried Sir Ambrose,
gratefully accepting the proffered aid, and
leaning on his youthful supporter as they left
the presence. The stranger carefully placed
Sir Ambrose upon a sofa, under the harmonious
trees we have already mentioned; and as he
stood before him, asking if he should procure
him some refreshments, Sir Ambrose had full
leisure to survey his face and figure: both
were handsome in the extreme. The youth
seemed scarcely to have passed the age of boyhood,
and his well-proportioned form displayed
all the lightness and activity of youth; but wit
and good-humour laughed in his bright blue eyes,
whilst animated features and an enchanting
smile completed an <i>ensemble</i> which few bosoms
were frozen enough to resist. Sir Ambrose was
irresistibly pleased, and longed to know to
whom he was indebted for so much kindness.
But he felt too delicate to ask the question in
direct terms, and there was nothing in the
youth's exterior to mark decidedly to what rank
in life he might belong.</p>

<p>He was handsomely dressed, and his air and
manner appeared slightly foreign; though this
might be fancy, arising from Sir Ambrose's
ignorance of the manners and habits of the
Court. There also seemed something droll
about him, and the air with which he submitted
to Sir Ambrose's scrutiny was excessively
comic.</p>

<p>"Is there any thing I can do for you?" asked
he at length, when he thought the baronet's
curiosity had had time to satisfy itself.</p>

<p>"Nothing," replied Sir Ambrose; "but&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But&mdash;you would like to know who I am?"
said the stranger.</p>

<p>"I own," returned Sir Ambrose, blushing,
"I would fain know to whom I am so much
obliged."</p>

<p>"My name is Henry Seymour," replied the
youth. "I was born in Spain, of English parents.
I am an orphan and in want; and
have been introduced to the Queen, in hopes
of getting a place at Court, by one of her
Majesty's physicians, Dr. Coleman."</p>

<p>"I am quite ashamed," said Sir Ambrose,
"that my indiscreet curiosity&mdash;that is, that
you should have thought&mdash;I mean, that I
should have asked for&mdash;"</p>

<p>"In short," interrupted the youth, "you
think, perhaps, that I meant to call you rude
by giving such a long account of myself:
but I always do so in similar cases; it saves
trouble."</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose smiled. "You are a singular
youth," said he; "I should like to know you
better."</p>

<p>"And I," returned the stranger, "should
be proud to obtain the friendship of Sir Ambrose
Montagu, and shall always reckon the
day that introduced me to his notice, as one
of the happiest of my life."</p>

<p>A glow of pleasure spread over the animated
features of the youth as he spoke, and Sir
Ambrose fancied his accent sounded slightly
Irish: convinced, however, that he must be
mistaken, he did not remark it, but only exclaimed,
"You know me, then?"</p>

<p>Before the stranger had time to utter a reply,
the Duke of Cornwall, and the Princesses Rosabella
and Elvira approached, and prevented
him from speaking.</p>

<p>"How do you find yourself, my dear
friend?" said the duke; "they told us you
were ill."</p>

<p>"I have been slightly so," returned Sir Ambrose;
"and I believe I should have fainted,
and paid my respects to my Sovereign quite
orientally, if this gentleman had not saved
me."</p>

<p>"I am sure we are very much obliged to
you, Sir," said the duke, turning to the
youth.</p>

<p>"Indeed, we feel most grateful," said Elvira.</p>

<p>The stranger made a suitable reply, and
after a short conversation, in which Dr. Coleman
joined, that worthy gentleman having
been also drawn to the spot by the report of
Sir Ambrose's illness, he requested the favour
of Elvira's hand for the dance.</p>

<p>"That is a very nice young man," said the
duke, when he was gone to join the dancers:
"I admire him much."</p>

<p>"He deserves every thing you can say in
his favour," returned Dr. Coleman: "I have
known him long, and I love him as a son."</p>

<p>When Elvira retired to her chamber that
night, she sighed so often, and so deeply, that
Emma, who assisted at her toilet, could not
avoid remarking her uneasiness. "Are you ill,
my dear mistress?" asked she, in a tone of feeling;
"what else can have produced this sudden
change?"</p>

<p>"I am quite well," said Elvira, again
sighing.</p>

<p>"Why then do you sigh and look so
thoughtful?"</p>

<p>"I was thinking of Lord Edmund."</p>

<p>"Indeed! I did not think he had the
power to make you sigh. He has reason to
feel flattered."</p>

<p>"Oh, Emma! I wish he were like Henry
Seymour!"</p>

<p>"And who is Henry Seymour?" asked
Emma, smiling, and beginning to suspect that
she had been rather hasty in fancying Lord
Edmund had occasion to flatter himself on account
of the Princess's <i>tristesse</i>.</p>

<p>"One of the most fascinating of human beings,"
returned Elvira; "so gay, and yet so
tender. He is not, perhaps, so regularly handsome
as Edmund, but he has such expressive
features, and his soul gives such animation to
his countenance."</p>

<p>"Poor Edmund!" thought Emma: but as
she was too discreet to say so, Elvira was
not aware of the interpretation that might be
put on what she was saying; and she went
on, raving of the pleasures of the ball, till
she was fairly in bed.</p>

<p>The following day was appointed for the
triumphal entry of Lord Edmund, and the
greatest part of the night preceding it, was
passed by Sir Ambrose in the greatest agitation.
He could not sleep; he rose several
times from his bed, in excessive anxiety, to
listen for the repetition of noises which he fancied
he heard: once he opened his window&mdash;all
was still. His room looked into the garden
of Mr. Montagu, which, as we have already
mentioned, shelved down to the Thames, and
the calm moonlight slept peacefully upon the
tall, thick trees, and verdant lawn that spread
before him. The evening breeze felt cool and
refreshing; but Sir Ambrose sighed, and a
strange fear of something he could not wholly
define hung over him.</p>

<p>He again retired to bed, and at length sank
into a feverish and uneasy doze. At daybreak,
however, a thundering of cannon announced the
arrival of the important day. Sir Ambrose
started from his pillow at the first discharge,
and the solemn sound thrilled through every
nerve as it pealed along the sky. Scarcely had
its echoes died upon the ear, when another, and
another peal succeeded; and the heart of Sir
Ambrose throbbed in his bosom almost to suffocation,
as he sate, resting his head upon his
hands, and striving, though ineffectually, to
stop his ears from the solemn sound, which
seemed to absorb his every faculty, and
strike almost with the force of a blow upon
his nerves.</p>

<p>Whilst he was still in this position, Father
Morris entered the room.&mdash;"Come, come, Sir
Ambrose!" cried he, "are you not ready?
The Queen has sent for us, and the procession
is just ready to set off."&mdash;Sir Ambrose started:
he attempted to dress himself, but his trembling
hands refused to perform their office, and Father
Morris and Abelard were obliged to attire him,
and lead him down to join his friend, the duke,
who was waiting for him impatiently.</p>

<p>It has often been said that the anticipation
of pleasure is always greater than the reality:
this, however, was not the case in the present
instance, as the brilliancy of Lord Edmund's
triumph was far greater than even the imaginations
of the spectators had before dared to
conceive. The duke and Sir Ambrose, attended
by Father Morris, found the individuals
who were to compose the procession of the
Queen assembled in the extensive gardens belonging
to the superb palace of Somerset
House. These fine gardens, spreading their
verdant groves along the banks of the river,
adorned by all the charms of nature and art,
and enriched by some of the finest specimens
of sculpture in the world, were now crowded
with all the beauty and rank of England, who,
waiting for the arrival of their Sovereign,
formed an <i>ensemble</i> no other nation in the world
could hope to imitate.</p>

<p>In the centre walk, appeared the superb Arabian
charger of the Queen, led by his grooms,
and magnificently caparisoned. His bridle was
studded with precious stones, and his hoofs
cased in gold; whilst his blue satin saddle and
housings were richly embroidered and fringed
with the same metal. The noble animal, whose
flowing mane and tail swept the ground, paced
proudly along, tossing his head on high, and
spurning the ground on which he trod, as though
conscious he should perform a conspicuous part
in the grand pageant about to take place. All
now was ready, but yet Queen Claudia did not
appear.</p>

<p>"It is very strange, but lately it is always
so," said Lord Maysworth to Lord Gustavus de
Montfort, who had been for some time engaged
in earnest conversation with Father Morris.
Lord Gustavus started at the sound of his
friend's voice in some apparent confusion, whilst
Father Morris replied in his usual soft, insinuating
tones, "Perhaps her Majesty may be indisposed,
and have slept rather longer than
usual."</p>

<p>"Most likely," returned Lord Maysworth;
"yet it is strange the same thing should happen
so often.&mdash;If you remember," continued he,
again addressing Lord Gustavus, "I made
the same observation the morning of her
last levee. Indeed I have frequently made it
lately, and I have observed that she looks pale
and languid."</p>

<p>"Here she comes, at any rate! and for
my part, I think I never saw her look better,"
said Dr. Hardman, who had now joined
them, and who, notwithstanding his violent
politics, was one of the physicians of the Court.
The indolence of Claudia, which, indeed, seemed
daily increasing, having induced her to overlook
what another Sovereign would have resented.</p>

<p>Claudia did indeed look well, and her dress
suited well with her style of beauty. Her
trowsers and vest were of pale blue satin;
whilst over her shoulders was thrown a long
flowing drapery of asbestos silk, which hanging
in graceful folds, swept the ground as she
walked along, shining in the sun like a robe of
woven silver. On her head, she wore a splendid
tiara of diamonds; and in her hand, she bore
the regal sceptre, surmounted by a dove, and
richly ornamented with precious stones. Thus
gorgeously attired, surrounded by the ladies of
her household, she issued from her palace;
and whilst her kneeling subjects bent in humble
homage around her, she mounted her noble
charger. Cannon were now fired in rapid
succession; the bells of every church rang in
merry peals, and martial music mingled
in the clamour. The palace gates were
thrown open, and the procession poured from
them along the streets, where crowds of
human beings bustled to and fro, eager to
catch a glimpse of the sumptuous spectacle.</p>

<p>First advanced a long double line of monks,
arrayed in sacerdotal pomp, and bearing immensely
thick lighted tapers in their hands;
chanting thanksgiving for the victory. They
were followed by chorister-boys, flinging incense
from silver vases, that hung suspended
by chains in their hands, and chanting also;
their shrill trebles mingling with the deep
bass voices of the priests in rich and mellow
harmony. The Queen next appeared, her
prancing charger led by grooms, whilst beautiful
girls, elegantly attired, walked, on each
side of their Sovereign, scattering flowers in her
path from fancy baskets made of wrought gold.
Behind the Queen, rode the ladies of her
household and the principal nobles of her
Court, the superb plumes of ostrich feathers
in the large Spanish hats of the latter, with
their immense mustachios, and open shirt collars,
giving them the air of some of Vandyck's
best pictures. As they rode slowly along, their
noble Arabians paced proudly, and champed
the bit, impatient of restraint.</p>

<p>The ladies of the Court, superbly dressed
in open litters, next appeared, borne upon the
shoulders of men splendidly clad in rich liveries.
Amongst these, were Elvira and Rosabella.</p>

<p>These were followed by monks and boys as
before, but singing a somewhat different strain.
It was now a chant of glory and triumph that
swelled upon the ear, for these preceded the
duke and Sir Ambrose; who, the one as uncle
to the Queen, and the other as father of the expected
hero, occupied the post of honour. The
two venerable old men sate hand in hand in a
sumptuous car drawn by two Arabian horses,
and were followed by a large body of the
Queen's guards.</p>

<p>The costliness and variety of the dresses
worn this day, were quite beyond description.
Many of the ladies had turbans of woven glass;
whilst others carried on their hats very pretty
fountains made of glass dust, which, being
thrown up in little jets by a small perpetual
motion wheel, sparkled in the sun like real
water, and had a very singular effect.</p>

<p>In this manner the procession advanced towards
Blackheath Square, said to be the largest
and finest in the world, where the meeting between
the Queen and her general was appointed
to take place. Amongst the numerous balloons
that floated in the air, enjoying this magnificent
spectacle, was one containing Father
Murphy, who had been prevented, by a sprained
ankle, from joining in the procession, and
the family of Mr. Montagu&mdash;and nothing could
be more enthusiastic than their delight, as they
looked down upon the splendid scene below
them. Few things, indeed, could be imagined
finer than the sight of this gorgeous <i>cortège</i>,
winding slowly along a magnificent street, supposed
to be five miles long, leading from Blackfriars'
Bridge, through Greenwich, to Blackheath.</p>

<p>Sumptuous rows of houses, or rather palaces,
lined the sides of this superb street; the terraces
and balconies before which, were crowded
with persons of all ages, beautifully attired,
waving flags of different colours, richly embroidered
and fringed with gold, whilst festoons
of the choicest flowers hung from house
to house. We have already said the air was
thronged with balloons, and the crowd increased
every moment. These aërial machines,
loaded with spectators till they were in danger
of breaking down, glittered in the sun,
and presented every possible variety of shape
and colour. In fact, every balloon in London
or the vicinity had been put in requisition,
and enormous sums paid, in some cases,
merely for the privilege of hanging to the
cords that attached the cars, whilst the innumerable
multitudes that thus loaded the
air, amused themselves by scattering flowers
upon the heads of those who rode beneath.</p>

<p>Besides balloons, however, a variety of
other modes of conveyance fluttered in the
sky. Some dandies bestrode aërial horses,
inflated with inflammable gas; whilst others
floated upon wings, or glided gently along, reclining
gracefully upon aërial sledges, the last
being contrived so as to cover a sufficient column
of air for their support. As the procession
approached the river, the scene became
still more animated; innumerable barges of
every kind and description shot swiftly along,
or glided smoothly over the sparkling water.
Some floated with the tide in large boat-like
shoes; whilst others, reclining on couch-shaped
cars, formed of mother of pearl, were drawn
forward by inflated figures representing the
deities or monsters of the deep.</p>

<p>When the Queen reached a spot near Greenwich,
where, through a spacious opening, the
river, in all its glorious majesty, burst upon her,
she paused, and commanded her trumpeters to
advance and sound a flourish. They obeyed,
and after a short pause were answered by
those of Lord Edmund; the sound, mellowed
by the distances, pealing along the water
in dulcet harmony. Delighted with this response,
which announced the arrival of Lord
Edmund and his troops at the appointed place,
the procession of the Queen was again set in
motion, and in a short time arrived at Blackheath.</p>

<p>The noble square in which the meeting was
to take place, was already thronged with soldiers;
whilst every house that surrounded it was
covered with spectators. No trees or fantastical
ornaments spoiled the simple grandeur of
this immense space; the houses that surrounded
it, built in exact uniformity, each
having a peristyle supported by Corinthian
pillars, and a highly decorated façade, looked
like so many Athenian temples. As the <i>cortège</i>
of the Queen entered the square, the soldiers
formed an opening to receive it, and reverentially
knelt on each side, with reversed arms,
and bending banners as she passed. In the
centre was Lord Edmund, surrounded by his
staff, all in polished armour; for since an invention
had been discovered of rendering steel perfectly
flexible, it had been generally used in war.
Lord Edmund's helmet, however, was thrown
off, and his fine countenance was displayed to
the greatest advantage, as he and his officers
threw themselves from their war steeds to kneel
before the Queen. Claudia, also, descended from
her charger, and as she stood in her glittering
robes, surrounded on all sides by her kneeling
subjects, she looked, indeed, their Sovereign.
With becoming dignity, she addressed a
few words of thanks and commendation to
Lord Edmund, as he knelt before her, his
thick, dark, brown hair falling in clustering
curls over his noble forehead. His graceful
figure was shown to the utmost advantage, by
his closely fitting armour, over which, however,
upon the present occasion was thrown a short
cloak of fine scarlet cloth, richly embroidered
with gold, and fastened in front by a cord and
superb tassels, made entirely of the same metal.
He looked a living personification of the God
of War.</p>

<p>The Queen raised him from the ground in
the most gracious manner; and then turning
to the still kneeling soldiers, she made a short
speech to them, of the same nature as that
which she had addressed to Lord Edmund:
after which, again mounting her palfrey, she
made Lord Edmund ride by her side, and
prepared to return to town. Edmund's quick
eye had discovered, and exchanged looks of
affection with his father and friends, though
the etiquette of his present situation did not
permit him to do more; and he now rode
proudly by the side of the Queen, gracefully
bowing to the assembled crowd as he passed
along, his heart beating with pleasure at the
thought that his triumph was witnessed by
those most dear to him; whilst his noble
Arabian tossed his head and champed his bit
as he pranced forward, as though he also knew
the part he was performing in the splendid ceremony.</p>

<p>Acclamations rent the sky as the procession
advanced, and showers of roses were rained
down upon the Queen and her general from
the balloons above; from which, also, flags
waved in graceful folds, and flapped in the
wind, as the balloons floated along the sky.
Every one seemed delighted with the grandeur
of this splendid pageant; but no one experienced
more pleasure than the occupiers of
the balloon of Mr. Montagu. Even that oblivious
gentleman himself was moved to exclaim,
that he never was more enchanted in
his life; whilst the raptures of his spouse
were so excessive, that, like the spectators of
the stag-hunt on the lake of Killarney, she
was in imminent danger of throwing herself
overboard in her ecstasy: and Clara clasped
her hands together, in all the transports of
childish delight, her sparkling eyes and animated
looks bearing ample witness to her gratification.</p>

<p>"What shouting! what a noise!" exclaimed
Mr. Montagu; "I declare it puts me in mind
of the acclamations in the time of Nero, when
the Romans shouted in concert, and birds fell
from the skies with the noise!"</p>

<p>"La! papa, is that true?" asked Clara.</p>

<p>"Och, and that's a strange kind of a question,"
said Father Murphy, "and one I
wouldn't like a child of mine to be putting."</p>

<p>"And why not?" asked Mr. Montagu, somewhat
indignantly.</p>

<p>"Because a child ought always to belave what
his father says, before he hears him open his
mouth."</p>

<p>"How well the Queen looks!" observed Mrs.
Montagu, to whom the reverend father's remark
was far from agreeable. "It was said a short
time since, that she had lost her appetite and
could get no rest; but I think she doesn't
seem to have much the matter with her now."</p>

<p>"My nurse says she's being poisoned," cried
Clara, "and that it would be no great matter
if she was, for then the people would have to
choose a Queen for themselves, and they might
make what terms they pleased with her."</p>

<p>"And is this the kind of servant you suffer
to attend on my daughter, Mrs. Montagu?"
demanded the indignant father, roused from his
usual lethargy by the importance of the occasion;
"Clara shall go to a boarding-school to-morrow,
and her nurse shall be dismissed. My
child shall not be taught to utter treason."</p>

<p>"Dear me! Mr. Montagu," replied the wife,
"what a serious matter you make of a little
harmless gossip!"</p>

<p>"Gossip do you call it?" repeated her husband;
"it is such gossip as might cost me my
head, and you your fortune, if it were to reach
unfriendly ears."</p>

<p>An awkward pause followed this speech,
which no one seemed inclined to break, till Clara
exclaimed, "Dear me! what a pretty horse my
cousin Edmund rides!"</p>

<p>"I think that's a prettier that comes after
him," said Father Murphy.</p>

<p>"What, that one with his head hanging down
and his mane sweeping the ground?" asked Mrs.
Montagu.</p>

<p>"Yes.&mdash;And it's a very handsome young man
also, that walks by the side of him," replied Father
Murphy.</p>

<p>"His hands are chained as if he were a prisoner;
and he looks like a foreigner," observed
Mr. Montagu, who had relapsed into one of
his fits of abstraction: "I wonder what can
bring him there!"</p>

<p>"La! Mr. Montagu, how you talk!" exclaimed
his wife, "you know my nephew Lord
Edmund, has just gained a battle, and what can
be more natural than that he should have taken
prisoners?"</p>

<p>"True," rejoined Mr. Montagu with the
utmost naïveté, "I never thought of that!"</p>

<p>"Och, and it's a barbarous custom that of
putting chains about the hands of the prisoners,"
said Father Murphy, "as if it was not bad
enough to be a prisoner without looking, like
one."</p>

<p>"Poor fellow!" cried Clara, "I should
like to go and let him loose. He looks very
melancholy!"</p>

<p>"How great my nephew Lord Edmund
looks!" continued Mrs. Montagu: "I declare
it he were a real king he couldn't have a grander
appearance. And then to see the poor old gentleman
his father, my brother-in-law, Sir Ambrose,
sitting there hand-in-hand with the Duke
of Cornwall himself&mdash;I declare it does my heart
good to look at them!"</p>

<p>Whilst Mrs. Montagu was thus exulting in
the reflected grandeur that shone upon her, from
being sister-in-law to the person who sat hand-in-hand
with the duke, the joy and delight of
that exalted personage had been almost as great
as her own.</p>

<p>His impatience during the whole procession
from London had been excessive; and the moment
he saw Edmund, he rubbed his hands in
ecstasy, and jumping up in his seat almost overturned
Sir Ambrose, who was also bending forward
eagerly gazing upon his son. "There!
there he is!" cried the duke. "Look how
handsome he is! Oh the young rogue! there'll
be many a heart lost to-day, I warrant me!
Look at him, how the colour comes into his
cheeks as the Queen speaks to him! Look!
Now he helps her on her horse&mdash;and now see,
he's looking round for us! There I caught
his eye&mdash;see, Sir Ambrose! don't you see him?&mdash;Surely
you ar'n't crying, my old friend?
Why you'll make me as great a fool as yourself&mdash;God
bless him! I am sure I don't know
any thing we have to cry at; but we are two old
simpletons."</p>

<p>Father Morris, who had joined the procession
of monks, was almost as much affected as
his patron. Indeed his affection for Edmund
seemed the only human passion remaining in his
ascetic breast. Cold even to frigidity in his
exterior, Father Morris seemed to regard the
scenes passing around him but as the moving
figures of a magic lantern, which glittered for
a moment in glowing colours, and then vanished
into darkness, leaving no trace behind:&mdash;whilst
he, unmoved as the wall over which the gaudy
but shadowy pageant had passed, saw them
alternately vanish and re-appear without the
slightest emotion being excited in his mind.
Under this statue-like appearance, however,
Father Morris concealed passions as terrific as
those which might be supposed to throb in the
breast of a demon: though never did his self-command
seem relaxed for a moment, but when
the interests of Edmund were in question. On
the present occasion, however, joy swelled in his
bosom almost to suffocation, as he raised his
eyes to Heaven, and, wringing his hands together,
exclaimed, "Oh! it is too&mdash;too much!"</p>

<p>There is something indescribably affecting in
seeing strong emotion expressed by those who
are generally calm and unimpassioned; and Sir
Ambrose, by whom this burst of feeling from his
confessor was quite unexpected, gazed at him
with the utmost surprise, and, strange to tell,
though the monk had now lived nearly twenty
years under his roof, it was the first time he
had seen his head completely uncovered. Father
Morris's cowl had now, however, fallen off
entirely, and displayed the head of a man between
forty and fifty, whose fine features bore
the traces of what he had endured. His noble
expressive brow seemed wrinkled more by care
than age, and his sable locks had evidently become
"grizzled here and there," prematurely.
Sir Ambrose gazed upon him intently, for the
peculiar expression of his features seemed to recall
some half-forgotten circumstance to his mind,
dimly obscured, however, by the mist of time.
The earnestness with which he consequently
regarded the monk, seemed at length to recall
the latter to himself. He started, and, whilst a
deep crimson flushed his usually sallow countenance,
he hastily resumed his cowl, and appeared
again to the eyes of the spectators, the same
cold, unimpassioned, abstracted being as before.</p>

<p>The ovation had now nearly reached Blackfriars'
bridge, at the entrance to which, a triumphal
arch had been erected. The moment
the Queen and her heroic general passed under
it, a small figure of Fame was contrived to descend
from its entablature, and, hovering over
the hero, to drop a laurel crown upon his head.
Shouts of applause followed this well-executed
device; and the passengers in the balloons, wondering
at the noise, all pressed forward at the
same moment to ascertain the cause of such
continued acclamations. The throng of balloons
became thus every instant more dense. Some
young city apprentices having hired each a pair
of wings for the day, and not exactly knowing
how to manage them, a dreadful tumult ensued;
and the balloons became entangled with the
winged heroes and each other in inextricable
confusion.</p>

<p>The noise now became tremendous; the conductors
of the balloons swearing at each other
the most refined oaths, and the ladies screaming
in concert. Several balloons were rent in the
scuffle and fell with tremendous force upon the
earth; whilst some cars were torn from their
supporting ropes, and others roughly overset.
Luckily, however, the whole of England was at
this time so completely excavated, that falling
upon the surface of the earth was like tumbling
upon the parchment of an immense drum, and
consequently only a deep hollow sound was
returned as cargo after cargo of the demolished
balloons struck upon it; some of them, indeed,
rebounded several yards with the violence of
the shock.</p>

<p>Amongst those who fell from the greatest
height, and of course rebounded most violently,
were the unfortunate individuals who composed
the party of Mr. Montagu, an unlucky apprentice
having poked his right wing through
the silk of their balloon, in endeavouring to
avoid the charge of an aërial horseman, who
found his Æolian steed too difficult to manage
in the confusion. The car containing our
friends was in consequence precipitated to earth
so rapidly, as for the moment to deprive them
of breath.</p>

<p>"Och, and I'm killed entirely!" cried Father
Murphy.</p>

<p>"Oh, my bonnet! my beautiful bonnet!"
sobbed Mrs. Montagu; whilst Clara, dreadfully
frightened, began to cry; and Mr. Montagu,
whose ideas were generally a long
time travelling to his brain, particularly upon
occasions of sudden alarm, stood completely
silent, stupidly gazing about him, as though
he had not the least notion what could possibly
have happened. Indeed, it was not till a full
hour afterwards, that he found himself sufficiently
recovered to exclaim, "Dear me! I do think
we were very near being killed!"</p>

<p>In the mean time, the confusion in the air
still continued; piercing screams that demons
were in the air, mingled horribly with the crashing
of balloons, the cries of the sufferers, and
the successive falling of heavy weights. The
situation of the crowd below, however, was infinitely
worse than that of those above. The
momentum of the falling bodies being fearfully
increased by the distance they had to descend,
those below had no chance of escape, and were
inevitably crushed to death by their weight,
whilst the agonizing shrieks of the unfortunate
wretches who saw their danger coming from
a distance, yet were so jammed together in the
crowd that they could not fly, rang shrilly
upon the ear, and pierced through every
heart.</p>

<p>At this moment a dreadful scream ran
through the crowd, and the horse of Queen
Claudia, his bridle broken, his housings torn,
his nostrils distended, and his sides streaming
with gore, rushed past&mdash;"Oh God! the Queen!
the Queen!" burst from every voice, and
one general rush took place towards the spot
from whence the cry had proceeded.</p>

<p>Beneath the triumphal arch, and partially
sheltered by its shade, lay the bleeding body
of Claudia, supported by Edmund. By her
side, knelt Rosabella, who, assisted by Father
Morris, was applying restoratives; whilst
Henry Seymour was endeavouring to restore
Elvira, who had fainted in the arms of her
father, and Sir Ambrose, his face streaming
with blood, stood at a little distance amongst a
group of courtiers, several of whom had also
experienced severe injuries. The tumult in
the air still continued; groans and shrieks
and exclamations, that the atmosphere was
supernaturally haunted, were heard in many
places; and some persons declared the accident
to be the work of demons. A current of wind
had blown those balloons that had become
unmanageable across the city, while the
others, terrified almost to madness, appeared
still contending with some fearful monster in
the sky.</p>

<p>The courtiers, however, heeded not this
disturbance; for all their attention was occupied
by the apparently expiring Queen, whose
long-drawn sighs, and convulsed bosom, seemed
to threaten her instant dissolution.</p>

<p>"She's gone!" cried Lord Gustavus de
Montfort, as her bosom heaved with a deep,
heavy sigh, and then all was still.</p>

<p>"Yes, she's dead!" repeated Lord Noodle.</p>

<p>"She is certainly dead!" reiterated Lord
Doodle.</p>

<p>And then these sapient counsellors of the
apparently departed Queen shook their wise
heads in sympathy.</p>

<p>"Hush! she breathes!" cried Lord Edmund.</p>

<p>For some moments, the courtiers stood in
breathless anxiety watching the body, and fearing
to move lest they should break the awful
silence that prevailed, though their hearts
throbbed till the pulsations were almost audible.</p>

<p>Fearful was the pause that now ensued! All
were suffering from the torments of hope or
fear; for all knew that the interests of the whole
community hung upon her breath. Most of
the courtiers also either hoped to gain places,
or feared to lose them, whilst all trembled at
the uncertainty that seemed to rest upon their
future destiny, and the prospect of the anarchy
which the purposed mode of electing their
future Sovereign might create. The interest
which the fate of the Queen excited was thus
intense, and the courtiers hung over her body
with streaming eyes and motionless limbs to
watch the result.</p>

<p>At this instant, a fearful and tremendous
yell ran through the air; and the car containing
the Mummy, which had been for some
time entangled with the other balloons, fell
to the ground with tremendous force, close
to the expiring Queen. The gigantic figure
of Cheops started from it as it fell&mdash;his
ghastly eyes glaring with unnatural lustre
upon the terrified courtiers, who ran screaming
in agony in all directions, forgetting every
thing but the horrid vision before them.</p>

<h5>END OF VOL. I.</h5>

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<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h3>


<p>The tumult had now nearly subsided. The
late busy crowd had flown, uttering shrieks of
horror and dismay; and of all the countless
mass of human beings that had so lately
thronged around, none now remained but
Edmund and Father Morris, who supported
Claudia; and the Duke and Henry Seymour,
who still remained near the insensible form of
Elvira; the eyes of all being chained, as though
by magic, upon the horrid vision before them;
whilst they, pale and immovable as the sculptured
marble of the tomb, waited in fearful
expectation of what was next to happen, and
scarcely dared to move or breathe; the solemn
silence that prevailed being only broken by the
convulsive gasps of the expiring Queen:&mdash;an
awful change from the busy hum of thousands
which had so lately filled the air!</p>

<p>"Where am I?" exclaimed Cheops, gazing
wildly around&mdash;his deep sepulchral voice thrilling
through every nerve:&mdash;"Where is Arsinoë?
Where is she? They seize her! They tear
her from me! Curses on the wretches!&mdash;May
Typhon's everlasting vengeance pursue them
with its fury, and may their hearts wither,
gnawed by the never-dying snake!"</p>

<p>The Mummy gnashed his teeth as he spoke,
and the gloom that gathered on his dark brow
grew black as night. All shuddered as that
horrid glance of eternal hatred seemed to freeze
their blood. They turned away involuntarily;
and when they looked again, the spectre had
disappeared. The shattered remains of the
balloon lay before them; for happening to cross
London just at the moment of the greatest confusion,
it had become entangled in the crowd,
and, notwithstanding the strong material of
which it was composed, had been rent asunder
in the scuffle, and had fallen with its fearful
occupier to the ground.</p>

<p>"Good God!" cried Father Morris, after
a short pause; "what a horrid vision! what
can it mean?"</p>

<p>"It seemed an Egyptian Mummy," said
Edmund, shuddering; "and it spoke that language.
But what can have resuscitated it?
What human power can have recalled to life,
a being so long immured in the silent tomb!"</p>

<p>"Perhaps the vehicle he came in may contain
something to explain the mystery," said
Henry Seymour.</p>

<p>At this moment several persons ran past
screaming with terror, and exclaiming that
they had seen a demon. When the confusion
excited by these trembling fugitives had a little
subsided, a few of the courtiers began also
to make their appearance, and return to their
posts near the Queen. But all were pale, and
they started at every sound, seeming ready, at
the least alarm, to take flight again as expeditiously
as before.</p>

<p>Claudia still lay insensible; her heaving chest
and deep convulsive sobs for breath, alone
betraying signs of life. But her fate no longer
excited the deep, overwhelming interest it had
done before. Whispers of wonder and superstitious
horror mingled with the hopes and
fears inspired by her danger; and her removal
to the palace was almost regarded with indifference,
so completely were the minds of men
occupied by the strange spectacle they had so
lately witnessed.</p>

<p>Every one, indeed, neither thought nor spoke
of any thing but the Mummy; and a thousand
rumours, each more extravagant than the last,
spread from mouth to mouth respecting it.
Men stood in groups whispering to each other,
and scarcely daring to stir without a companion:
nay, even then, creeping from place
to place, looking cautiously around, and starting
at every noise, as though they feared the
awful visitor was returned: whilst the sages
of the country gravely shook their heads, and
declared that what had taken place was evidently
a visitation from Heaven, in punishment
of the sins of mankind. An indefinable presentiment
of evil hung over the spirits of all.
Gloom, indeed, spread through every class of
society: all dreaded they knew not what&mdash;and
all shrunk with horror from the thought of
supernatural agency. There is an invincible
feeling implanted by Nature in the mind of
man, which makes him shudder with disgust at
any thing that invades her laws.</p>

<p>The body of the Queen being removed, attended
by her physicians and the ladies of
her household, the rest of the assembled courtiers
gathered round the balloon; and exclamations
of terror and surprise broke from their
lips when they discovered it to be the same in
which Edric and Dr. Entwerfen had so short
a time before taken their departure for Egypt.
The whole truth now seemed to flash upon
them.</p>

<p>"I thought how it would be," said Lord
Maysworth; "you know I told you, Lord
Gustavus, that in my opinion it was an expedition
that could never possibly do any good&mdash;but
you were of a different belief."</p>

<p>"My Lord," returned Lord Gustavus, solemnly,
"thinking as I think, and as I am
convinced every one who hears me must think,
or at least ought to think, it is my deliberate
opinion, that the expedition of my youthful
friend and his learned tutor was both admirably
planned and well concocted, and that if it have
failed in its ulterior object, it has been solely
owing to some of those unforeseen events which
sometimes do occur even in the best regulated
arrangements, and which it was utterly impossible
for any human ability entirely to ward off
and avert."</p>

<p>"Edric's balloon! Impossible!" cried Sir
Ambrose, rushing forward to ascertain the fact,
and forgetting all his anger against his son
in his anxiety for his fate. "Yes! yes!"
continued he, looking at some of the things, as
they were drawn forth and exhibited by different
persons in the crowd; "those were
Edric's books&mdash;that was his desk. Oh! my
son! my son! what is become of him?"</p>

<p>Many sympathized with the unfortunate
father, and more eagerly questioned each other
as to the probable meaning of what they saw.
No one, however, could give any explanation;
and all was confusion and dismay. The bosom
of Edmund, after the first moment of excitation
had passed, was racked with anguish
too bitter to allow him to feel curious even to
know his brother's fate. But a few hours before,
love and fortune seemed to unite in showering
their choicest blessings upon his head, and
now he was the most wretched of mankind;
for if Claudia died, Rosabella or Elvira must
be queen; and if Elvira should be chosen,
all hopes of becoming her husband must be
lost.</p>

<p>"Oh, God!" cried he, striking his forehead
in agony, "why was I reserved for this? Why
did I not perish fighting the battles of my country?
And why was I saved only to be mocked
with the hope of happiness, which, just as it
seemed within my grasp, flies from me for
ever? Wretch that I am! would that I had
been never born, or at least had died in my
nurse's arms, and thus escaped the tormenting
pangs that now drive me to distraction!"</p>

<p>Whilst Edmund thus raved, the eye of Rosabella
followed his every movement, and
seemed with a fiend-like pleasure to exult in his
agonies. "I am avenged," thought she; "he
now feels what I have so often suffered. But
this is not all; he must be probed to the quick
ere he can know the bitter vengeance of a
woman scorned."</p>

<p>Whilst these violent emotions were convulsing
the bosoms of all around, the old duke
knelt by the side of Elvira, gazing upon her
with the most intense anxiety. Her gentle
and feminine nature had been overpowered at
seeing the blood of Claudia, and she still lay
insensible, looking more exquisitely lovely than
fancy can conceive. The beauty of Elvira was
of the most soft and feminine description; long
silken eyelashes shaded her dark hazel eyes, and
gave them an expression more voluptuous than
brilliant, whilst nothing could exceed the delicacy
of her complexion, or the beauty of her
full rosy lips. The figure of Elvira might not
have served as the model of a courageous
heroine, but it would have suited admirably for
an Houri; and lovely as she always was, she
had perhaps never looked more so than at this
moment, as the returning blood softly retinted
her cheeks, and her eyes gradually unclosed.
Lord Edmund gazed upon her, till, maddened
by the thought that he must lose her for ever,
he could no longer endure his own sensations,
and, darting amongst the crowd, he endeavoured
to fly from the world and from himself.</p>

<p>The duke, on the contrary, saw the recovery
of his daughter with unalloyed transport, for
though he loved Edmund, and wished to have
him for a son-in-law, he was by no means insensible
to the prospect of seeing his daughter
a Queen, and his breast throbbed with violent
emotions, which had long been a stranger
to it.</p>

<p>In the mean time the Mummy had stalked
solemnly through the city, urged more by instinct
than design; the mist that still clung
over him, making him seem like one wandering
in a dream. Yet still he advanced; his path, like
that of a destroying angel, spreading consternation
as he went, and all he met flying horror-stricken
from his sight: many, however, when
the monster had passed, crept softly back to
gaze after him, and amongst this number was
Mrs. Montagu, in whose breast curiosity, that
vice of low minds, reigned predominant.</p>

<p>The whole family had reached home in perfect
safety, the lady herself hurrying her return,
the moment the accident of the Queen was
made known: lest, as she said, in the confusion
that might ensue, her servants might be induced
to leave her house, and some evil disposed
personages might strip it of its contents.
Urged by this prudent motive, Mrs. Montagu
had hastened home, and finding all safe, was
just about to retire to re-arrange her disordered
dress, when one of the servants rushed into
the room with the account of a fearful spirit
having been seen in the Strand, whose mysterious
appearance, coupled with the singular accident
that had happened to the Queen, seemed
to portend some dreadful calamity that was
about to fall upon the country.</p>

<p>"What is it like?" asked Mrs. Montagu;
"have you seen it, Evelina?"</p>

<p>"Oh yes, ma'am!" cried the panting girl; "its
eyes flare like fire, and it stares so wildly round
it! and as it went along it saw a dead cat lying
in the street; and it knelt down and took the
creature up, and kissed it, and lamented over
it in such a strange way, and in such a strange
language! I never heard any thing like it in
my life."</p>

<p>"Oh, dear! I should like to see it!" cried
Mrs. Montagu, flying to the door, and holding
it half open to secure a retreat in case of necessity.
Just as she reached the street, however,
fate, as though willing to gratify her curiosity,
occasioned the Mummy to turn back; and with
that kind of half pleasure and half pain, with
which the good people of England sometimes
delight to gaze upon any thing horrible, Mrs.
Montagu continued to look as it rapidly approached
her dwelling, till, as it reached the
door, to her infinite horror it stalked towards
it. Awe-struck and trembling, Mrs. Montagu
retreated. The Mummy followed her. He
stretched his hand out to her. She shrunk back
aghast from his touch. "Lead on!" cried he
with a voice of thunder. Mrs. Montagu could
bear no more, and she fled screaming to the
parlour, where her husband was already lost in
some of his beloved calculations.</p>

<p>Absent as Mr. Montagu generally was, however,
he was roused by this unexpected intrusion,
and the blood ran chilly through his veins,
as he saw the tall majestic figure of Cheops
stride across the apartment. His athletic stature,
his dark swarthy complexion, and his
strongly marked features, aided by the fearful
lustre of his piercing eyes, gave to his figure,
swathed as it yet was in the vestments of the
grave, a supernatural grandeur that thrilled
through every nerve of Mr. Montagu's frame,
and he shrunk back with horror as his fearful
guest stalked past him.</p>

<p>Cheops saw his terror, and smiled in proud
disdain as he threw himself upon a couch,
placed near a window looking upon the garden,
which, as we have before stated, shelved down
to the river. There he lay, his eyes fixed upon
the majestic Thames, whilst Mr. and Mrs.
Montagu gazed with trembling limbs and pallid
lips at their strange guest, without daring
either to approach or disturb him.</p>

<p>"Thus have I watched the Nile," said
Cheops, his awful voice sounding as from the
tomb, "whilst the gently rising waters have
gradually swelled into the flood which was
to pour joy and plenty over the land:&mdash;and
thus, too, have I lain, gazing upon its streams,
when, the purpose of all-bounteous Nature
having been fulfilled, it has sunk back, slowly
retiring to its natural bed. But, oh! how
different were the feelings that then throbbed
in my breast, to the corroding fire that now
consumes me!&mdash;Oh! Osiris! what horrid
thoughts flash through my brain!&mdash;they come
like overwhelming floods pouring from heaven
to the great deep, sweeping all before them
in one mighty ruin.&mdash;Oh! Arsinoë! by the
fell rites of Typhon, there's madness in the
thought!"</p>

<p>Then springing from the couch, his eyes
glared with yet fiercer brilliancy as he flashed
them round, whilst Mr. and Mrs. Montagu,
terrified beyond the power of expression, flew
towards the door, eyeing the motions of their
dangerous guest with feelings of unspeakable
horror. The storm of passions in the breast of
Cheops, however, though tremendous, seemed
soon allayed; for ere many moments had elapsed,
he sank again upon the couch in a kind of
lethargy, which, if it were not slumber, seemed
at least to imply a temporary cessation from
pain.</p>

<p>"Thank God!" whispered Mr. Montagu,
as he motioned to his wife to creep out of the
apartment. She tremblingly obeyed; and the
moment she thought herself in safety, she threw
herself upon her knees, and thanked God with
more fervour than she had ever done before in
her whole life; whilst the servants, who were
all assembled in the ante-room, crowded round
her, trembling and with pallid cheeks and
white lips, clustering together like bees swarming
round their queen.</p>

<p>"Oh, madam! madam!" exclaimed Angelina,
in a whisper, "what will become of us?
A serous moisture transudes from every pore
in my body with the chilliness of death, and my
very hair erects itself with horror upon my
head."</p>

<p>"And my heart throbs with such violence,"
said Cecilia, "that the whole arterial system
seems deranged."</p>

<p>"It is evidently an Egyptian Mummy," observed
Mr. Montagu, and, as he seldom spoke,
every word he uttered was listened to as
an oracle. "Its language and its dress bespeak
its origin, but by what strange event it has
been resuscitated&mdash;"</p>

<p>At this moment a sharp knock at the door
made the terrified servants all spring closer together,
clinging to each other in an agony of
nervous horror, and not one daring to approach
the door. The knocking and ringing, however,
at length became so violent, as to rouse
even Mr. Montagu to give the clamorous intruders
entrance. It was Father Morris and
Sir Ambrose.</p>

<p>"Oh, my dear brother!" cried the latter,
panting for breath; "have you heard the news?
The strangest vision has appeared, and the
Queen is certainly dying. Every one says it is
a demon."</p>

<p>"What, the Mummy?" asked Mr. Montagu.</p>

<p>"Have you heard of it then?" said Sir
Ambrose eagerly.</p>

<p>"It is now in this house," cried Mrs. Montagu.</p>

<p>"In this house!" repeated her brother-in-law;
whilst Father Morris, who had looked
pale and exhausted when he entered the hall,
became still paler, and looked scarcely able to
support himself.</p>

<p>"To arms!" cried Cheops from the inner
room; "the Palli are upon us! Cowards that
we are, the enemy are at our gates!"</p>

<p>Screaming, and scarcely knowing where they
went, the terrified servants tumbled over each
other in the hastiness of their retreat, huddling
themselves together in a heap, yet keeping
their eyes fixed upon the door from which they
expected the spectre to appear, as though
charmed by the fascination of a rattle-snake.</p>

<p>A loud crash now produced a fresh scream;
then all was still. After a long pause, which
seemed of endless duration, Father Morris, evidently
with a dreadful effort, roused himself
and advanced&mdash;</p>

<p>"Death itself is not so horrid as this suspense,"
said he, as he resolutely threw open the
door of the room, which had contained the
Mummy, and entered it. It was empty&mdash;but
the broken frame-work of the window seemed
to point out in what manner the awful visitor
had made his exit.</p>

<p>It was with infinite difficulty that Mrs. Montagu
could be persuaded to return to the
room; and when she did, the remainder of the
day was passed by her, and every inhabitant
of her mansion, in fear and trembling. When
they spoke, it was in whispers, and when they
moved, they crept along with stealthy noiseless
steps, as though they feared the echo of their
own footsteps: the eyes of all fixed timidly
upon the broken window, through which the
fearful stranger had disappeared.</p>

<p>Slowly and heavily the hours rolled on, till the
time appointed for dinner arrived: the servants,
as they served the meal, looking timidly around,
instead of regarding the dishes they carried in
their hands, and the family scarcely daring to
eat, and only speaking in whispers, whilst they
started every moment, fancying the wild eyes
of Cheops again glared upon them, and his
deep hollow voice again rang in their ears;
and their own tones sounded strangely hoarse
and unnatural. Nothing, however, had terrified
Mrs. Montagu so much as the laugh of Cheops;
strange, wild, and unearthly, it still seemed to
ring in her ears, like the yell of a demon;
whilst, if any thing that happened, chanced to
recall the appalling sound, her limbs shook in
every joint; her teeth chattered in her head;
terror blanched her lips and cheeks to a
ghastly paleness, and she seemed every instant
upon the point of rising from her seat and
flying shrieking from the room.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the sensations these extraordinary
events had created amongst the
people were indescribable. Strange rumours
and contradictory reports were circulated, and
the most incredible stories invented of all that
had passed. The minds of men became bewildered;
they knew not what to credit nor
what to think; a gloomy presentiment hung
over them; they seemed to feel some fearful
change was at hand, but scarcely knew what
to hope or what to fear. Business was at a
stand: people indeed gathered together in the
shops, but it was only to whisper secretly to
each other, strange mysterious stories of the
late marvellous events, which they dared not
breathe in public. The extremes of ignorance
and civilization tend alike to produce credulity,
and the wildest and most improbable stories
were as greedily swallowed by the most enlightened
people in the world, as they could have
been even by a horde of uncultivated barbarians.</p>

<p>The family of Mr. Montagu retired early
to rest at the close of the eventful day we have
been speaking of, hoping to lose in sleep the
remembrance of the harassing events they had
so lately witnessed. Lord Edmund had returned
soon after the disappearance of the
Mummy; but he had locked himself in his
chamber, and had refused to see any one, his
mind being too much agitated for him to
endure the common forms of society. All was
soon quiet throughout the mansion.</p>

<p>It was midnight when a tall figure wrapped
in a large cloak, appeared slowly gliding with
catlike steps through the garden of Mr. Montagu.
It cautiously avoided the light, and
crept along the shadiest walks and thickest
allies, carefully shrouding itself from observation,
and endeavouring, by availing itself of
the shelter of the trees, the better to conceal its
movements. It has been already stated that
the garden of Mr. Montagu was only separated
from that of the duke by a terrace very little
used; the door, indeed, leading to it from Mr.
Montagu's premises, had been so long closed
up, as to be nearly forgotten, and yet it was
towards this unfrequented spot that the mysterious
figure directed its course. The long
neglected door slowly opened, and the stream
of light it admitted, was obscured for a moment
by a passing shade; and then all seemed
dark, silent, and mysterious as before.</p>

<p>"It certainly went that way," said a voice,
the preciseness of which marked it as belonging
to Abelard; "and it was a real, tangible,
material form, as I saw its shadow intercept
the light when the door was opened and it
passed through."</p>

<p>"It is quite impossible," cried Evelina,
one of Mrs. Montagu's housemaids, who having
been induced by the inconstant butler to take
a ramble with him by moonlight, had also
witnessed this strange apparition; "you must
be mistaken Mr. Abelard, for that door has not
been opened this age. It is even nailed up, as
you may see yourself if you examine it."</p>

<p>"It is very strange," said Abelard, after he
had tried the door and found it immovable;
"I certainly saw it open."</p>

<p>"It must have been an optical delusion, Mr.
Abelard," said Evelina; "the retina of the eye
is sometimes strangely affected, and represents
objects quite different to what they really are."</p>

<p>"I must consult Father Morris about it to-morrow,"
resumed the butler; "for it was certainly
the Mummy spectre."</p>

<p>"La! do you think so, Mr. Abelard?"
said Evelina, turning pale; "why then didn't
you speak to it."</p>

<p>"I will if it comes again," returned Abelard.</p>

<p>"Oh! there it is!" cried Evelina; and the
worthy pair flew back to the house, screaming
in concert, and without once daring to look
behind them. Scarcely, however, had the last
echo of their footsteps died away upon the ear,
when the figure emerged from the recess in
which it had lain concealed, and again crept
slowly towards the door leading into the garden
of the duke.</p>

<p>"Hist! Marianne!" cried he, pausing for a
reply; but all was still. "Marianne!" repeated
he still louder&mdash;"Fools! dolts! idiots!" continued
he, stamping violently, as he still found
his call of no avail; "they have kept me so
long with their cursed folly, that she is gone.
Eternal misery haunt them for their officious
babbling. By Heaven! if they had had the sense
to climb the wall, I had been lost:&mdash;but hark,
she comes!"</p>

<p>The door now slowly opened, and a female
figure holding a light appeared.</p>

<p>"How is she?" cried the stranger.</p>

<p>"Better," returned the female.</p>

<p>"Then it is past the power of man to kill
her," resumed the first; and rushing wildly past
her he buried himself in the deepest recesses of
the grove.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h3>


<p>Father Morris, when Abelard and Evelina
confessed to him the following morning
the strange spectre they had witnessed, treated
the whole as the mere vision of their heated
imaginations, and refusing to listen to any of
their surmises respecting it, prepared to attend
the Queen, who, finding herself sufficiently recovered
to be able to attend to the duties of
religion, had, from the general reputation of
his superior sanctity, sent for him to confess
her. Her Majesty, indeed, seemed rapidly improving,
and the hopes of Edmund reviving
with her health, he passed every hour he could
abstract from the duties of his station, at the
feet of his adored Elvira, his love for whom,
seemed increased by the imminence of the danger
he had just escaped, of losing her for ever.</p>

<p>In this manner several days had passed, and
the strange visit of the Mummy, and the accident
of the Queen, had already taken their
place on the shelf with the other <i>événements passés</i>
of the day; when one morning Sir Ambrose was
startled by an earnest message from the Duke
of Cornwall, entreating him to come to him
without delay. Sir Ambrose immediately obeyed
the summons, and found the duke walking
up and down his study in a state of the greatest
agitation, which Father Morris was vainly
endeavouring to tranquillize.</p>

<p>"Oh, my beloved friend!" exclaimed the
duke, springing forward and grasping the baronet's
hand the moment he saw him approach:
"my dear Sir Ambrose, Claudia is no more!"</p>

<p>"Dead!" cried Sir Ambrose, involuntarily
looking at Father Morris, whose aspect, however,
still preserved only its usual cold and
statue-like appearance. "Are you sure that
she is dead?&mdash;I thought she was better."</p>

<p>"So we all did," said the duke: "but
alas! we deceived ourselves, for Father Morris
has just seen her expire. Oh! where is Edmund&mdash;why
is he not with you?&mdash;what will
become of him? It will destroy him to lose
Elvira: and I, too, that have felt so proud in
the expectation of his becoming my son-in-law,
oh, it will break my heart!"</p>

<p>"Oh!" cried Father Murphy, who was also
present; "and if that's the case, why don't you
let Rosabella take the crown at once, and make
no more fuss about it."</p>

<p>"And yet," continued the duke, "I cannot
bear that Elvira should be deprived of her
right, she would so become a crown; and with
her inflexible sense of justice, and desire for
improvement, she would do so much good that
I should not feel justified in depriving the
country of such a sovereign."</p>

<p>"Thus," said Father Morris, smiling, "do
we deceive ourselves; you are ambitious whilst
you think that you are only just. Believe me,
if you consult Elvira's real happiness, you will
not impose upon her the troublesome duties of
a crown: she will make a better wife than a
queen; for her gentle nature is less fitted to
command than to obey. Rosabella has more
firmness."</p>

<p>"I do not agree with you, Father," said Sir
Ambrose; "in my opinion Elvira is infinitely
better fitted to be a queen than Rosabella, for
her passions are more under the control of
reason."</p>

<p>"That is to say," resumed the monk, sneeringly,
"they have not yet been called into
play."</p>

<p>"What do you mean, Father?" began the
duke.</p>

<p>"Nothing that could give you offence, my
Lord," returned the priest. "Disgusted myself
with the world, I naturally thought the princess
most likely to find happiness where I seek it
myself&mdash;viz. in a life of quiet and retirement."</p>

<p>"Enough," said the duke: "but where is
Edmund? Let us seek him; no doubt he is
with Elvira&mdash;poor things! we must spoil their
billing and cooing."</p>

<p>Edmund was with Elvira, and was passionately
urging his suit, whilst she, engaged with
her embroidery frame, listened with a half
abstracted mind, and Emma duteously waited
behind her chair.</p>

<p>"You do not love me," said he, "or you
could not answer with such provoking coldness."</p>

<p>"Indeed I do, Edmund, but you are so unreasonable.
I have already told you I have no
idea of that passionate overwhelming love you
appear to feel, it absolutely terrifies me, and I
am sure it is not natural to my character.&mdash;This
silk is too dark, Emma&mdash;and so, Edmund,
if you feel you cannot be happy with such love
as it is in my power to bestow, we had better
determine at once to separate."</p>

<p>"Good God!" exclaimed Edmund, striking
his forehead violently with his clenched hand;
"how coldly you talk of our separation!"</p>

<p>"What can I do? I try every thing in my
power to please you. Emma, give me my scissors.
But since you will not hear reason&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Reason!" cried Edmund fiercely, seizing her
arm, and then letting it go again; "If you talk
of reason you will drive me distracted!"</p>

<p>"You quite terrify me with your violence,
Edmund," said Elvira, rising, and preparing to
quit the room.</p>

<p>"Oh stay! stay, my adored Elvira!" exclaimed
Lord Edmund, throwing himself upon
his knees and catching her hand; "for Heaven's
sake, stay! pardon my impetuosity&mdash;frown
upon me, treat me with coldness, disdain, or
contempt, but do not, do not leave me."</p>

<p>"I do not know what you wish; I have repeatedly
told you I am ready to become your
wife whenever our parents think fit; and that I
will do every thing in my power to make you
happy. Do you call that coldness?"</p>

<p>"I do&mdash;I do indeed: freezing, insulting
coldness. Oh, Elvira! I would rather see you
spurn me&mdash;hear you declare you hated me, or
know that you doomed me to destruction, than
hear you speak of our marriage in that calm,
unvaried tone."</p>

<p>"How unreasonable you are!" said Elvira,
smiling. "Hear him, Emma; is he not a singular
being? And if I find it so difficult to please
him now, what must I expect when I become
his wife?"</p>

<p>"Tormenting girl!" exclaimed Edmund,
"you know your power but too well."</p>

<p>"What ridiculous creatures these lords of
the creation are!" said Elvira, playfully holding
out her hand to Edmund, though she still affected
to address Emma; "I really don't think
any of them know what they would have; and
I believe the only way to manage them is to
make one's-self perfectly disagreeable."</p>

<p>"That <i>you</i> can never do," cried Edmund,
rapturously kissing her hand.</p>

<p>At this moment a slight tap at the door announced
the arrival of the duke and his friends.</p>

<p>"So, so!" said the duke, "we have found
you, have we? but you must take your leave of
such tender scenes for the future."</p>

<p>"What do you mean?" asked Edmund.</p>

<p>"The Queen is dead," said Sir Ambrose.
The glowing countenance of Edmund turned
of a ghastly paleness; and his livid lips quivered,
as he leaned against the window for support.</p>

<p>"Assist him!" cried the duke. "He will
faint! Don't distress yourself, Edmund; the
death of Claudia shall make no alteration in
your prospects."</p>

<p>"I am better," said Edmund faintly, attempting
to smile, and waving off all assistance;
"'Twas but for a moment: the suddenness of
the shock overcame me: I thought the Queen
was better."</p>

<p>"She was supposed so," returned the duke;
"but it seems she had some internal malady
her physicians were not aware of. An inward
bruise, I believe. But don't make yourself unhappy
about it, Edmund; I cannot bear to see
you wretched. Let Rosabella take the crown,
and think no more about it."</p>

<p>"Your Grace wrongs me," said Edmund,
his fine countenance glowing with the exalted
feelings of his soul. "However I may suffer
from the violence of my feelings, I can never
permit them to interfere with my sense of duty.
Elvira has a right to ascend the throne, and if
my exertions can ensure her success, she shall
be Queen."</p>

<p>"Thou art a brave lad!" cried the duke.
"And will you really try to secure the election
of Elvira, when you know, by so doing, you will
deprive yourself of her for ever?"</p>

<p>"I shall do my duty," said Lord Edmund,
pressing his lips firmly together, as though to
suppress his feelings. Father Morris looked at
him from under his over-shadowing cowl with a
kind of sardonic smile, which seemed to say
"You speak well, but let us see how you will
act."</p>

<p>"My noble Edmund!" murmured Sir Ambrose,
tears rolling down his cheeks.</p>

<p>Elvira's eyes thanked her lover for his disinterestedness;
and the glow of anticipated
triumph which flushed her cheeks, betrayed,
that neither her love for Edmund, nor the grief
for the loss of her cousin, could suppress her
joy at the flattering prospect opened before
her. "Elvira!" said Lord Edmund, gazing
upon her earnestly, as though he would penetrate
the inmost recesses of her bosom. "What
are your wishes? Do not hesitate to declare
them, for alas! much hangs upon your words."</p>

<p>Elvira blushed, and cast her eyes upon the
ground; however, Lord Edmund comprehended
but too well the meaning of her silence, and
he sighed deeply. "It is enough," said he,
in a mournful tone; "then the die is cast."
He paused a few moments, whilst his friends,
though they all looked at him with the deepest
commiseration, respected his emotion too much
to venture to interrupt it: then rousing himself,
he hastily brushed a tear from his eye,
and exclaimed, "How weak is human nature!
I know my duty, and I will perform it; but
yet&mdash;Oh Elvira!"</p>

<p>"Compose yourself, my beloved Edmund,"
said his father; "to-morrow you will be more
calm."</p>

<p>"Oh, talk not of to-morrow!" replied Edmund;
"to-day is the season for action.
Keep the death of Claudia concealed a few
hours, if possible. I will in the mean time
assemble my friends: I know the army is
devoted to me. A council of state will be
chosen to direct the kingdom during the interregnum.
I must be one of its members:
some weeks must elapse before the election can
take place, I think?"</p>

<p>"Three months is the time fixed," said the
duke: "but you know the votes of all the
people are to be collected, and that, with such
a population as ours, will be no trifle: to be
sure, it is the deputies that are to do the business,
but then it will take some time to elect
them."</p>

<p>"When the founder of the present dynasty
ordained her successor should be chosen by the
votes of the whole people," said Sir Ambrose;
"she wisely recollected the difficulty that
must arise from collecting their votes impartially,
and directed they should elect deputies;
but when she ordered that every ten thousand
men throughout the kingdom should choose a
deputy of their own rank and station to come
to London to represent them, she did not calculate
upon the immensity of our present population,
nor think of the evils the presence
of such a disorderly body of men must bring
upon the capital."</p>

<p>"Yet any attempt to reduce their number,
would inevitably overturn the government,"
observed Father Morris; "for as it is the only
act of freedom the people have long been permitted
to enjoy, they will be proportionably
tenacious of it."</p>

<p>"And the majority of these deputies are to
decide the election," said Edmund, musing;
"then our business must be to secure that
majority. Think you that any good can be
done by endeavouring to procure the return
of those who are disposed to be favourable
to us?"</p>

<p>"Very little," returned Father Morris, to
whom this observation was addressed; "for
the lower classes, from their conceit and pedantry,
are extremely difficult to manage.
Their deputies, however, notwithstanding the
ordinance of the Queen, will probably be more
polished, and less learned, as the lower classes
will be ill able to spare the time necessary to
become deputies, whilst the country gentlemen
will be delighted to obtain something to do."</p>

<p>"We must be prompt," said the duke, "at
all events. I don't like delay."</p>

<p>"True!" replied Edmund, starting from a
reverie into which he had fallen; "I must get
myself nominated a member of the council,
and we must arrange our other plans afterwards."</p>

<p>The party now separated, and Elvira, left
alone with her companion, indulged in dreams
of future grandeur. "I am sorry for the death
of Claudia," said she, "but I never loved her;
she was so cold and uninteresting&mdash;such a mere
matter-of-fact being&mdash;she had no soul, Emma,
and how can one love a being so totally passionless
and insipid? I wonder," continued she,
after a short pause, "what Henry Seymour
will think of this?"</p>

<p>Emma smiled. "Poor Lord Edmund!"
said she.</p>

<p>"I know what you would say," returned
Elvira; "I am sorry for him, and I admire
his conduct extremely. There is really something
very noble about him."</p>

<p>Emma again smiled, for she saw, in spite of
this admiration, that in a week poor Lord
Edmund would be forgotten.</p>

<p>In the mean time, poor Rosabella's mind
was a prey to the most violent passions. A
billet from Father Morris had informed her of
the death of her cousin, and of the designs
brooding against her interests. "I will be
revenged," said she; "I will show them mine
is not a soul to dwell upon impotent grief. I
will assemble my friends; my father's party
was strong in the state; it cannot be quite
extinct. Let me see, to whom shall I apply?"</p>

<p>"The Lords Noodle and Doodle (both of
ancient families) were both devoted to your father,
and were under great obligations to him
when they were young," observed Marianne.</p>

<p>"But they are such fools!" said Rosabella.</p>

<p>"They are well connected," returned her
confidant; "and power does not always attend
upon talent."</p>

<p>"True, and, as they are so weak, I may
guide them as I will."</p>

<p>"Do not rely upon that: folly is generally
obstinate; and though there may be hopes of
convincing a man of sense, fools will always
have their own way."</p>

<p>"How then are they to be dealt with?"</p>

<p>"By letting them fancy they direct, when,
in fact, they are directed. Apply to Lords
Noodle and Doodle, as though for advice,
more than assistance. Consult them how you
ought to act, and suggest the advantages that
will arise from your possessing the throne so
artfully, that they may fancy what you say
the dictates of their own minds, and then, if
they advise any course, they in some measure
pledge themselves to support you, if you
pursue it."</p>

<p>"I do not doubt obtaining their sanction,
and that of Lord Gustavus de Montfort; but
I wish I could also obtain the countenance of
Dr. Hardman, for he has many friends, and
some talents," said Rosabella; "and I own I
do not feel satisfied to trust myself entirely in
the hands of any of the others."</p>

<p>"Talk of liberty and public spirit," replied
Marianne; "promise a redress of grievances,
and a radical reform of all evils, and you may
secure Dr. Hardman. Yet he is not a fool;
nay, he is even shrewd, penetrating, and persevering;
but as lunatics are generally mad
only upon one subject, so even men of sense
have generally some prevailing folly, and his
is, that of being thought of importance in the
state. Indeed, in my opinion, there are very
few human beings that we may not make subservient
to our views, if we have but penetration
enough to discover their weak sides,
and art enough to avail ourselves of the
discovery."</p>

<p>"The world is very much obliged to you
for the high opinion you have of it," returned
Rosabella; "however, I like your advice, and
will pursue it. But do you think Father
Morris will approve?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I will answer for him," interrupted
Marianne.</p>

<p>"I will then write to each of the three
lords," continued Rosabella; "and appoint a
time and place for an interview with each. I
must attend to the doctor afterwards."</p>

<p>"Beware," said Marianne; "you have a
difficult game to play. The old proverb says,
it is well to have two strings to one's bow;
but four, I fear, will be too much for you to
manage."</p>

<p>"Fear me not," cried her mistress; "impetuous
as I generally am, I can be cautious
when I see occasion."</p>

<p>In pursuance of her resolution, Rosabella
wrote to the noblemen, whose assistance she
wished to secure; and receiving favourable
answers, the hour of twelve that night was
fixed upon for a secret meeting between Lord
Gustavus and herself upon the subject. The
utmost secrecy was requisite, as Rosabella
knew the fiery temper of her uncle, and felt
confident, that if he discovered her plans before
they were ripe for execution, his vengeance
would have no bounds. She wished, therefore,
to ascertain her strength privately; and,
as she was aware a fruitless struggle would
only involve her in ruin, she resolved not to
betray her intentions till there appeared at
least a fair prospect of success.</p>

<p>For this reason, when the duke informed
her of the death of the Queen, she affected
only the surprise she might naturally be supposed
to feel at the suddenness of the event;
and appeared absorbed in grief for the loss of
her cousin, without seeming even to think of
the consequences likely to ensue to herself; in
short, she acted her part so well, that the duke
was completely deceived; and when he returned
to Sir Ambrose, after his conference with her,
he exclaimed, "We had no occasion to alarm
ourselves, or give ourselves so much trouble: I
don't believe Rosabella even thinks about the
throne; and I am sure she doesn't care a straw
whether she has it or not. I am even confident,
from what I have seen to-night, that I
have only to express my wishes in favour of
Elvira, to have her resign all pretensions immediately."</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose smiled and shook his head incredulously,
and the duke was provoked; for,
like all weak, obstinate men, he was extremely
tenacious of the infallibility of his judgment.</p>

<p>"Why do you shake your head?" said he;
"Do you disbelieve my assertion?"</p>

<p>"I do not disbelieve your assertion; I only
doubt your penetration!"</p>

<p>"And why do you doubt that?"</p>

<p>"Because I know Rosabella."</p>

<p>"Then you think her indifference affected?"</p>

<p>"I think it too great to be real. Moderation
is not by any means a characteristic of
Rosabella. She is ever in extremes; and when
she appears otherwise, depend upon it she is
only acting a part, and she has some end in
view that she hopes to gain by it."</p>

<p>"Well, let her be as sly as she will,
she cannot deceive me! I'll watch her! I'll
defy her to think, walk, look, or speak,
without my knowing of it; and if I find she
nourishes even the thought of rivalling Elvira,
she shall quit my house immediately. I will
encourage no vipers."</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose smiled inwardly at the mistaken
confidence of his friend in his own judgment.
Thinking it useless, however, to irritate
him by farther opposition, he endeavoured to
turn the conversation upon another subject.
"It is strange," said he, "how frequently I
have been thinking of that Mummy. If
there be no deception in the business, it is a
perfect miracle!"</p>

<p>"And what deception can there be?" returned
the duke, peevishly: "you think yourself
so very wise, and that you know so much
better than other people, only because you are
always suspecting something wrong. Now, for
my part, I think, as poor Dr. Entwerfen used
to say, 'Incredulity is often as much the offspring
of folly as credulity'!"</p>

<p>"I wonder what has become of the doctor
and Edric? for, ill as Edric behaved, he is
still my son; and I own I should like to
know where he is."</p>

<p>"Oh! I don't think you have the least occasion
in the world to trouble yourself about him.
Depend upon it, he and his mad friend, Doctor
Entwerfen are rambling about Egypt, and are
happier now than ever they were before in their
lives."</p>

<p>"If you are right," said Sir Ambrose, "and
they are now in Egypt; as they have lost their
balloon, they may be even in want of necessaries."</p>

<p>"And it is very right they should be so," replied
the duke; "what business had they to
go away?"</p>

<p>The hours of this eventful day rolled on
heavily with Rosabella; the important consequences
of the struggle she was about to engage
in forcibly impressed her mind. Ruin must
inevitably ensue if she failed, and even if she
succeeded, her path seemed strewed with thorns.
The anxiety natural to the intrigues she was
about to be involved in, also hung about her.
Though haughty and vindictive, Rosabella was
not naturally deceitful. Indeed the very violence
and impetuosity of her passions rendered
it difficult for her to appear otherwise than she
really was. The secret intercourse, however,
which, through the intervention of Marianne,
she had long maintained with Father Morris,
had somewhat practised her in concealment, but it
was still repugnant to her nature. She was now
anxiously expecting a visit from the reverend
father, and as he was generally remarkably
punctual to his appointments, his non-appearance
filled her with a sensation of dread; and a
presentiment of evil crept over her, that she
tried in vain to overcome.</p>

<p>"It is long past the hour the father mentioned,"
said Marianne, after a long pause,
during which she had been listening with the
utmost attention to every sound. "I cannot
imagine the cause of his absence. Surely our
plans have not been discovered." And as she
spoke, her blanched cheeks and livid lips betrayal
the deep interest she took in his fate.</p>

<p>"How gloomily that heavy bell clangs in my
ear!" said Rosabella; "it seems to ring the
death-knell of my hopes. A gloomy foreboding
hangs upon my mind, and undefinable horrors
rise in dim perspective before me."</p>

<p>"Hark!" cried Marianne, her sense of hearing
sharpened by anxiety; "he comes! yes,
yes, he comes," added she, after a short pause;
and in a few seconds Rosabella heard the Father's
well-known step. "You are very late,"
said she, as he entered the room.</p>

<p>"Good God! what is the matter?" asked
Marianne, as the haggard, agitated features of
the priest met her eye. "You look like one who
has held communion with infernal spirits."</p>

<p>"You say right, Marianne," replied the Father,
in a deep hollow tone; "I have, indeed,
conversed with spirits&mdash;for never could those
fearful eyes that so long have glared upon me,
belong to mortal."</p>

<p>"What do you mean?" asked Rosabella.</p>

<p>"I have again seen the Mummy! that fearful
spectre from the tomb. I have even conversed
with him, and he lives and breathes; nay
even reasons, thinks, and speaks like a human
being; but the cerecloths of the grave are still
wrapped round him, his fearful eyes glare with
unearthly lustre, and his deep sepulchral voice
thrills through every nerve."</p>

<p>"What, that horrid creature whom we saw
descend from above at the very moment of
Claudia's accident? Heaven grant no horrible
consequences may ensue from so awful an invasion
of the general laws of nature!" said Rosabella.</p>

<p>"Are you certain it is no deception?" asked
Marianne.</p>

<p>"Deception!" returned the priest, "even I
trembled, Marianne, when I gazed upon the
countenance of that tremendous being, and read
there the traces of fierce and ungoverned passions,
wild and destructive in their course as the
raging whirlwind. Even I, dreaded the influence
he might exert upon our destinies, and shuddered
at the thought of such a creature's being
released from the fetters of the tomb, and sent
back as a destroying spirit upon earth. The
eternal gloom that hangs upon his brow, seems
to bespeak a fallen angel, for such is the deadly
hate that must have animated the rebellious
spirits when expelled from heaven. His look
is terrific; and my blood froze in my veins at
his horrid laugh, which seemed to ring in my
ears like the mockery of fiends when they have
involved a human being inextricably in their
toils."</p>

<p>"It may be a fiend," murmured Marianne,
in a low whisper. At this moment, the clock
struck twelve.</p>

<p>Rosabella started at the sound. "Lord
Gustavus will expect me," cried she.</p>

<p>"Go, then," replied the priest, "with Marianne.
I will follow presently."</p>

<p>With trembling limbs, beating heart, and all
the trepidation which the consciousness of guilt
cannot fail to give even to the firmest mind,
Rosabella and Marianne proceeded to the terrace,
where they found Lord Gustavus waiting
to receive them.</p>

<p>"You may think it strange, my Lord,"
said the agitated princess, as she advanced,
leaving her confidant at the gate which led
from the garden, "that I should desire this
meeting."</p>

<p>"By no means&mdash;by no means," said Lord
Gustavus, condescendingly. "Indeed, I have
already had some conversation with an emissary
of yours, that has let me into your views; and
I find from him your ideas upon several important
subjects are so clear, so just, so sensible,
and so accordant with my own, that
I feel disposed to become your partizan, even
before you utter a syllable."</p>

<p>"And who is this emissary?" asked Rosabella,
unable to account for a reception so
unexpectedly gracious, and alarmed at what
she feared a premature exposure of her plans.</p>

<p>"Father Morris," replied Lord Gustavus,
alarmed in his turn, lest he should have unguardedly
committed himself: "he told me, he
was an accredited agent of yours, and even induced
me to&mdash;to&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Your Lordship need not hesitate," returned
Rosabella; "I was not aware, that
Father Morris had seen you, or I should not
have expressed surprise."</p>

<p>"I have been induced then," said Lord
Gustavus, "to bring with me two friends of
mine, Lord Maysworth and Dr. Hardman.
They are fully convinced of the justness of your
ideas respecting retrenchment and reform; and
they think your plans of curtailing the expenditure,
by throwing all the power of the
state into the hands of a few trustworthy individuals,
upon whom you may thoroughly
rely, (such as them or myself, for instance,) most
excellent."</p>

<p>Poor Rosabella was here completely puzzled,
as she had not the slightest idea of what plan
Lord Gustavus could possibly allude to; nor
indeed was it probable she should, it being
entirely the offspring of the creative brain of
Father Morris, invented by him solely for the
purpose of the winning of the noble lords, to
whom he had confided it, over to her party.
Rosabella was naturally quick, and, possessing
abundantly that very unexplainable, but well-known
faculty, designated "tact," she instantly
divined the motive that had induced Father
Morris to attribute this scheme to her, and
determined to avoid, if possible, betraying her
ignorance.</p>

<p>Lord Maysworth and Dr. Hardman, who
had remained at a little distance, and whom the
agitation of Rosabella had prevented her before
seeing, now advanced; and after having
been presented to the princess, the former
assured her of his devotion to her cause.</p>

<p>"I admire your ideas exceedingly," said
he; "and particularly your intention of removing
Lord Edmund from the command of
the army, and placing an older and more experienced
person in his stead."</p>

<p>"Lord Edmund!" cried Rosabella, thrown
off her guard by the sudden mention of that
name.</p>

<p>"Father Morris told me so," resumed Lord
Maysworth, in surprise.</p>

<p>"And he told you truly," interrupted Rosabella.
"Father Morris is worthy of all the
confidence I can repose in him; and, in fact,
he knows my inmost thoughts; but I was
not aware that he had seen you."</p>

<p>A conversation now ensued, in the course of
which Lord Maysworth detailed, with admirable
minuteness, a variety of subjects calling for
reform. Rosabella did not understand half he
said, for his calculations bewildered her; and
her mind, accustomed to soar with the eagle
flight of genius, and take in oceans with a
glance, could scarcely condescend to listen to
the petty articles of economy in expenditure, to
which it seemed principally his object to draw
her attention. She assented, however, to all
he said; and having let him speak as long as he
liked, without showing symptoms of weariness,
and having luckily said 'yes' and 'no' in the
right places, he departed quite enchanted, and
completely gained over to her party, declaring
her to be, without exception, one of the most
sensible young women he had ever conversed
with in his life. To this, Lord Gustavus and
Dr. Hardman assented, as she had appeared
also to acquiesce in all they had said; and
the noble lords and learned doctor departed
perfectly satisfied.</p>

<p>Scarcely were they gone, when Father Morris
appeared. "My dear father!" exclaimed Rosabella,
enraptured at the result of the interview,
"congratulate me! Lord Maysworth,
Dr. Hardman, and Lord Gustavus, are our
own."</p>

<p>"I rejoice sincerely, my child," returned the
priest; "for Heaven knows I feel as great an
interest in your welfare as in my own. But
what did they say? Let us hear if your hopes
are well founded."</p>

<p>"At first their expressions were rather of a
negative nature&mdash;for they told me rather that
a party existed against my rival, than for myself.
They say the duke has many enemies,
from his obstinate and conceited disposition;
they said also that my father <i>had</i> had many
friends."</p>

<p>"And do they exist no longer then, that
you lay such emphasis on the word <i>had</i>?'"
asked Father Morris bitterly.</p>

<p>"They exist, but it seems my father has
been so unfortunate as to lose their friendship,"
returned Rosabella; "Lord Gustavus even
alluded to some crime, which he said he had
committed."</p>

<p>"Crime! Did he dare to call it crime?"</p>

<p>"He did indeed, and it is not possible to
describe the torture that rent my bosom as he
spoke. I always knew my father had been unfortunate,
but I never before even suspected
him of having been guilty."</p>

<p>"Nor was he guilty, girl! none but fools or
idiots dare breathe such an accusation against
his name."</p>

<p>"Ten thousand blessings on you for relieving
my mind from the agony of believing him
unworthy of my love. I am perfectly satisfied
with your assurance; and yet, methinks, I would
fain know his history."</p>

<p>"Rosabella, you never knew your father;
you were but three years old when circumstances
occurred that urged him to commit a
deed of desperation. Seek not to inquire farther;
and endeavour, since misfortune has
thrown a shade over your father's name, to
redeem it by the lustre of your own."</p>

<p>"As an obscure individual, whatever might
be my will, power would be wanting."</p>

<p>"But it shall not be wanting. You shall be
Queen. I swear it, though all the powers of
heaven and earth should unite to oppose my
designs, and though even blood should be necessary
to seal the compact&mdash;"</p>

<p>He was going on when a fiendish laugh
rang in his ears; and, looking up, he beheld the
gigantic form of Cheops standing over him.
The bright moonbeams showed, with horrible
distinctness, the strange attire, savage features,
and unearthly gaze of the Mummy, as his
horrid laugh echoed from the wall behind them
and pealed across the water. Rosabella had
not before seen him, except when she knelt before
the dying Queen; and, shrieking with horror,
she fled for refuge to her uncle's garden,
whilst Cheops thus tauntingly addressed the
priest.</p>

<p>"You were conspiring mischief. Though the
language your lips employed was unknown to
me, that of your looks was clear. Men do
not cast their eyes upon the earth, and murmur
forth their accents as though they trembled
at the sound of their own voices, when
their purposes are such as will bear avowal.
Make me your confidant, and by the aid of my
serpent deity, my guardian Cneph, I may
assist you: but force me to become your enemy,
and Typhon himself never pursued Isis
and the infant Horus with more unrelenting
vengeance than I will follow you and destroy
your plans."</p>

<p>Dreading alike to trust, or enrage this mysterious
being, and cursing the evil chance that
had led him to that spot, Father Morris, who,
like all the English in those days, was an universal
linguist, found himself obliged partially
to obey this injunction, and inform the Mummy
of his design. Cheops burst into one of his
terrific laughs of derision. "And so," he said,
"you would make yonder feeble girl who fled
screaming at my approach, a Queen. A fit
monarch for a warlike people. Can a woman's
arm resist an invasion of the Palli, or a woman's
hands direct the reins of Mizraim's
government? Alas! alas! where am I wandering?
I forgot the change wrought in my
destiny, and that your people seem powerless
as the sovereign you would give them. Be
satisfied, I will not betray thee. Indeed, so do
I hate thy countrymen, that I shall rejoice to
see thee triumph in deceiving them. Beware,
however, how thou attemptest to deceive me,
lest my vengeance, quick, sure, and unforeseen
as the secret agency of the Epoptæ, should fall
upon and crush thee at the very moment of the
fruition of thy wishes."</p>

<p>Fearing, whilst he hated the mysterious
being thus strangely thrust into his most inmost
secrets, Father Morris promised obedience, and
the Mummy retreated within the walls of Mrs.
Montagu's garden; ere he left the priest, however,
he held out his hand to him. "Give me
your hand," said he, "and let us seal our compact."
Father Morris shuddered as he obeyed;
for the words of the Mummy recalled those he
had just employed, when this fearful apparition
broke in upon him, and brought with them a
train of thoughts he would now willingly have
shaken off. He did not dare, however, to refuse,
and reluctantly held out his hand: the
Mummy seized it with an iron grasp, and an
icy chill seemed to creep from his hand to
Father Morris's heart, as he burst into one of
his demon-like laughs and left him.</p>

<p>Father Morris, unable to shake off the horror
that oppressed him, for he felt as though he had
entered into a compact with a fiend, stood
gazing at the supernatural appearance of
Cheops as he stalked across the terrace. His
gaunt figure (rendered more awful by the
grave-clothes that bound it) was magnified in
the moonbeams, which seemed to increase, rather
than to mitigate the unearthly ugliness of
the apparition they shone upon. The priest
was fixed in a fearful trance: in imagination, he
still felt the cold and iron grasp of the Mummy,
whose eyes seemed as though they were still
looking into his very soul, and whose solemn
accents were even now scaring his faculties. At
length, however, Father Morris recovered something
of his self-possession, and fled from the
spot (he scarcely knew in what direction) under
the fear, at every turning, of again encountering
the dreaded Mummy!</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h3>


<p>When the reverend father took refuge in
his chamber after this fearful and memorable
interview, he felt that strange mysterious sensation
of something dreadful hanging over him,
though he scarcely knew what, which so often
weighs upon the mind when any great and unexpected
change has taken place in our destiny.
He threw himself upon a sofa, and endeavoured
in vain to analyze his feelings. He was not superstitious;
but there was something about the
Mummy that inspired him with awe in spite of
himself, and he felt that he was no longer his
own master, for a supernatural power seemed
to mingle with his designs, and control his
actions: he endeavoured in vain to recur to the
plans he had that morning arranged for gaining
over partizans to the side of Rosabella; he
could not govern his ideas; he could no longer
direct them as he wished; one sole thought
occupied his mind, one sole image floated before
his senses. He held his head with his
hands, he pressed them firmly against his ears,
and closed his eyes, as though by shutting out
external objects his mind could recover its tone.
It was all in vain! the gaunt figure of the Mummy
still seemed to stalk before his eyes, and
his fiendish laugh still to ring in his ears.
Father Morris rose from his couch and threw
open his window; the cool evening breeze revived
him, and restored his faculties. He now
began to reason with himself.</p>

<p>"It is very strange," said he; "but, unaccountable
though it may seem, the destinies of
this fearful being are evidently interwoven with
mine. His appearance here at this eventful
moment, and his forcing himself upon my confidence,
which a secret power superior to my
own prevented the possibility of my refusing
him, cannot surely be accidental. No, no&mdash;he
is permitted to revisit this earth for some
positive and definite purpose; perchance to
counteract my plans, perchance to aid them.
There is no vanity in the thought; for upon my
destiny, at this moment, hangs that of a mighty
empire, and I feel that I am but a blind instrument
in the hands of Fate, condemned to
work, mole-like, in the dark, uncertain whether
I be not drawing destruction upon my head at
the very moment when I fancy I am attaining
the pinnacle of happiness and glory. However,
I will not be wanting to myself; this strange
agent may be sent to aid me, and it shall not be
my fault if I do not avail myself of his assistance.
In his present garb he creates disgust
and terror; but clothed as a human being, his
superhuman eloquence, and the strange fearful
interest excited by his looks and manner, might
render him a powerful assistant. It shall be
my present business, then, to endeavour to make
him serviceable to my views; and to do this I
must persuade him to adopt the dress and
manners of the country."</p>

<p>Pleased with the resolution he had taken,
and quite forgetting the lateness of the hour,
Father Morris descended hastily to the usual
sitting room of Mrs. Montagu; but what
was his horror, on entering it, to find, instead
of the usual cheerful party he expected,
only the dreaded Mummy! Cheops again lay
stretched upon the couch he had before occupied,
his eyes fixed upon the brilliant constellation
of Orion, and his lips murmuring an
address to the deity he fancied it to represent.</p>

<p>"Yes, blessed Horus!" cried Cheops, as Father
Morris entered the room; "thou wilt
hear my prayer, for thou hast also been a
stranger in a foreign land; forced even in thy
mother's arms to fly, pursued by all the fury of
fell Typhon's rage; thou knowest how to pity
the unhappy! And thou too, bright Isis!"
continued he, addressing the moon, "thou also
hast known sorrow; when thy streaming tears
occasioned the first overflowing of the Nile,
and grief for the loss of Osiris rent thy bosom
with despair&mdash;then becamest thou well fitted
to be patroness of the wretched. O Arsinoë!
could I but recall the fatal moment when I saw
thee last!"</p>

<p>"Despair is sinful," said Father Morris, who
now stood beside him; "repentance may obtain
forgiveness even of the most heinous
crimes."</p>

<p>Cheops started upon his feet at the sound of
the father's voice, and burst into one of his
fearful laughs: "And who art thou," cried he,
"who presumest to preach repentance to me?
Oh! I know thee now, thou art the priest
whose confidant I am become. But though I
will aid thee, think not I will be thy slave&mdash;no,
rather art thou mine, for thou art in my
power!"</p>

<p>Father Morris felt his blood curdle in his
veins at this address, and, though he strove to
speak, his tongue clove to the roof of his
mouth, and he could not articulate a word.
Cheops saw his embarrassment, and continued
in a milder tone, "Fear nothing; we may be
useful to each other. I would fain quit these
garments of the tomb, and since I seem destined
to remain some time amongst your fellow-men,
I will endeavour to assume their
manners. You seem to have influence amongst
them; try, then, to pacify their fears, and teach
them to regard me as a fellow-being."</p>

<p>At this moment the solemn clang of a deep-toned
bell fell heavily upon their ears. Cheops
started at the sound, and, springing from the
couch on which he had reclined, bent forward
eagerly to listen as it slowly pealed through
the deep silence of the night. It was the
great bell of the ancient cathedral of St. Paul,
which tolled to announce that on the following
day the body of the deceased Queen would
lie in state.</p>

<p>"What is it?" cried Cheops; "whence
comes that fearful knell, awful as the sound
which is doomed to sink into the souls of the
initiate of the Isian mysteries? Again it tolls;
speak! whence comes it? what does it foretell?
Is it the signal of another change of existence,
strange, awful, and mysterious, as that I have
already experienced? Let it come, I am prepared.
The gods cannot inflict tortures more
horrid than those I already suffer. Cannot!
have I said? dread Osiris, forgive the impious
thought! Methinks e'en now I see thy dark
blue countenance frowning in awful majesty
at my unguarded rashness. Forgive me,
mighty Spirit! No longer will I repine at
thy decrees, but teach my proud rebellious
heart submission. Alas! alas! had I before
done so. But it is now too late, and happiness
is lost to me for ever."</p>

<p>Sighing, he hid his face in his hands as he
spoke; and all again was silent, save the deep-toned
bell, which still fell heavily at intervals
upon the ear. Slowly the hours rolled on,
yet still Father Morris sate gazing on the
Mummy, till the first bright tints of morning
broke through the dark grey sky, and a half-subdued
bustle in the streets, as of people
hurrying to and fro, announced that preparations
were making to hang them with black.</p>

<p>The confused murmur&mdash;the busy voices
hushed to whispers, and the still-continued
tolling of the muffled bell, harmonized with
the fearful form of the Mummy-visitant,
which, now seen dimly by the uncertain shades
of the breaking twilight, seemed to acquire
fresh horrors from the obscure and wavering
gleams thrown upon it. It was at this moment,
when objects were gradually becoming more
distinct every instant, that Lord Edmund
rushed into the room&mdash;"Father Morris," cried
he, "you must aid me, or all is lost!"</p>

<p>And as he spoke, he started back aghast;
for the terrific form of the Mummy struck
upon his sight. He had seen him, it was true,
on his first descent; but the events that had
since occurred, involving as they did the dearest
interests of his soul, had almost driven the
circumstance from his memory. Now, however,
aided by the illusive light, the spectre
appeared before him in all its frightful reality,
and even the firm mind of Edmund shrunk
back aghast from the appalling sight.</p>

<p>"Why do you shrink?" said Cheops, his
deep hollow voice thrilling through the souls of
his auditors; "why does my form appear to
create such terror? Is it because a tomb has
been my dwelling? Oh, degenerate race! know
that the sons of Mizraim, bold, wise, and
learned as they were, held that communion
with the dead was needful to the living.
They loved to gaze upon the empty casket,
deprived of all that gave it value, for it taught
the meanness of the body; and who could
dwell upon the withering worthless clay, and
not acknowledge to his soul how poor were its
highest pleasures, when compared to the sublime
aspirations of the spirit? Why then tremble?
Virtue need fear no spectres, and vice might
shudder at itself. If thine own conscience do
not upbraid thee, what hast thou to fear?"</p>

<p>"Nothing!" said Lord Edmund firmly;
"spectre or demon, whatever you may be, I
fear you not! 'Twas but the infirmity of human
nature; it is past, and I am again myself,
and strong in the consciousness of the integrity
of my own mind. It is not in the power of
Hell itself to fright me from my purpose!"</p>

<p>"The integrity of thine own mind!" cried
Cheops, with one of his horrid laughs; "Poor
weak offspring of clay! ay, confide in thy
boasted strength; rely upon thy vaunted firmness;
but when the hour of trial and temptation
shall arrive, tremble!"</p>

<p>Lord Edmund shuddered in spite of himself,
and his blood ran colder in his veins!
"Who art thou?" cried he, indignantly:
"strange, terrible being that thou art?&mdash;and
why art thou permitted to revisit earth to taunt
me into madness?"</p>

<p>"I was once as thou art," returned Cheops.
"Young, ardent, and impetuous, I thought the
world was made for happiness, and that men
were born to be my slaves. Glory was my idol,
and Fame the only meed I coveted. Deeply
did I drink of her intoxicating cup; my renown
spread to the remotest corners of the
earth, and my power became as boundless as
my ambition! To immortalize my name, I
caused the erection of an enormous pyramid!
and my grandeur seemed beyond the reach
of destiny to destroy. But I trusted in my
own strength, and I fell! Tremble then,
weak man! nor dare to boast how thou wilt act
until the moment of temptation shall arrive!"</p>

<p>The deep thrilling voice of the Mummy fell
upon Lord Edmund's ear as a warning from
the tomb. He too was relying on his own
strength, and should he too fall? Forbid it
Heaven! "No!" thought he, "in some
cases I might fear; but now, when the welfare
of her I love is at stake, I cannot fail!"</p>

<p>The Mummy smiled as he read the thoughts
that passed over Lord Edmund's expressive
countenance. "Thus I too thought," muttered
he; "and as I was, so will he be deceived!
Human nature is still the same even
in this remote corner of the globe. Fool
that I was, then, to attempt to reverse her
decrees! Forgive me, mighty Isis!" The
rest was lost in inarticulate murmurs as the
Mummy's head sank upon his breast.</p>

<p>"Oh, God!" cried Edmund to Father Morris;
"whence comes this fearful spectre?
what does it import?"</p>

<p>"I know not," said Father Morris, in a
hoarse unnatural whisper, his eyes still strained
upon the Mummy. Edmund started, for the
unusual abstraction of Father Morris added
fresh horror to the scene: his senses seemed
bewildered; he scarcely knew where he was,
or what was passing around him; he rubbed
his eyes, and tried to wake from what appeared
a frightful dream; but in vain; the vision was
still there in all its horrible distinctness, and
Edmund felt a terrific creeping steal along his
nerves as the hollow sepulchral voice of the
Mummy again fell upon his ears.</p>

<p>"Alas! where am I?" continued he; "can
that river be a ramification of my beloved
Nile? or am I indeed torn from all I prize
and love, to be cast upon this secluded spot,
where all seems strange and insignificant? O
deity of the foaming waters! holy Sirius,
hear me! Calm my troubled spirit, and grant
some gracious manifestation of thy divinity to
chase my growing doubts. But I deceive myself;
this is not the Nile! No papyrine boats
glide o'er its polished surface. No acanthus
groves nor forests of lofty palm border its
banks. No, no! the immortal palm, fit emblem
of the soul, grows only in those favoured
realms, where, spurning at oppression, it resists
the feeble efforts of man to bend it to the
earth, and springs upward with only added
vigour from the feeble attempts made to subdue
it!"</p>

<p>The Mummy ceased, and a solemn silence
prevailed; whilst passions fierce as the whirlwind's
fury flitted across his face, chilling the
beholder's heart with horror at the fearful
being whose bosom could conceive them.</p>

<p>Father Morris was not naturally timid; he
even possessed uncommon strength both of
nerves and mind; yet an unwonted shuddering
ran through his frame as he gazed upon
Cheops, and traced the workings of that demoniac
mind as they were successively imprinted
on his features. Involuntarily he turned
away in disgust. "For God's sake, let us
go!" cried he, gasping for breath; for a strange
feeling that he could not define, seemed to
impede his respiration.</p>

<p>"Yes, yes&mdash;let us go!" stammered forth
Edmund; still, however, keeping his eyes fixed
upon the awful object of his fear, as he slowly
moved towards the door.</p>

<p>"Stay!" cried Cheops in a voice of thunder.
Involuntarily they obeyed. "How feeble is
this race of men!" resumed the Mummy;
"how different from the sons of ancient Mizraim,
from the Macrobian Ethiopians, or even
our Pallic foes; degenerate in form as well as
spirit, their souls no longer seem emanations
from the divinity, though perhaps the immortal
spark becomes degraded and abased from
its long continuance in clay, and is sunk for
ever from its pristine greatness! Stay, then!"
continued he; "why should you fly me? I
mean you no harm, and I swear by the sacred
tomb of Osiris in Philæ, that I will not hurt
you. Drive me not then from amongst you, and
I may aid your projects: at least, it is your
duty to receive me as the destined instrument
of Fate, since Osiris decrees that my soul shall
quit its transmigrations in the form of animals
to re-animate this worthless body. Take me
then into your counsels, confide in my power
and I swear by the holy dust of Isis that you
shall not repent."</p>

<p>"Avaunt, demon!" cried Lord Edmund,
and, bursting from the room, he rushed out of
the house.</p>

<p>What farther passed between the priest and
his awful visitor, was known only to themselves;
for when the family descended to breakfast, the
Mummy was gone, and Father Morris appeared
absorbed in his usual studies, without taking
the slightest notice of the terrific occurrences
of the night.</p>

<p>The death of the Queen being now generally
known, her remains, laid in state, were exposed
to the lamentations of her subjects, and the family
of Mrs. Montagu were amongst the earliest
visitors to the mournful spectacle.</p>

<p>In an immense hall, hung with black, was
placed a kind of bier, covered with black cloth,
supporting the body of the deceased Queen,
over which was thrown a velvet pall, so disposed,
however, as to display the beautiful features
of the deceased, which, though now fixed
in death, still retained their native expression
of majestic dignity.</p>

<p>Immense tapers of an enormous thickness
lighted the sombre walls, hung with black cloth;
whilst chorister boys walked up and down
chanting hymns in honour of the deceased,
and flinging incense in the air from silver vessels
suspended by silver chains, which they carried
in their hands; thus shedding fragrance
around, and chasing the fearful odour of mortality
even from the very chamber of death.
Priests wrapped in funeral garments also slowly
paraded the room, muttering prayers, and joining
occasionally their full, deep-toned voices with
the shriller chant of the boys.</p>

<p>The space where the public were admitted,
was railed off from the lower end of the hall;
but near the body knelt a beautiful female arrayed
in black velvet, and her fair face and arms
shaded by a veil of black crape.&mdash;</p>

<p>"O Osiris!" cried a figure wrapped in a
long dark cloak, grasping the arm of Father
Morris, "who is that lovely creature? There,
bending over the last awful relics of mortality,
methinks she looks beauteous as the ph&#339;nix
rising from the funeral pile, and triumphing in
glory over the impotent malice of the grave."</p>

<p>"Hush! hush! for Heaven's sake!" whispered
the deep, full voice of Father Morris; "it
is Elvira, the rival of Rosabella, whom you have
sworn to support."</p>

<p>"Typhon himself could not injure her," said
Cheops, for it was he; and he stood with his
eyes fixed upon her, apparently lost in meditation.</p>

<p>"For mercy's sake, let us go on!" whispered
the priest, "you will excite attention&mdash;we shall
be discovered. Besides," continued he in a
lower tone, "did you find a crown so delightful
that you think you would injure her by depriving
her of one?"</p>

<p>"No! by the holy limbs of Osiris!" said
Cheops; and, obeying the influence of the friar's
arm, he moved onwards.</p>

<p>"Why was not Rosabella with Elvira in the
hall?" asked Sir Ambrose. "I thought it was
commanded by the law that all the princesses of
the Blood Royal should exhibit themselves
publicly as mourners by the corpse of the deceased
Queen."</p>

<p>"Rosabella is ill," replied the duke.
"Grief for the loss of her cousin has produced
an access of fever, and she is unable to quit
her bed."</p>

<p>"Indeed!" returned Sir Ambrose, incredulously;
"it is very strange! I own I did
not give Rosabella credit for so much sensibility."</p>

<p>Notwithstanding the incredulity of Sir Ambrose,
however, Rosabella was really dangerously
ill; though her illness did not proceed
exactly from the cause she chose to assign
for it. The terror she had felt at the sudden
appearance of the Mummy, whom she thought
a supernatural being, at the very moment she
believed the death of her cousin was darkly
hinted at by the monk, operating upon an over-excited
imagination, had produced fever; and
for some days Rosabella was in considerable
danger.</p>

<p>The secret exertions of Father Morris, however,
in her behalf, prevented Rosabella's cause
from being injured by her illness; and, by the
time she was able to leave her bed, Lord
Gustavus de Montfort, Lord Maysworth, and
Dr. Hardman, with the Lords Noodle and
Doodle, had declared themselves her adherents,
bringing with them all the numerous host who,
finding it too much trouble to judge for themselves,
are always ready to follow in the train of
a great man. The day when this important
declaration was made, was that on which all
the nobility of the realm assembled in that
splendid monument of antiquity, Westminster
Hall, to choose the council of state to govern
the kingdom during the interregnum. This
venerable pile, which had seen so many generations
successively rise and pass away, now
cleared of the encumbrances with which the bad
taste of the middle ages had loaded it, shone
in all its original magnificence, and opened
wide its ponderous portals to receive the whole
nobility of England upon this important occasion.</p>

<p>It was a glorious, and almost an awful sight,
to see so many great and illustrious characters,
some of whose names were celebrated
even to the remotest corners of the globe, collected
together in that magnificent hall. Few
however, thought of the grandeur of the spectacle;
the deep interest excited by the occasion
that assembled them absorbing all minor feelings.
The business of the day was soon entered
upon; and twelve noble individuals chosen to
direct the affairs of state, till another Queen
should be elected.</p>

<p>The Duke of Cornwall, Lord Edmund
Montagu, Lord Gustavus de Montfort, Lord
Maysworth, and the Lords Noodle and
Doodle, were amongst the number chosen; and
as soon as the election was completed, the
council retired together to an apartment appropriated
to their use, to consult upon the
measures to be taken to secure the due election
of their future Queen. Then it was, that the
anxious father of Elvira was paralyzed, to
hear the noble lords above-mentioned declare
themselves partizans of her rival; and to see
others who had till then remained neuter,
seem inclined to range themselves upon the
same side. In vain did Edmund exert his
powerful eloquence; the weight and influence
of the adverse lords far outweighed all his arguments
in the breasts of the auditors; and the
poor old duke returned home depressed and
almost broken-hearted, from the conviction he
received, that the feeling of the majority of
the council was decidedly against his child.</p>

<p>The moment the duke reached his own
palace, he repaired to the apartment of Rosabella,
and found her apparently in a state of
convalescence, reclining upon a sofa, supported
by her confidant Marianne, with Father Morris
sitting at her feet. The holy father was evidently
confused at the unexpected arrival of
the duke; and he rose hastily in great disorder,
to endeavour to account for his appearance
there. The duke, however, was too much enraged
to listen to him, or, indeed, to notice the
suspicious circumstance of his secretly visiting
the princess; his passion was solely directed
against Rosabella, and not even her present
feeble and emaciated appearance was sufficient
to disarm his anger.</p>

<p>"Wretch!" he exclaimed; "vile, ungrateful
wretch that thou art! Thou hast destroyed
me. Thou wilt bring the grey hairs of thy
benefactor with sorrow to the grave! And so
treacherously too! Oh, Rosabella! how could
you plot against me whilst you were enjoying
the shelter of my roof. Against me, did I say?
Alas! would it were only against me! But
no! with fiend-like barbarity, you have conspired
to destroy my child!"</p>

<p>The duke had here unwittingly struck a
chord that thrilled through the inmost souls of
his auditors; he did not heed their confusion,
however, but went on.</p>

<p>"Oh, Rosabella! if I could have guessed,
when thou wert brought to me a little smiling
infant, and I took thee under my protection to
foster thee as my own child, that thou wouldst
prove a serpent to sting my heart to the core!
But I was told it would be so&mdash;Sir Ambrose
warned me to beware. 'Your brother,' said he,
'has proved a villain; the violence of his passions
has led him to commit unheard-of crimes; and
may not the same furies glow in the bosom of
this smiling infant? Do not desert her, but do
not educate the offspring of guilt in the bosom
of your own family.'"</p>

<p>"And did Sir Ambrose say this?" exclaimed
Father Morris, grinding his teeth together,
and scarcely able to articulate from the strength
of the emotion that convulsed his frame. The
duke, however, did not hear his question,
and passionately continued&mdash;"He advised
well, but I was deaf to his counsel; Fate hurried
me on to my own destruction, and I
nourished with the tenderest care a wretch
whom I have this day discovered plotting with
traitors to deprive my child of her birth-right!"</p>

<p>"What do you mean, my Lord?" said
Rosabella; "I do not understand you."</p>

<p>"Yes, yes!" replied the duke, "ask what
I mean; you may well assume that face of
smiling innocence&mdash;too&mdash;too often it has served
your purpose! Fool, idiot, that I have been,
to have been so easily deceived! But your arts
will now be vain. Lord Gustavus de Montfort
would not have openly declared himself your
friend, as he did to-day, if the most insidious
arts had not been practised to win him."</p>

<p>"And has he done so?" asked Rosabella,
her eyes sparkling with joy.</p>

<p>"Has he done so?" repeated the duke bitterly;
"no doubt you know it but too well.
Also that the prosing Lord Maysworth, the
enlightened Lord Noodle, and the intelligent
Lord Doodle, have enlisted their empty heads
and long purses upon your side."</p>

<p>"Have they?" cried Rosabella, transport
brightening every feature.</p>

<p>"Oh, Rosabella!" exclaimed the duke, passion
giving way to agony, and torrents of tears
streaming down his aged face; "that look of
affected astonishment is intolerable! You must
have known all this! I am a poor, weak, old
man! there needed not such plotting to deceive
me. It breaks my heart to find you guilty of
hypocrisy."</p>

<p>Rosabella was affected by her uncle's tears:
all his former kindness rushed upon her mind,
and Nature resuming her powerful influence,
she forgot all her ambitious projects, her hopes,
her fears, and her intrigues; she thought only
of the feeble, miserable, old man before her; and,
attempting to throw her arms round his neck,
she sought to mingle her tears with his, and,
clinging to his feet, implored his forgiveness.
The duke, however, could not read her heart,
and, blinded by his passion, saw in this action
only an aggravated insult: violently he spurned
her from him, commanding her to leave his
house immediately, and, by so doing, extinguished
for ever every gentler feeling in his
niece's breast.</p>

<p>Rosabella's haughty spirit did not wait a
second repulse. Her tears were instantly dried,
and, with eyes flashing fire and cheeks glowing
with indignation, she rushed out of the room,
without deigning to reply.</p>

<p>The duke's rage, if possible, exceeded her
own; and these near relations, united as they
were by the tenderest ties, parted in mutual
hatred, sincerely hoping, on both sides, that
they might never meet again.</p>

<p>Father Morris and Marianne followed Rosabella;
and they found, as they expected, that
the violent over-excitement of the moment had
given way to hysterics. These tremendous
convulsive agonies soon exhausted her enfeebled
frame, and she lay upon a sofa in a
state of torpid languor nearly approaching to
insensibility, whilst her friends consulted upon
what course they should pursue. During this
pause of uncertainty and painful deliberation&mdash;for
as Rosabella was entirely dependent upon
her uncle, the case seemed hopeless&mdash;a letter
arrived from Lord Gustavus de Montfort, offering
the loan of his palace and his purse to the
princess. That prudent and calculating nobleman
was fully aware of the situation in which
Rosabella would be thrown by his declaration
in her favour, and of the advantage that would
accrue to himself in after-times, if she should
obtain the crown, from his having at such a
moment conferred an important service upon
his future sovereign.</p>

<p>Father Morris did not hesitate to open this
letter and read it. Rosabella was not in a state
to be consulted. Indeed, the case was one that
did not admit of hesitation; and a conveyance
having been procured, the princess was removed
to the house of Lord Gustavus, before
she had recovered the full use of her faculties.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></h3>


<p>The morning appointed for the election of
the council of state was passed by Elvira in the
most intense anxiety. For herself, she had no
wish to be a Queen&mdash;nay, perhaps she trembled
at the thought; but when she saw how earnestly
it was desired by her father, and thought of
the bitterness of his disappointment should she
be rejected, her eyes filled with tears, and she
felt ready to make any sacrifice to promote his
happiness.</p>

<p>Thus, trembling with agitation, yet fearing
alike every change, the fair Elvira sate, leaning
her head upon her hand, whilst Sir Ambrose,
whose rank did not entitle him to a vote, Dr.
Coleman, and Henry Seymour, endeavoured to
console her.</p>

<p>"My dear young lady," said the good
doctor, "indeed, indeed, I think you distress
yourself quite unnecessarily. With such supporters
as your father and Lord Edmund, I do
not think you can fail of success."</p>

<p>"You quite mistake me, doctor, I assure
you," returned the princess; "I think not of
the crown, yet it is not possible to express
what I have suffered during the last few hours.
Ere my father went to the council this morning,
his agitation was so excessive that I feared it
would destroy him, and my impatience for his
return is become almost agony."</p>

<p>"Let me entreat your Highness to be composed,"
said Henry Seymour. "You torment
yourself with vain terrors. I cannot suffer myself
to imagine for a moment that the duke
can be otherwise than successful."</p>

<p>"My dear child," observed Sir Ambrose,
"exert your own good sense; nothing can be
more foolish than to let imaginary horrors
usurp any influence over your senses; you thus
suffer doubly, and often the pains of anticipation
exceed those of reality. But, see, here
comes Father Murphy, and my little lively
niece, Clara. Well, father, what news? Will
the princess be Queen?"</p>

<p>"Och, and there can be no manner of doubt
of it!" returned Father Murphy.</p>

<p>Elvira turned pale. "God in his mercy
grant you may be mistaken!" said she.</p>

<p>"Oh, dear!" cried Clara, involuntarily.</p>

<p>"Why do you exclaim, fair lady?" asked
the doctor, smiling.</p>

<p>"I am so surprised&mdash;so astonished!" said the
blushing girl.</p>

<p>"At what?" resumed the doctor inquisitively.</p>

<p>"That&mdash;that," said Clara timidly, "that
the princess should not like to be a Queen."</p>

<p>"Alas! alas!" said Elvira, smiling languidly,
"you are too young, Clara, to know
the awful responsibility such a situation would
impose. The Queen of England must devote
herself to her people; once elected, she is cut
off for ever from all the happiness of domestic
life. She must form no ties&mdash;she must indulge
in no attachments&mdash;she can never feel the happiness
of devoting herself entirely to promote
the welfare of one adored object. She can
never know the transports of a mother!" and,
sighing deeply, Elvira cast her eyes upon the
ground, whilst those of Henry Seymour were
fixed earnestly upon her.</p>

<p>"Yet all this," said Sir Ambrose, "is rather
imaginary than real. The subjects of a good
Queen ought to be her children; and the glory
of contributing to the happiness of thousands,
and ruling nations by a nod, may well compensate
for the humbler comforts of a domestic
fireside."</p>

<p>"I do not agree with you," rejoined Dr.
Coleman; "I think the situation of a Queen is
one both of trouble and responsibility. We
all know how difficult it is to give satisfaction
even in the most ordinary occurrences of life;
and how much more must that difficulty be
increased in such an exalted station. Besides,
it seems cruel to condemn a young and beautiful
woman to the miseries of celibacy. Woman
naturally seems to want support; she is to man,
what the clinging ivy is to the majestic oak,&mdash;its
loveliest ornament; but take away the standard
tree, and she falls forlorn and unsupported
to the dust. Do you not think so, Mr. Seymour?"</p>

<p>The youth started at this appeal, for his
thoughts had indeed wandered far from the
scene before him. "Yes," said he, after a
short pause.</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose laughed heartily. "Upon my
word," said he, "I congratulate you, Dr. Coleman,
upon your happiness in having such attentive
auditors. The princess looks as if she
had not heard a single word that you have said;
whilst Mr. Seymour, when you appeal to him
for his opinion, only starts, and says 'Yes.'"</p>

<p>"You are quite right, Sir Ambrose," returned
Dr. Coleman, smiling good-humouredly;
"and I begin to discover that reasons are
quite useless when the feelings are interested."</p>

<p>"Och!" said Father Murphy; "and my
opinion is that we have all rason to be interested;
for I should not be surprised at all
at all, if the King of Ireland was to take advantage
of our troubles, to make a descent
upon us. There is no time so fitting for throwing
every thing into confusion, as when nobody
knows what he is doing."</p>

<p>"There may be much justice in your remark,
holy father," said Henry Seymour,
smiling; "but, for my own part, I own I do
not apprehend the King of Ireland has any
such bloody-minded intentions."</p>

<p>"Report speaks highly of his son," observed
Elvira.</p>

<p>"Not more highly than he deserves," cried
Doctor Coleman enthusiastically. "The youthful
Roderick is brave, noble, and generous;
possessing every quality to fit him for a hero;
and is quite incapable of any thing bordering
upon meanness."</p>

<p>"Is he handsome?" asked Clara, with infinite
<i>naïveté</i>, looking up earnestly at the doctor as
she spoke.</p>

<p>"As the Achilles of the ancients," replied
the doctor.</p>

<p>"Dear me, how I should like to see him!"
said the little beauty, with the utmost simplicity:&mdash;"Should
not you, Mr. Seymour?"</p>

<p>"I cannot say I have any curiosity," returned
Henry Seymour, having infinite difficulty
to help laughing.</p>

<p>"Dear me, how very odd!" said Clara, looking
at him earnestly; "I do believe the doctor
was only quizzing us, and that he's very ugly
and disagreeable. Is he, Mr. Seymour?"</p>

<p>The air and manner with which she put
this question, quite destroyed the small remains
of gravity Henry Seymour had till now with
so much difficulty preserved; and, bursting
into a violent fit of laughter, he rushed out of
the room. Every body looked astonished, and
Dr. Coleman embarrassed. After a short
pause, however, he seemed to recover himself.
"It is very strange the duke does not come,"
said he, pulling out his watch. "The council
must be chosen before this; and they seldom
stay to deliberate long at a first sitting."</p>

<p>"I am miserable," cried Elvira. "If he
should be ill!"</p>

<p>"Shall I seek him?" asked Dr. Coleman;
and, reading her assent in her countenance, he
quitted the room.</p>

<p>"The doctor is very obliging," said Sir
Ambrose; "but he never did like Rosabella.
He hated her father, and when Duke Edgar&mdash;but,
I forget! his history is a secret which
must rest for ever in my own breast."</p>

<p>"Do tell <i>me</i>, uncle!" cried Clara coaxingly;
"I should so like to hear it, and every body
says you know all about him."</p>

<p>"And what can his history have to do with
such a little chit as you?"</p>

<p>"I don't know," said Clara with the utmost
innocence; "but I am sure I should like to
hear it."</p>

<p>"Why?" again asked Sir Ambrose.</p>

<p>"Because every body says it is a secret,"
replied Clara, clinging round him, and fondly
stroking his face;&mdash;"so do tell me, my dear
uncle, pray do?"</p>

<p>"You are a little coaxing witch," said Sir
Ambrose, patting her long silky hair; "I
would tell you any thing in reason, but the
history of the father of Rosabella&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Rosabella!" cried the duke, bursting into
the apartment with the fury of a maniac&mdash;"Rosabella!
who speaks of Rosabella? She is a
wretch, a vile, insidious wretch! She has destroyed
me&mdash;she has conspired to destroy my
child!"</p>

<p>And as he spake, the agonized old man sank
into a chair, fainting with exhaustion, whilst a
sanguine stream gushed from his mouth and
nostrils, a blood-vessel having been ruptured
by the violence of his emotions. Elvira shrieked
in anguish, and, dreadfully terrified, threw
herself upon her knees beside him, imploring
him to speak to her, whilst Sir Ambrose, even
more alarmed than herself, ran screaming for
assistance. Dr. Coleman and Henry Seymour
were at hand. The duke, and his daughter, who
had fainted, were conveyed to their separate
apartments, attended by Clara, Sir Ambrose,
and the doctor, whilst Henry Seymour and
Father Murphy were left together.</p>

<p>"O Beauty!" thought Henry Seymour, as
he watched the lovely form of Elvira, looking
like some fair flower drooping on its stem,
carried past him, "how omnipotent is thy
power! Even the savage monarch of the forest,
tamed by thee, has crouched beside a maiden's
feet! How heavenly does she look! pure as
the immortal spirit, when, ere his breast was
sullied by the grosser passions, man first conversed
with God!"</p>

<p>"And sure if it's the princess ye're thinking
of," said Father Murphy, tired of being so
long silent, "ye've rason to look so sadly
after her, for it's all over, and she'll never be
Queen."</p>

<p>Henry Seymour started: the voice of the
holy father sounded harsh and discordant in
his ears; it had dispelled all his fairy dreams;
and with a movement of impatience he threw
open some folding doors, and walked into the
garden. Father Murphy followed him.</p>

<p>"And where is it that ye're going?" asked he.</p>

<p>"I would be alone," said Henry in a commanding
tone.</p>

<p>"And so ye shall be," returned Father Murphy,
"when I'm after laving ye; and that I
will do in a whiffey. But&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Begone!" cried a peculiarly low, hollow
voice which sounded close to the friar's ear,
He started, and as he looked up, the withering
glance of Cheops fell full upon him; he screamed
wildly and fled, uttering shrieks of terror.</p>

<p>Cheops looked after him with a scornful
smile, and then fixing his superhuman eyes on
Henry Seymour, he waited for him to speak.
Few were the human beings who could have
met that scowl unmoved. Those wild eyes,
shaded as they were by the thick dark brows
above them, always seemed to sink direct to
the beholder's soul: Henry Seymour, however,
shrank not from their gaze. A long pause
ensued.</p>

<p>"You wish for help," said Cheops, "and it
is in my power to assist you. I know you well,
you are not what you seem; but fear not, and
all your hopes shall be fulfilled."</p>

<p>"Alas! how can they?" said the youth,
"when I know them not myself."</p>

<p>"Hear me!" returned Cheops; "you love
Elvira, you would fain become her husband,
and would yet not deprive her of the crown.
Even now, you were revolving in your mind a
scheme to reconcile these two apparently incompatible
objects; but, besides innumerable minor
obstacles, one great one destroys your plans&mdash;you
have a father."</p>

<p>"In the name of Heaven!" cried Henry
Seymour wildly, "who and what art thou?"</p>

<p>But, ere he had finished speaking, the Mummy
was gone. "Fiend! demon!" cried the
youth, "what means this unreal mockery?
But thou shalt not escape me thus."</p>

<p>In the mean time, the duke had somewhat
recovered, and, by permission of Dr. Coleman,
Lord Edmund and Sir Ambrose were admitted
to his chamber. The reverend Fathers Morris
and Murphy were there already.</p>

<p>"I believe it is quite against the rules," said
the doctor, "to allow visitors to a patient in the
duke's state;&mdash;but he is so irritable, I fear keeping
him in suspense might occasion a relapse."</p>

<p>"I am sorry to see you thus, my dearest
friend," said Edmund, pressing the duke's hand
warmly; "you have always been a second father
to me, and, God knows! I love you as myself."</p>

<p>The Duke fervently returned his pressure,
but he could not speak. "My dear, dear
friend!" said Sir Ambrose, the tears trembling
in his eyes.</p>

<p>"Come! come!" said Dr. Colman, good-humouredly,
"I must not let you agitate my
patient. Lord Edmund is only come, my Lord
Duke, to take leave. He is going into the country
to try to exert his influence amongst the
electors."</p>

<p>The duke shook his head.</p>

<p>"I must not have you despair," said Sir
Ambrose; "we shall beat them yet: not but
that we must fight hard, for Rosabella is as
crafty as a fox, and you see what a party she
has made:&mdash;besides, she's as selfish as her father."</p>

<p>"No," said the duke feebly, and speaking
with great difficulty; "Edgar was not selfish."</p>

<p>"The influence of natural affection is astonishing!"
said Sir Ambrose; "since it makes
you speak thus of one who has so grossly injured
you."</p>

<p>"Edgar's faults," replied the duke, scarcely
able to articulate, "were rather those of circumstance
than of feeling. I am convinced of
it, and forgive him. Nay, if he were alive, and
I could see him, I would clasp him to my
heart."</p>

<p>"Och!" said Father Murphy, "and that's
said just like yourself; for there's nothing so
like a Christian spirit as forgiving our enemies;&mdash;and
so may Heaven prosper and bless all that
love ye, and send all that hate ye to the Devil."</p>

<p>"But how does that accord with the Christian
spirit you were talking of?" asked Dr. Coleman,
smiling.</p>

<p>"Och!" replied Father Murphy, "and it's
clane another thing. For none but the Devil's
own brats could hate the duke, and he's a right
to his own, surely."</p>

<p>Dr. Coleman, though not quite convinced by
the sophistry of the holy father, did not attempt
to controvert it; and the party, fearing to fatigue
the duke, soon after separated.</p>

<p>A few hours after this conversation, Father
Morris was walking in one of the shadiest parts
of the garden of Mr. Montagu, where the thick
trees spread over his head, and by their umbrageous
foliage, almost shut out the light
of the sun. In the very centre of this gloomy
grove, a funereal urn had been erected by one
of the former possessors of the mansion, over
which hung a weeping willow. The monument
had once been gaudily adorned with
bright colours and gilding, to mark the armorial
bearings and dignity of the dust that mouldered
below. Now, however, damp and neglect
had hastened the work of Time in that secluded
spot. The once white marble was stained with a
dirty green, and moss had grown round the
crumbling monument of former greatness: the
plaster effigies of the arms had cracked, and
peeled off in places; whilst wild-flowers had
taken root in the fissures, and reared their
blooming heads, and twined their fantastic
wreaths around the mouldering stone, hanging
in wild luxuriant festoons over this emblem
of decay, as though to mock the feeble efforts
of man to perpetuate his name, and assert
triumphantly the supremacy of Nature.</p>

<p>Father Morris was struck by the effect produced
by this apparently simple circumstance,
and he stood with his arms folded on his
breast, attentively gazing upon the urn: "And
for this," thought he, "yes, even for such
perishable baubles as these, does man risk his
immortal soul. For this, for honours that
decay even whilst we gaze upon them; for
fame, which the slightest breath may blow
away, light as the thistle's down; for wealth
and power, which, past a certain point, pall on
the senses; and for ambition, we sacrifice all
the mind holds dear to it. And what is ambition?
What real happiness can fame,
wealth, or power bestow? I will repent; it
is not yet too late:&mdash;for worlds I would not
harm that poor old man. Yes, he has still a
heart. I am not wholly lost. Oh! how his
look, his voice thrilled to my inmost soul, and
awakened feelings I thought for ever dead.
Oh, Julia! Julia! surely thy blest spirit would
rejoice if angels can still feel for mortals, at
my repentance. Oh, if one fatal act could but
be recalled, and one fiend be satisfied, I might
still be saved!"</p>

<p>And overpowered by his emotions, even his
firm heart was softened; he leant his head
against the mouldering urn, and, hiding his
face in his cowl, he wept. Blest were those
bitter tears, and sweet were the sensations that
stole over the mind of the monk as they
flowed; for they were the first fruits of human
feeling that had long touched that savage
breast. Soothed by their healing balm, and
half forgetting the cares that hung about him,
Father Morris still reclined against the tomb;
whilst mild and pleasing images floated before
his fancy, and the fairy form of Happiness rose
again upon his sight, and, though dim and indistinct
by distance, seemed once more to
beckon him forward through the mist of time.
Lost in these meditations, the most delightful
he had long indulged in, the father remained
unheedful of the lapse of time, till he was
startled by a tap upon his shoulder, and, turning,
he beheld the giant form of Cheops.</p>

<p>"Fiend, demon, devil!" cried he, passionately;
"avaunt! and tempt me not!"</p>

<p>The Mummy burst into one of his frightful
laughs of derision. "What!" said he, "have
you forgot your friend? your confidant? your
confederate? And is it thus you treat him?
Have you forgot our compact and your oath?
which, if it were necessary, was to be sealed with
blood?" (The friar shuddered, whilst Cheops
continued:) "Pshaw! pshaw! talk not of
temptation! The passions in that breast defy
its power; for demons scarce could credit
them. Fear not temptation then, most pure
and most immaculate priest! for know, I can
read thy heart: and I&mdash;yes, even I&mdash;shudder
at the wickedness it conceals!"</p>

<p>"My feelings are changed&mdash;I repent!"</p>

<p>"Impossible! your repentance is but as a
passing shade before a glowing fire, which,
even if not removed, would be soon devoured
by the flames!"</p>

<p>"I tell you, my purpose is changed:&mdash;I will
no longer plot against the duke; and Elvira,
if she will, may be Queen."</p>

<p>"'And do you think a crown so enviable
then,'" said the Mummy, repeating the friar's
own words, once addressed to him, "'that you
think you would injure her by depriving her
of its cares?'"</p>

<p>"Devil!" cried the father, unable to resist
the feelings these words had conjured up.</p>

<p>"And these are mortals," said Cheops;
"they sin, and they repent! Thus adding hypocrisy
to guilt, and doubling their crimes
by the knowledge they have of their enormity!"</p>

<p>"Demon!" returned Father Morris; "the
words of that old man wrung my heart; and I
would sacrifice all the world can give, to throw
myself upon his breast, and obtain his forgiveness."</p>

<p>"I believe you think so <i>now</i>," said Cheops
maliciously; "but when Rosabella shall be
Queen, and wealth and dignities shall be dispensed
by Father Morris; when nobles shall
bend humbly before him, and, hanging upon
his smile, beg favours from his hand, then&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Curses on thee, fiend!" cried Father Morris,
rushing from the grove, and pressing his cowl
round his head with both his hands, as though
he feared the horrid laugh of Cheops should
echo in his ears, and sting him into madness.</p>

<p>"Weak, feeble worm!" exclaimed Cheops,
with a scornful laugh, looking after the friar
as he darted from his sight; "and yet this
man boasts of his intellect; ay, and rules his
fellow-men almost to his will! Degenerate
wretches! O powerful Osiris! if from thy
dread abode thou deignest to look down upon
thy votary, pity him now! condemned to waste
his days amongst this hated race! And thou,
fell Typhon! dread avenging deity! say, will
thy awful wrath accept of victims such as
these? Alas! I fear vengeance like thine will
not be thus appeased! and that thy never-dying
fire, will still gnaw my vitals. Oh! these
mortals <i>think</i> they suffer: but what are their
torments when compared to mine?"</p>

<p>As he spoke, he gnashed his teeth in fury,
whilst again the expression of passions, too
tremendous to be conceived by mortals, darkened
on his brow.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h3>


<p>"I am really glad we have left the house of
my uncle," said Rosabella to Marianne, the
morning after her removal to the palace of
Lord Gustavus; "for though there is something
revolting to my feelings in being dependant
upon a stranger, yet as it may soon be in
my power to repay any obligations I may receive
from him, it is better than the treachery
I was obliged to practise towards the duke.
There is something so mean in treachery!"</p>

<p>"We are always apt to feel most disgusted
with those vices most repugnant to our nature,"
said Marian smiling, "whilst we are merciful
to those we practise. However, I can't say I
think there is much difference."</p>

<p>"What!" cried Rosabella indignantly; "do
you class those vices that spring from a noble
though mistaken spirit, with those that are the
natural offspring of base, grovelling minds?"</p>

<p>"No," returned Marianne, "for I think
the latter preferable, as the mind that produces
them is incapable of making nobler efforts;
whilst the others, by degrading their possessors,
show forcibly the monstrous depravity of the
human heart."</p>

<p>"I do not understand you," said Rosabella.</p>

<p>"Nor is it necessary you should:" rejoined
her confidant.</p>

<p>Rosabella was not quite satisfied with this
summary manner of dismissing the argument,
and was proceeding to question her confidant's
maxim, when a tap at the door announced a
page from Lord Gustavus, who came to know
if the princess would honour his master with
an audience.</p>

<p>"Certainly," said Rosabella; and in a few
minutes Lord Gustavus entered her boudoir.</p>

<p>"I hope your Serene Highness has rested
well," said the noble lord with his usual pomposity;
"I feel better this morning."</p>

<p>"I am perfectly well, I thank your lordship!"
returned Rosabella; "and the relief I have
experienced, by having the weight that has so
long hung upon my mind relieved by my removal
to your hospitable mansion, has proved
an excellent soporific."</p>

<p>"That being the case," said Lord Gustavus,
"perhaps your Highness will have no objection
to indulge the noble lords who already have
declared themselves on your behalf, as also
some others of their friends who are anxious to
enlist under your banners, with an interview:
for thinking as I think, and as I am convinced
every reasonable person in the kingdom must
think, no time ought to be lost in a matter of
so much and of such infinite importance."</p>

<p>Rosabella, thinking <i>par merveille</i> exactly
the same as the noble lord, instantly gave him
her hand to lead her to his library, where the
illustrious personages he had spoken of were
waiting to receive her. It has been already
said that Rosabella was beautiful, and now that
her recent illness, and the agitation natural
to the novelty of her present situation had
softened the usual pride and haughtiness of
her demeanour, she looked perfectly lovely.
It has often been allowed, that a beautiful
woman never looks so well, as when in affliction;
there being something in the appearance
of a timid helpless female, looking up to
man for protection and support, that rouses
every generous and manly bosom in her behalf;
whilst that wretch must indeed be lost
to every sense of feeling and humanity, who
could be deaf to the prayer of beauty in
distress. Thus the appearance of Rosabella
caused a general sensation in her behalf, whilst
her usual pride and haughtiness, which were
well known, only made her present diffidence
and agitation, her downcast eyes and trembling
voice, appear still more interesting from the
strong effect of contrast they produced.</p>

<p>The persons collected in the library of
Lord Gustavus were all affected by her manners;
and though perhaps it would have
been difficult to find a group of individuals
more various in their usual habits and modes of
thinking, yet upon this one point they were
agreed. The personages who composed this
worthy assemblage, were Lord Maysworth, the
Lords Noodle and Doodle, Dr. Hardman, and
the young Prince Ferdinand of Germany, who
had been taken prisoner by Lord Edmund,
and was now upon his parole of honour, till
the conditions for his ransom could be arranged.
He was at present the guest of Lord Maysworth,
who having in his youth received great
obligations from the German Emperor, was
now glad of an opportunity to show his gratitude
to his son; and who had now brought
him to Lord Gustavus, to introduce him to the
Princess Rosabella.</p>

<p>Prince Ferdinand was ardent and romantic,
and he was just at that happy age when all appears
bright and blooming, before reality has
destroyed the flattering dreams of hope; when
we are ready to believe all we wish, and imagine
human nature without a blot. Alas! why are
the delightful moments of life so transient; and
why can we never partake of pleasure without
having our relish for it destroyed!</p>

<p>Confiding, however, and unsuspicious as
Prince Ferdinand was, he was certainly excessively
astonished to hear Lord Maysworth, the
advocate of freedom and equality, eloquently
plead in Rosabella's behalf that her father was
the elder brother of the present duke, and that
consequently her claim was strengthened by all
the magic powers of primogeniture, and he was
still more surprised by his assertion that the
present duke had rendered himself unpopular
by advising the late Queen to rebuild the late
palace at Richmond, by which several hundreds
of workmen were kept in employ during the
whole of the preceding winter, and saved from
perishing.</p>

<p>"Good heavens!" cried Prince Ferdinand,
"Can you blame that? Was it not better than
suffering them to perish with cold in the
streets?"</p>

<p>"No danger of that, your Highness&mdash;no
danger of that," returned Lord Maysworth&mdash;"nobody
can perish of cold in our streets, because,
you know, we have always pipes of hot air
in them to make them quite warm. And as to the
palace, it is really quite melancholy to think how
many thousands of the public money were expended
upon it. Oh! I assure you, it is quite
impossible to find a man more deservedly unpopular
than the Duke of Cornwall."</p>

<p>"Oh, quite impossible!" said the Lords Noodle
and Doodle, shaking their heads.</p>

<p>"Thinking as I think, however, and as I am
confident every one here must think," said Lord
Gustavus, "it will be imprudent to depend entirely
upon the duke's unpopularity: Lord
Edmund is beloved by the army; and, as he is
decidedly upon the side of Elvira, we cannot be
too cautious."</p>

<p>"Oh, no, certainly!&mdash;we cannot be too cautious,"
echoed the two repeaters.</p>

<p>"It is a glorious circumstance, however,"
said Dr. Hardman, "that the choice of the
Queen rests entirely with the people; their
voice alone will decide the glorious struggle,
and their free unbiassed opinions alone give
the Monarchy its future Queen."</p>

<p>"Yes," said Lord Maysworth, "it is true,
it rests with them alone to decide the question;
and for this reason do you not think it will be as
well, my lords, for each of us to repair to his
country seat, and endeavour, by his influence in
the neighbourhood, to procure the election of
such deputies as may be disposed to vote favourably
to our wishes."</p>

<p>"The plan is excellent!" cried Dr. Hardman.</p>

<p>"Excellent!" exclaimed Lord Gustavus.</p>

<p>"Excellent!" echoed his attendant satellites.</p>

<p>"Then it only remains for us to put it in execution,"
said Lord Maysworth.</p>

<p>"If the princess will excuse my absence&mdash;" began
Lord Gustavus.</p>

<p>"Oh, my Lord!" interrupted Rosabella hastily,
for she dreaded his long speeches beyond
the power of description, "think not of me: I
must be, indeed, unreasonable, if I could complain
of your absence, when it is for my service
you will be employed."</p>

<p>"The princess speaks like an oracle," said
Dr. Hardman; "and I think we cannot do
better than put her wishes in execution."</p>

<p>"Farewell then, my friends," said Rosabella,
her voice trembling with emotion as they
parted, "and may success attend you; for the
present, my poverty, in all but gratitude, prevents
my wishes; but the time may come, when
you shall find the powerful Queen will not forget
the favours conferred upon the dependant
princess."</p>

<p>"Oh!" cried the noble lords and Dr. Hardman,
"do not mention reward; patriotism and
the disinterested love of our country alone dictate
our actions&mdash;we think of nothing else!"</p>

<p>"'Twould be treason, and worse than blasphemy,"
said Prince Ferdinand, "to mingle
the thought of self-interest with such purposes.
Who indeed can see the Princess Rosabella,
and suffer the paltry thought of self to interfere
with his devotion to her interests?"</p>

<p>Rosabella smiled graciously upon the youthful
speaker, though she did not speak.</p>

<p>"If, however," said Lord Maysworth, "the
interests of the state should require a general
more experienced than Lord Edmund, I have
served, and I would willingly forego the transports
of domestic peace to devote myself to the
welfare of my country.'"</p>

<p>"Or, if the state should need a minister,"
observed Lord Gustavus, "thinking as I
think, and as I am sure every one else must
think, she has a right to command the services
even of one so devoted to retirement as myself."</p>

<p>"For my part," said Dr. Hardman, "I wish
neither place nor pension; but if my humble
services in a medical capacity&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Fear not," returned Rosabella, "but that
all your wishes shall be gratified; for, if I should
be Queen, I shall only regard myself as an agent
to dispose my power to the hands of those most
worthy of it."</p>

<p>As she said this she withdrew, having the
rare happiness to leave all her auditors perfectly
satisfied with her conduct. In fact, such was
their delight, that each stood for some moments
after her departure lost in contemplation, indulging
in day-dreams of the delightful anticipations
her words and manner had excited, till,
like Farmer Ashfield and his dame in "Speed
the Plough," they were in imminent danger of
running foul of each other in their abstraction:
the entrance of a servant, however, roused them
from their reveries; and, feeling somewhat
alarmed of having so far forgotten the dignified
sentiments they had been professing, they retired
to their respective homes to take measures
to put the scheme that had been suggested into
execution.</p>

<p>"How I hate that Lord Gustavus," exclaimed
Rosabella when she reached her boudoir.
"Even if he makes a sensible observation,
he adds so many explanations to it, that
the spirit evaporates."</p>

<p>"Yes," returned Marianne, "he has yet
to learn, that to tack explanations to wit, is
like adding water to wine; you diminish its
strength and spoil its flavour; but even he
is preferable to Lord Maysworth."</p>

<p>"Oh! I don't think so," cried Rosabella,
"for a ridiculous fool is always better than
a prosing one. I can laugh at Lord Maysworth,
but Lord Gustavus sends me to
sleep."</p>

<p>"When an important enterprize is undertaken,"
said Marianne, "it will not do to be
very scrupulous about the tools one employs
to accomplish it. It is the part of a man of
talent to discover the weaknesses of the human
beings around him, and make them each subservient
to his purpose."</p>

<p>"At any rate, that is not difficult in my
case," rejoined Rosabella; "for my good
friends are so eager to show themselves off, that,
I must do them the justice to say, they neither
give me the trouble to find out their weaknesses,
nor the way to win them. Prince Ferdinand
is the only one who possesses a single
spark of noble feeling."</p>

<p>"And he, I think you say, seemed struck
with your appearance?"</p>

<p>"He appeared to be so."</p>

<p>"We must improve that prepossession. The
alliance of Germany may be invaluable to us.
You must encourage the hopes of the prince,
and do all you can to fan his infant passion into
a flame."</p>

<p>"But I love Edmund."</p>

<p>"Pshaw! how can you be so childish? I do
not wish you to love Prince Ferdinand. If you
can contrive to make him love you, it will be
all that is necessary."</p>

<p>"But do you consider the cruelty of trifling
with his feelings?"</p>

<p>Marianne laughed. "I did not imagine you
so romantic," said she tauntingly. "Do not
alarm yourself; the rage for dying of love is
gone by: therefore, notwithstanding the power
of your charms, you must excuse me, if I presume
to doubt their murderous properties."</p>

<p>Rosabella was too much mortified by the
manner in which her confidant treated her
scruples, to wish to continue the conversation;
though the reasoning of Marianne produced its
full effect upon her mind, and even, in spite of
herself, influenced her conduct.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the family of Mr. Montagu
experienced considerable uneasiness on account
of Clara, whose health gradually declined.</p>

<p>"I cannot imagine what is the matter with
my daughter?" said Mrs. Montagu one day to
Dr. Coleman; "I wish you would talk to her
a little.&mdash;Here, Clara, my dear, do just step
this way.&mdash;You will be quite shocked, doctor,
at the change in her appearance. Poor girl!
I don't think she has ever properly overcome
the fright she experienced at the first sight of
the Mummy, for she has never seemed herself
since. Indeed</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'It seems to me she hoards some secret care,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That breaks her rest and drives her to despair.'"</span><br />
</p>

<p>"What do you quote that from, my dear?"
asked Mr. Montagu, more interested in his
wife's quotation than the illness of his daughter.</p>

<p>"Oh! it is one of a lot I bought the other
day at the patent steam-book manufactory, in
Hatton-Garden. I had been buying some
other things, and so I persuaded the man to
throw me in a bargain of quotations very cheap.
They were all quite new, and ready cut, dried,
and made up into pills for use. But I never
saw such a man in my life;&mdash;you think nothing
at all about your daughter. I really wish you
would question her a little, for she will tell me
nothing."</p>

<p>"Very well, my dear, I will," said Mr.
Montagu; but the next instant he was absorbed
in his studies again, and had even quite
forgotten that such a being as Clara existed.</p>

<p>"Really," said Mrs. Montagu to the doctor,
"I do not think any poor woman in the world
ever was so plagued as I am. You see what
a husband I have. He never troubles his
head about any thing; and if I were to take
it into my head to walk off, I don't think he
would even miss me; and then, my daughter&mdash;but
here she comes.&mdash;Clara, I sent for you to
speak to Dr. Coleman."</p>

<p>Dr. Coleman was excessively struck by the
alteration in Clara's appearance. The beautiful,
lively, blooming girl was changed to a pale
shadow-like being, whose existence seemed to
hang upon a thread, and whose fragile form
the first ungentle breeze would annihilate.</p>

<p>"What is the matter with you, my dear
child?" asked the doctor.</p>

<p>"Nothing," said Clara, sighing.</p>

<p>"And I don't know any thing that can be
worse," said Father Murphy, who happened to
be present; "for that's the speech a young lady
always makes when she's in love, and I don't
know any disease that's harder to cure."</p>

<p>"In love!" cried Mr. Montagu, roused from
his lethargy by that ill-omened word, which
generally grates so harshly upon the ears of
parents and guardians. "In love!" repeated
he, looking earnestly at his daughter; "who
can she possibly be in love with?"</p>

<p>"Ay, that's the question," said his wife:
"for I'm sure I never trust her from under my
own eye; and I'll defy her to fall in love without
my knowing it. No, no, she cannot be in
love."</p>

<p>"Och! and that's no rason at all," cried
Father Murphy, "for I never knew of watching
doing any good at all in such matters."</p>

<p>"Well, Clara," said Dr. Coleman, "you
hear Father Murphy's opinion; do you plead
guilty to the charge?"</p>

<p>Clara's blushes became deeper, and her agitation
so excessive, as Dr. Coleman fixed his
eyes upon her, that, finding she could not bear
his looks, she burst into tears, and hurried out
of the room. Poor Clara! the fangs of the
most cruel of passions had indeed pierced thy
heart, though thou wast unconscious of it thyself!</p>

<p>It may be remembered, that, on the day of
Edmund's triumph, Clara had been forcibly
struck by the fine figure and noble appearance
of a youth, who had walked as prisoner in the
procession. It was Prince Ferdinand; who,
having formed a strong intimacy with Lord
Edmund, had been an almost constant visitor
at the house of Mrs. Montagu ever since.
Clara was just at the age when the human
mind first begins to feel the want of something
to love. In her own family, her affections had
been thrown back upon herself; and, being
driven to the regions of fancy to find an object
to occupy her heart, she would often
wander for hours together in the garden, picturing
to herself adventures, which she would
paint in all the vivid colours of imagination;
till, lost in creations of her own, she would
almost forget the tame, cold realities of life.</p>

<p>Of course, all these imaginary adventures
could not exist without a hero; but Clara
could never fix upon any definite form to bestow
upon him, till she had seen Prince Ferdinand.
Then, all her dreams seemed realized;
and the secret God of her idolatry appeared to
stand before her, in <i>propriâ personâ</i>. Clara
was now perfectly happy; and as, from the
prince's frequent visits to her cousin, she now
often passed whole days in his society, though
he perhaps scarcely saw her, or at most regarded
her but as a pretty child, yet she was
satisfied: she saw him, and she heard him
speak; what more was wanting to complete
her dream of bliss?</p>

<p>Lord Edmund's departure for the country,
however, broke this magic charm. Prince Ferdinand
came no more to Mrs. Montagu's; and
Clara heard of him only as the devoted admirer
of Rosabella. Jealousy till that moment
had been scarcely known to her, even by name;
but it now shot its fiercest pangs into her
heart. She had never been accustomed to conceal
her feelings, and they now destroyed her.
The climax, however, was still to come. One
day, as she was mournfully pacing the terrace
in her father's garden, she was startled by the
appearance of Prince Ferdinand himself: her
agitation was excessive; her lips trembled, and
she panted for breath; but he passed on without
noticing her&mdash;yes, it was he, the cherished
idol of her thoughts, the hero of her dreams;&mdash;and
he had passed without seeing, or at least
without seeming to behold her. Was it possible
he could have seen her and passed so coldly?&mdash;was
it possible she could be so totally indifferent
to one who was all the world to her?
Oh! there was madness in the thought! she
could not bear her own reflections. What would
become of her, she knew not&mdash;she cared not;
and, in an agony of despair, she plunged into
the thickest grove of the garden.</p>

<p>Though it was summer, the day was cold and
chilly; a drizzling mist fell fast, and a thick
fog from the river wrapped the grove in gloom.
Heedless however of the weather, Clara hastened
on to the spot where stood the marble
urn; but as she approached it, she started
back, for close beside it stood the hideous figure
of Cheops, dimly seen through the gathering
gloom.</p>

<p>"Fear not!" said he in a softened, though
still hollow voice; "tell me your woes, and, if
I can, I will assist you."</p>

<p>"Alas! it is in vain," cried Clara in an
agony of despair too profound even to admit
of her feeling the fear generally experienced
by all who saw the Mummy; "no one can relieve
me,&mdash;I have no hope!"</p>

<p>Cheops smiled. "Poor child!" said he, "it
is always thus when Eros first creeps into the
soul, covering his arrows with roses, so that
they are not seen till their barbed points rankle
in the heart! I cannot tell how much I pity
thee! So young and lovely too, it is hard that
even thou shouldst not be exempt from the
common lot of mortals! Yet do not despair."</p>

<p>"I do despair!" cried Clara, darting away
from him; "I am truly wretched!"</p>

<p>From this moment Clara saw the Mummy
almost daily, and her mind acquired new force
and energy from his society, though her health
visibly declined. It was not, indeed, possible
for human beings to hold daily intercourse
with Cheops without feeling their souls withered.
The glowing tints of youth and health
faded rapidly from the cheeks of Clara; she
became pale and spiritless, whilst she appeared
to have lost all interest in the common affairs
of life. Her fits of abstraction, however, her
dejection, and her solitary wanderings, at
length became so evident as to excite the
attention of her mother, and the scene we have
just described was the result.</p>

<p>Nothing could be more painful to poor Clara
than the questioning she had undergone.
She rushed from the presence of her parents to
her favourite garden, to think over what had
passed, and implore the assistance of the mysterious
being with whom she had associated
herself. He was not there, however; and
though she repeatedly called upon his name,
he came not. The weather was now delicious;
the autumnal tints, that had just begun to
change the lovely verdure of summer into a
glowing brown, gave richness to the landscape.
Since the abolition of coal and wood fires, the
air of London had become pure and bright,
though it still remained soft from its vicinity
to the river, and it was thus highly favourable
to vegetation: whilst, as no house was permitted
to approach within a certain distance of the
Thames, the sumptuous gardens that bordered
its banks were beautiful in the extreme. That
of Mr. Montagu, which has been so often
alluded to, was in particular laid out in the
greatest taste; and its grateful shade and delicious
fragrance calmed poor Clara's troubled
spirits, and soothed them to repose. Nothing,
indeed, could have a more lulling effect upon
the harassed senses than the scene before her.
The air was perfectly still; not a leaf was agitated,
not a flower stirred; all nature seemed
to repose, but Clara alone felt restless. The
questions of Dr. Coleman, and surmises of Father
Murphy, had created a variety of new feelings
in her mind; and she wandered up and
down, oppressed by a sensation of melancholy
which she had never felt before. She
could not define her own sensations; she could
not analyze her thoughts; and, as she sauntered
to and fro without any determinate object, she
listlessly pulled the leaves from a rose that she
carried in her hands.</p>

<p>The scattering of the rose-leaves, however,
recalled her to herself, and she smiled as she
saw the mischief she had done. "Alas! poor
rose!" sighed she, apostrophizing the flower;
"I know not why I have destroyed thee!"
Then walking hastily away, she plunged into
the thickest part of the grove. "Why am I
thus agitated?" said she to herself. "Why
do I feel thus miserable and discontented?
Can it be love? Love!" she repeated, whilst
deep blushes glowed upon her cheeks, and she
started at the echo of her own voice. She threw
herself upon a turfy bank under a shady tree,
and, resting her head upon her hand, watched
through the leaves the light fleecy clouds that
drifted along the sky, till, oppressed by the
painful nature of her own sensations, she sighed
heavily, and tears swam in her eyes.</p>

<p>At this moment, footsteps rapidly approached;
and Clara, springing upon her feet, hastily
drew her hand across her eyes, and hid herself
amongst the trees.</p>

<p>Dr. Hardman and Father Morris, who approached,
seemed absorbed in conversation; and
Clara, who dreaded Father Morris excessively,
kept herself concealed, to avoid meeting him.
We have already mentioned, that she was simple
and innocent to a degree; but hers was the
simplicity of ignorance, not folly. Her natural
abilities were excellent, and her mind
uncommonly strong. She therefore neither
screamed nor fainted, though, from her present
position, she became auditor to a scene of the
deepest villainy. Notwithstanding the influence
which Rosabella's party had at present in
state, Father Morris was not satisfied. He
wished to make her election certain, and this
could be only done by removing Elvira. Dr.
Hardman was her physician&mdash;the rest may be
easily imagined.</p>

<p>Clara trembled, and her flesh seemed to
creep upon her bones, as she listened to this
horrid conference. But her terror was even
increased when they changed the subject, and
spoke no longer of an intended murder, but of
one which had been already committed. Clara
shook in every limb, and her lips and cheeks
became blanched with fear; yet she uttered
no cry, nor betrayed her presence by the slightest
motion. At length they went, and Clara
stood like one awakened from a fearful dream,
almost doubting the reality of what she had
heard.</p>

<p>An hour elapsed, yet Clara still stood motionless.
What should she do? Would her
unassisted testimony be believed in matters of
such awful import against the weight and influence
of two persons of so much consequence
in the state? No, she felt it would not. Yet,
if she remained silent, she would be accessory
to the murder of Elvira. What could she do?
what course ought she to pursue?&mdash;she knew
not. A chaos of thoughts seemed whirling
through her brain, and threatened almost to
drive her to madness. The longer she thought,
the more she became confused; and she began
to fear her senses were actually leaving her,
when a solemn voice sounded in her ear.
Well did she know those deep and awful
tones&mdash;they were those of Cheops; and, confiding
the awful secret to him, she promised
to comply implicitly with his injunctions.</p>

<p>It was the day following this adventure,
that, as Father Murphy and Abelard were
conversing tranquilly together, lamenting over
the degeneracy of the age, their conference was
interrupted by the sudden appearance of the
duke.</p>

<p>"Where is Sir Ambrose?" cried he in a
state of violent agitation&mdash;"where is Sir Ambrose?
I must see Sir Ambrose immediately."</p>

<p>"Calm yourself, for Heaven's sake!" said Father
Morris, who had followed him unobserved.
"This violent agitation will destroy you: remember
your recent illness, your age, your
weakness&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Where is Sir Ambrose?" cried the duke.</p>

<p>"This vehemence is unbefitting of your station,"
continued Father Morris: "moderate it,
I entreat you&mdash;it can do no good."</p>

<p>"Will no one call Sir Ambrose?" reiterated
the duke: and as the baronet, who had been
summoned by Abelard, appeared, he threw himself
into his arms, sobbing like a child.</p>

<p>"Oh, my dear, dear friend!" exclaimed he,
"they are determined to ruin Elvira. Lord
Gustavus and his adherents are gone to their
country-seats to try to influence the election of
the deputies; and my child can have no chance
against such treachery."</p>

<p>"If that be all," said Henry Seymour, who
had accompanied the baronet, "why not follow
their example? your influence must, at least,
be equal to theirs."</p>

<p>"He is right," rejoined Sir Ambrose. "I
know not why we did not do so sooner; but,
even now, it is not too late."</p>

<p>"And what end can possibly be produced by
such a measure?" asked Father Morris, scowling
darkly at the youth: "the freedom of the
election should be inviolable."</p>

<p>"But!" hastily interrupted the duke, "if
they attempt to control it, we may surely&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I was not before aware," said Father Morris,
in his cold, ironical manner, "that the circumstance
of others doing evil was any reason
for our committing sin."</p>

<p>"Nonsense!" cried the duke; "there can be
no sin in securing the election of my daughter;
and so, Sir Ambrose, we will set off to-night, if
you please."</p>

<p>"With all my heart!" said Sir Ambrose: and
the two old men and Henry Seymour hurried
away, leaving the monk alone. He did not,
however, long remain so, for in a few seconds
Cheops was at his side.</p>

<p>"So, Sir," said Father Morris, scowling upon
Cheops with a look of deadly hatred, "you
have proved yourself my friend, in suffering this
babbling boy to counteract my views. Did you
not boast he was your slave?"</p>

<p>The Mummy met his glance without
shrinking; and, bursting into one of his fearful
laughs, exclaimed tauntingly, "And so he
is: but I thought you had determined not
to oppose the duke any longer. It seems, then,
I did not understand your reasoning in the
garden."</p>

<p>"Fiend! cursed mocking fiend!" cried the
friar, gnashing his teeth.</p>

<p>"Nay!" returned Cheops, "why blame me?
Was I wrong in believing what you said? Was
it, then, only a part you were acting to deceive
me?"</p>

<p>"Demon! thou canst read my heart; but
it is thy wish to drive me to distraction."</p>

<p>"No, no, my good Father Morris, my worthy
friend, I honour you too much! If I can
read your heart, I must be charmed to see such
devotion to your friends, such candour, openness,
and integrity."</p>

<p>"Taunting devil! be my sins what they
may, thy presence is a penance that might redeem
them. By Heaven! hell itself were easier
to endure than those bitter scoffs."</p>

<p>"And darest thou talk of Heaven?" said
the Mummy in an awful voice, that thrilled
through the father's soul; whilst his eyes glared
with such supernatural lustre that the priest
could not bear their beams, and sank upon one
knee before him, bending his head to the
ground. "'Tis as it should be!" continued
Cheops, with one of his fiendish laughs. "Yes,
he is mine&mdash;he bends before my will! Now will
I tell thee what thy feeble reason was too powerless
to discover: I am still thy friend. The
duke and Sir Ambrose will only injure their
cause by the ill-judged measures they will take
to promote it. They had the advantage of
justice, honour, and open dealing upon their
side; was it nothing to deprive them of these
fair sounding words? Will they in future be
able to complain of corruption, when they have
attempted to corrupt? Had it not been so,
even if success had crowned your efforts, would
not the minds of men have inclined to the side
of injured integrity? for so they might have
termed the party of the duke. Might they
not also have said the election was secured by
bribery and deceit; and upon the first discontent
that arose against Rosabella's government, would
they not have recurred fondly to the recollection
of the honest, open dealing, plain speaking
duke! Men naturally love and respect virtue,
though they may be seduced for a time by the
allurements of vice. Thus, though they might
not have had strength of mind to resist the arts
of your party, their best feelings would have
still remained upon the side of Elvira. This
can now no longer be the case. The duke and
Sir Ambrose voluntarily throw away their
strongest hold&mdash;they rush blindfold to destruction.
They degrade themselves to your level;
whilst, as they are unused to deceit, they will
not succeed in their endeavours, and disgrace
will be their only reward. Now, do you blame
me?"</p>

<p>"Blame you!" exclaimed Father Morris;
"you are my friend, my best, my only friend,
my preserver."</p>

<p>"With regard to Edmund," said Cheops,
"we must excite his jealousy. If he were detached
from Elvira, her cause would perish."</p>

<p>"It would, it would!" cried Father Morris.</p>

<p>"Try then thy efforts," said Cheops; "and
if thou canst excite suspicions, fan them gently
to a flame, yet without seeming to do so. Do
not attack Elvira openly, or assert broadly
that she loves another; but hint it darkly, so
that your victim cannot misunderstand, and
that the damning certainty may flash upon his
mind with greater force than mere words can
give. Well knowest thou what I mean, and
well hath Nature modelled thee for such a part.
That downcast look, that insinuating voice,
and half ironical manner; the infernal deity
himself could not well have wished a more
fitting agent to execute his designs on earth
than thou. Work then upon Edmund, and
success cannot fail to follow your attempts."</p>

<p>"Thou Machiavel!" cried Father Morris;
"my friend, my dearest friend, my benefactor:
oh! how I could fall down and worship thee!"</p>

<p>A sardonic smile curled the haughty lips of
Cheops. "Learn then to obey in silence,"
said he, "nor dare again to blame designs far
beyond your comprehension!"</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h3>


<p>The day following was appointed for the
departure of the two families of the duke and
Sir Ambrose for the country; and the whole
preceding evening was passed by the two old
men in arranging their plans, and forming new
schemes to ensure success. Elvira took no
part in this conversation, though certainly the
person most interested: she was thoughtful
and <i>distraite</i>; she was too restless to remain
in one place. She walked to the window;
she returned, and she again sat down. She
attempted to work, to read, to draw&mdash;all was
in vain; all seemed tasteless and insipid. Again
she went to the window, and, opening its folding
doors, stepped out upon the balcony. It was a
delightful night, and the air felt soft and
warm. Vines, laden with their luscious fruit,
twined from pillar to pillar of the balcony,
forming a kind of verdant network, whilst the
moon shone bright upon the lovely scene
beyond. Below, a smooth green lawn stretched
forth like a velvet carpet, bounded on each
side by Chinese rose-trees, the delicate tints of
which looked still more transparently beautiful
in the lovely light. Behind these, rose trees of
a loftier height and deeper shade, whilst at the
extremity of the lawn wound the river. The
clear moon-beams trembled on the gently rippling
stream, and gave a transparent brightness
to the graceful foliage of a weeping willow,
which hung over the water, and quivered in
every passing breeze.</p>

<p>Elvira gazed upon the fair scene before her,
and sighed heavily as she gazed. A gentle
sigh softly echoed hers, and she started to find
that Henry Seymour was standing before her.</p>

<p>"How beautiful is Nature," said he, "when
undefiled by the follies and sins of man.
Here one might forget the world, and all its
busy turmoil of deceit. When one gazes thus
upon the sublime and lovely face of Nature,
how poor do all the arts, the ambition, and the
pitiful contrivances of man appear. The soul
seems elevated to its proper sphere, and to
long to throw off the frail covering of clay,
which yet chains it down to the grovelling passions
of earth, and to soar triumphant to its
native skies."</p>

<p>His fine eyes were turned to heaven as he
spoke; and Elvira gazed upon them and his
noble countenance beaming; with enthusiasm,
till she quite forgot to reply.</p>

<p>"Do you not agree with me, Elvira!" said he,
in a tone of the softest melody, fixing his eyes
upon hers with a look that sank deep into her
heart. Again she sighed deeply, but she
could not speak. "Oh, Elvira," continued he,
taking her hand; "will you forget me? will
not the remembrance of this night form a tie
between us, when we shall be far, far apart?"</p>

<p>"Apart!" cried Elvira, almost with a shriek
of surprise.</p>

<p>The youth sighed; and, gazing earnestly
upon her blushing face, whispered tenderly, as
he pressed her hand to his heart, "O that I
could flatter myself sorrow mingled with that
sigh."</p>

<p>"Why, what is this?" said the old duke,
bustling to the window; "the doctor tells me
you are going to leave us. Surety you might
contrive to stay till after the election."</p>

<p>"I am very sorry, Sir," said the youth;
"but the circumstance that calls me away&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ay, ay, the doctor told me; a near relation
dangerously ill, that can't die in peace till
he's seen you. Well, well, my boy, such things
must be; and if he's doomed to die, I only
wish him an easy death, and you a good
legacy."</p>

<p>"I cannot tell you how sorry I am to part
with you," said Sir Ambrose, who now advanced,
"nor how sincerely I wish you good
fortune."</p>

<p>"Thank you, thank you, Sir," said the
youth: "alas! I now feel how poor words are
to express my gratitude for all your kindness.
But&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I am sorry to hasten you, Mr. Seymour,"
said Dr. Coleman, who now approached; "but
time wears apace."</p>

<p>"True, true," said Henry, "I had forgotten.
Once more farewell. God bless you all!"
and he hurried away, as though fearful of
his own resolution if he ventured to stay another
second. For the rest of the evening,
Elvira was silent and abstracted; the suddenness
of the blow seemed to have stunned her,
and she felt like one wandering in a dream.
Was he really gone? Should she never see
him more? were questions she scarcely dared
even to ask herself. "He was nothing to me,
a mere common acquaintance," she repeated incessantly;
and yet she felt a wearisome void,
a sickening disgust and impatience at every
thing around her, which she had never experienced
before. "What can be the matter
with me," said she peevishly; "I shall never
see him again; and it is the excess of weakness
to feel an interest in the fate of one, who is
evidently so indifferent about me; and yet he
seemed affected when he said we were about to
part. Was he really so? But of what consequence
to me is it whether he were so or not.
I shall never see him more." And Elvira
sighed involuntarily at the thought. "I am
devoted to other prospects. I&mdash;in short, I
will think of him no more." And, in pursuance
of this magnanimous resolution, she
thought of nothing else all night.</p>

<p>The following day, Elvira and her friends
went into the country; but, as Cheops had predicted,
the duke and Sir Ambrose proved quite
unequal to the task they had undertaken, and
they only lost their popularity by the attempt.
Men were disgusted to see personages hitherto
considered so respectable descend to meanness,
and the shallowness of the artifices by which it
was intended to impose upon them excited their
contempt. In the mean time, Lord Edmund
was not more successful in London than his
friends in the country: he had marched a
chosen body of troops within a convenient distance
of the metropolis; in consequence of which
ill-judged measure, the members of the council,
to show that they were not influenced by the
fear of military authority, and to vindicate their
independence, invariably opposed every measure
that he suggested.</p>

<p>As the law, however, forbade any decisive
promises till the actual day of election, there
was still hope, though the friends of Elvira
struggled on, rather from a wish not too hastily
to abandon her cause, than from any rational,
well-founded prospect of success.</p>

<p>In the midst of these anxieties, Elvira's health
indeed seemed rapidly declining. A weight that
nothing could alleviate, hung upon her spirits;
she made no effort to secure voters; but pale,
silent, and melancholy, she glided about&mdash;the
ghost of her former self. Still, however, she
was lovely; the increased delicacy of her complexion,
and shadowy lightness of her form,
harmonized well with the general style of her
beauty; whilst her fine eyes, shaded by their
long silken lashes, only shone more brilliantly
from the glowing hectic of the cheek below.</p>

<p>The time fixed for the important ceremony
now rapidly approached; the election of the deputies
was concluded, and the families of the
duke and Sir Ambrose prepared to return to
town. The night, however, before they departed,
the duke gave a grand <i>fête champêtre</i> to
the neighbouring gentry; and as a considerable
number of the deputies were expected, he particularly
enjoined Elvira to exert herself to the
utmost to win their suffrages. Never perhaps
had Elvira looked more beautiful than she did
that night, as, pale, trembling and timid, she
received her numerous guests; and never, perhaps,
was effect more magical than that which
her appearance produced. Her very diffidence
and modesty attracted; and the reserve, with
which she shunned, rather than sought the attention
of the crowd, completed the enchantment.</p>

<p>"It is her fear of seeming to wish to interest
us," whispered one deputy to another, "that
makes her treat us so coldly."</p>

<p>"Yes," replied the other; "and I like her
the better for it. If she were to attempt to
make herself agreeable, I should hate her; the
duke and Sir Ambrose have sickened us of that!"</p>

<p>The fête was given in the gardens of the
duke, which were beautiful and extensive, and
now brilliantly illuminated by lamps suspended
from the trees. There was something, however,
not quite congenial to Elvira's taste in thus
marrying the gorgeous splendour of art to the
simplicity of nature, and she sighed heavily as
she watched the flaring lamps scorching the
calm pale verdure of the trees.</p>

<p>"Now this is as it should be," said the old
duke, as he led his daughter to the pavilion
appointed for her to receive her guests; "Elvira
now looks like herself. Does she not, Dr.
Coleman?"</p>

<p>The doctor shook his head: "I fear," began
he&mdash;</p>

<p>"Oh! we will have no fears to-night!" cried
the duke gaily; "remember, Elvira! every
thing now depends upon you. Play the part
of the smiling, condescending hostess; win the
hearts of the deputies, and you will make that
of your old father leap for joy. We shall
have a gay party, sha'n't we, doctor?" continued
he, eyeing the groups as they advanced.
"I wish your friend, Henry Seymour, were
here amongst us."</p>

<p>Elvira started, and deep blushes suffused
her cheeks at the mention of this name. The
doctor eyed her attentively, though he replied
as though he had not noticed her agitation.
"It was urgent business, you know, that obliged
him to leave England."</p>

<p>"He was a charming youth," said the duke;
"so gay and yet so fearless. I think, however,
I observed that his spirits seemed much
depressed the last time I saw him."</p>

<p>"You know he said it was the death&mdash;I
mean the illness of a relation, that compelled
him to go."</p>

<p>"Young men don't generally feel so much
for the illness, or even death of old ones," returned
the duke: "now, if I were to judge,
doctor, I should think it far more likely it
was some love affair. But we can't stay talking
about it now. I must go, and attend to
my guests: and do you mind, Elvira, and make
yourself agreeable."</p>

<p>Poor Elvira, however, was, perhaps, never
less fitted to obey her father's injunctions than
at this moment; for the conversation she had
just heard, had quite deranged her nerves.
Her father's supposition inflicted a deep pang
on her heart; and though she went through
the duties of her station mechanically, her
mind wandered to Henry Seymour.</p>

<p>It was a lovely night, and the general effect
of the scene, as groups of elegantly-dressed
people flitted to and fro through the lighted
groves, was striking in the extreme. Beautiful
flowering exotics decorated the pavilion of
Elvira, and the balmy air that fanned their
blossoms, seemed loaded with sweets; whilst
the richly illuminated castle, rearing its lofty
towers in awful grandeur in the distance, had
the appearance of a fairy palace.</p>

<p>Elvira listlessly gazed upon the magic scene,
till she felt almost fainting with the fatigue
her situation as hostess imposed upon her; and
she looked with a languid and almost despairing
eye upon the crowds that came still pouring
into the gardens. The throng, however, now
opened, and a tall and dignified figure found
its way through the mass. It was Lord Edmund:
he approached rapidly, and threw himself
at Elvira's feet: "My adored Elvira!"
exclaimed he.</p>

<p>"You here, my Lord?" cried the princess;
whose eyes, enfeebled by exhaustion, had not
permitted her to recognise him till he was immediately
before her: "I did not expect to
see you here to-night!"</p>

<p>"Does my presence pain you then?" said
Lord Edmund, looking at her attentively.
"They told me you were ill, and I do indeed
find you changed."</p>

<p>"I am better now," returned Elvira faintly.</p>

<p>"Do not deceive yourself," cried he, with
the most intense anxiety. "You are ill&mdash;you
are not equal to this fatigue. Retire from this
scene, it will destroy you."</p>

<p>"I dare not," replied Elvira, still more feebly,
"without permission from my father;
though, I own, I do feel exhausted!"</p>

<p>Lord Edmund waited for no more; but
darted to find the duke, and obtain his
wished for sanction. The next instant, his
place was supplied by Prince Ferdinand, who
had been invited into the country a few days before
by the duke; and who, with the inconstancy
natural to his disposition, had now become as
deeply smitten with Elvira, as he had before
been with Rosabella. Elvira, however, saw him
not; and, looking gratefully after Lord Edmund,
sighed profoundly as she lost sight of him
among the crowd.</p>

<p>"Happy Edmund!" said the prince; "what
would I not give to create a feeling in that
lovely bosom, like that caused by thy absence!"</p>

<p>Elvira blushed at the earnest gaze of the
youthful German, as she replied, without exactly
knowing what she said, "Do you suppose,
then, that the absence of Lord Edmund gave me
pain?"</p>

<p>"What other cause can I divine for your melancholy?"
said Ferdinand. "Adored by every
heart, admired by every eye, and blest at once
with rank, beauty, and affection, what can Elvira
wish?&mdash;and what can cloud her brow with
sorrow, or heave her lovely bosom with a sigh,
unless it be the loss of the favoured lover whom
ambition bids her sacrifice?"</p>

<p>"And think you so poorly of me," returned
Elvira indignantly, "as to suppose, if I really
loved Lord Edmund, that ambition would tempt
me to sacrifice him?"</p>

<p>"Can a heart like yours then be really dead
to love?" said the prince, gazing upon her
earnestly. "Can Nature have formed such
exquisite beauty, and forgotten to give a soul to
pity the wretches it must make?"</p>

<p>Elvira blushed deeply as he spoke, for his
ardent look embarrassed her; and her eyes
having been modestly withdrawn, again met
those of Lord Edmund, who had returned without
her perceiving him. 'Twas but for a moment,
however, that she gazed upon him, for she shrank
aghast from his withering glance. Jealousy and
hatred curled his lips, and darkened upon his
brow; whilst his features seemed so changed,
that Elvira could scarcely believe he was indeed
the same she had so lately spoken with.</p>

<p>"I beg your Highness's pardon," said he
haughtily; "I would not have presumed to intrude,
if I had known you were engaged. I fancied
that you wished to retire, and had obtained
the duke's permission for your doing so;
but&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh, thank you! thank you, Edmund!"
cried Elvira; "most gladly will I seek my
chamber." Then marking a slight smile upon
Prince Ferdinand's face, she hesitated, for she
recollected the interpretation he had put upon
her melancholy and indifference. Lord Edmund's
agony was beyond description: he saw
her hesitation; he saw her look at Ferdinand,
and fancying she sought his approval before she
would retire, his jealous rage was unbounded,
and, darting at her a look of ungovernable passion,
he sprang from the pavilion, and was out
of sight in an instant. Elvira could not bear his
look, nor his unreasonable jealousy; and, exhausted
by her previous fatigue, she fainted. A
crowd soon gathered round her, and she was carried
to her chamber in a state of insensibility.</p>

<p>"Mark me!" said a figure muffled in a thick
cloak, speaking in a deep, low whisper, as he laid
his hand upon the arm of Father Morris, who
stood gazing after Elvira, with a look of intense
anxiety; "she must not die; for if she does, I
swear by the holy tomb of Osiris at Philæ, Rosabella
never shall be Queen!"</p>

<p>From that hour, Elvira recovered; and the
consumptive symptoms, that had so strongly
excited the alarm of her friends, entirely disappeared.</p>

<p>Lord Edmund was conversing earnestly with
one of the deputies, and, notwithstanding his
jealousy, advocating the cause of Elvira with
vehemence, when he was informed that she had
fainted: his first impulse was to fly to her
assistance; and when he found she had been removed
to her chamber, his heart smote him for
the cruel manner in which he had left her.</p>

<p>"She was really ill," thought he; "and, in her
feeble state, my harshness overpowered her. But
never again shall my foolish jealousy disturb her
peace. No! let her scorn me&mdash;hate me, if she
will. I will bear all the tortures she can inflict,
rather than again hazard wounding that gentle
bosom. Let her smile on whom she lists, even
upon that hated German, I will not repine: if
she be happy, I will ask no more."</p>

<p>Thus thought Edmund, and he knew not that
he deceived himself, till he saw Prince Ferdinand,
who, with the happy elasticity of youth,
was chatting gaily with one of the beauties of
the court. "Love him!" thought he, as a
scornful smile passed over his features&mdash;"love
him, did I say? Oh, no! it is impossible; I
could not endure to see her love that coxcomb:"
and, shuddering with the torments of jealousy,
he turned away.</p>

<p>Cheops was near him, muffled in a thick cloak
that shrouded him from observation; the Mummy
marked the changes in Lord Edmund's
countenance, and read well the feelings they
betrayed.</p>

<p>"Yes, even he," said he, with one of his
fearful laughs, "will soon be mine; for never
yet did man trust in his own strength, that
did not fall."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h3>


<p>The day of election now rapidly approached.
The duke, Sir Ambrose, the rival candidates,
and the opposition lords, were all in
London. The deputies were also assembled;
and though it was forbidden to declare publicly
for whom they intended to vote, till the
decisive moment arrived; yet the popular feeling
seemed so strongly in favour of Rosabella,
that there appeared scarcely a chance for her
rival.</p>

<p>Exulting in her expected triumph, and confident
of success, Rosabella sate in the splendid
<i>boudoir</i> allotted to her use in Lord Gustavus's
house, musing on her hoped-for grandeur. A
large mirror was opposite to her; and as Rosabella
saw her own fine figure reflected in it,
joy sparkled in her eyes, and her mind wandered
enraptured through scenes of future
glory. Thus, completely absorbed in pleasing
meditations, Rosabella was not aware that
Cheops stood before her, till she heard his full,
deep-toned voice repeating her name.</p>

<p>"Rosabella!" said he&mdash;"Rosabella! Queen
of England! hail!"</p>

<p>"Cheops!" exclaimed she.</p>

<p>"Hail to the Queen of England!" resumed
he: "no longer need you stoop to solicit
suffrages: your fate is sealed!"</p>

<p>"Think you that I am quite safe?" asked
the princess; her eyes sparkling, and her
cheeks glowing.</p>

<p>"Certainly&mdash;there cannot be a doubt."</p>

<p>"Then I may bid defiance to these wretches,
and need no longer submit to their caprices,
or be subservient to their humours."</p>

<p>"Not unless you like it."</p>

<p>"Like it!" exclaimed Rosabella, her eyes
flashing fire; "can you suppose I like to practise
meanness?"</p>

<p>"Policy, indeed, recommends a contrary
course," continued the Mummy; "as, if you
do not assert your own independence, they will
encroach upon your condescension, and treat
you as a slave."</p>

<p>Rosabella bit her lips, and her bosom swelled
with indignation.</p>

<p>The Mummy took no notice of her agitation,
but went on. "Let them not bind you
by any promises. Prove yourself a free and
independent sovereign. Trample upon them,
and they will crouch at your feet: but crouch
to them, and they will trample upon you!"</p>

<p>"You say right," said Rosabella proudly;
"and my would-be masters shall soon find their
error. They think weakness has made me submit
to their arrogance; but they shall see
their folly."</p>

<p>The influence the Mummy exercised over
the minds of all those he came in contact with
was astonishing; and, in pursuance of his advice,
Rosabella, from this moment, resumed her
usual imperious manner; and received the compliments
paid to her with the air rather of
an empress long seated upon the throne, than
that of an aspiring candidate for regal honours,
dependant only upon the favour of the people.
This excessive confidence, however, displeased
the deputies.</p>

<p>"She hardly leaves us a choice," said they;
"for she seems to command us to choose her.
Notwithstanding the strength of her party, and
the weakness of her rival, we don't think she
should take the thing quite in her own
hands: the old Queen ordered that the people
should choose her successor; but this princess
seems to have chosen herself. It is very
kind of her to wish to save us the trouble;
but, with her good leave, we think we might
have managed to go through it without her
help."</p>

<p>These murmurs, however, though deep, were
not loud; the party of Rosabella being too
firmly established for any one to dare openly
to oppose it. The opposition lords had all returned
to town, and, though they had not completely
succeeded in the object of their journey
to the country, they had at least satisfied themselves;
and by the activity they had displayed,
given themselves, as they imagined, a just title
to the gratitude of their future Queen.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the friends of Elvira almost
despaired; few persons of note declared themselves
her advocates; and though the favourable
impression she had made upon the deputies
still faintly operated, the feeling was fast fading
away. An invincible repugnance to appear
as the leader of a party, oppressed her; and she
shrank from the public gaze with a sensation
little short of horror. Lord Edmund, however,
still remained her firm and almost her
only friend. Yet, though he exerted every
nerve on her behalf, even he despaired of
obtaining her election. Sometimes, indeed, as
he gazed upon her beauty, a selfish feeling
crept over his soul, and he could scarcely repress
an emotion of joy, as he thought of the
possibility that she might still be his; for the
very qualities that impeded her success, only
endeared her yet more fondly to his heart.
The next instant, however, his nobler feelings
would reproach this selfish joy, and with a kind
of penitential sorrow, he would strive by fresh
efforts to destroy the hopes, for the gratification
of which his very soul panted.</p>

<p>"I presume," said Lord Gustavus de Montfort
to Rosabella, the day before that appointed
for the election, "your Highness does not
intend to make Lord Maysworth a minister as
well as a general; for, thinking as I think, and
as I am confident every one else must think, I
feel assured he has no talents for the cabinet."</p>

<p>"As Queen of England, my Lord," returned
Rosabella proudly, "I will not be dictated to;
though I will do my best to choose such ministers
as may, in my judgment, be most likely
to promote the welfare of my country."</p>

<p>Lord Gustavus was thunderstruck, and he
gazed after her, as she retired, with mingled
feelings of astonishment and indignation. "You
are <i>not</i> Queen of England yet, however," said
he to himself, "and it is possible you never
may be. What pride! what haughtiness! If I
had been a slave, she could not have shown more
contempt. 'When I am Queen of England,'
said she, I 'will not be dictated to.' 'Queen
of England,' said she? Humph! thinking as I
think, and as I am sure every one else must
think, it is possible, that that is a contingency
that may never arrive. Humph! 'I will not
be dictated to'&mdash;Humph! Well, certainly I
must confess I never heard a more dignified
'<i>will not</i>' in my life."</p>

<p>It was the hour when Lord Gustavus was
accustomed to hold a kind of levee where the
partizans of the princess had been in the habit
of assembling, under the guise of casual visitors;
and as he thus cogitated, Lord Maysworth
and Dr. Hardman were announced.</p>

<p>"My dear Lord Gustavus," cried the former,
"you cannot imagine how impatient I feel
to have to-morrow over. The uniform of the
household-troops is horrible: I have determined
to change it the very instant I am appointed
commander-in-chief."</p>

<p>"If you should obtain that situation," replied
Lord Gustavus doubtingly.</p>

<p>"What do you mean?" asked his friend, in
astonishment. "I thought the means we had
taken must infallibly ensure success."</p>

<p>"They must ensure the election of Rosabella,"
replied Lord Gustavus.</p>

<p>"And is not that all we wish?"</p>

<p>"Not quite," returned Lord Gustavus dryly.</p>

<p>"I do not understand you," said Lord Maysworth.</p>

<p>"What can you mean?" demanded Dr.
Hardman.</p>

<p>"I mean," replied Lord Gustavus, in his
usual cold, precise manner, "that, thinking as I
think, and as I am sure every one else must
think, from the conversation that has just taken
place between the princess and myself, I am
convinced that our possession of the places she
has promised to us, is by no means the necessary
consequence of her accession to the throne."</p>

<p>"Oh!" cried his auditors, looking perfectly
aghast: a farther explanation confirmed their
fears. "I could not have believed it!" exclaimed
both; and as the partizans of Rosabella
continued to arrive, they were successively apprized
of and paralyzed by the appalling news.
Divers were the sensations thus excited: but
amongst all, notwithstanding their professed
disinterestedness, there was not one whose sentiments
remained unchanged by the intelligence.</p>

<p>In the mean time, Rosabella, in the solitude
of her own chamber, became aware of the imprudence
she had committed, though she brooded
in secret over her uneasiness, and felt too proud
to avow it even to Marianne; whilst that faithful
confidant, quite unsuspicious of the error of
her mistress, exulted in her expected triumph
with as much transport as though it had been
her own.</p>

<p>"To-morrow," said she, "I shall have to do
homage to my Queen, and I shall have the rapture
of seeing crowds kneel humbly at her feet.
Oh, would the happy day were come! how tedious
will seem this long, long night! how wearisome
will be the hours! Does not your heart
also throb, my princess? To-morrow I shall
see my Queen. To-morrow! oh, would it were
to-day!"</p>

<p>The important day at last arrived, and the
delegates, assembled in Blackheath Square,
awaited with impatience the arrival of the princesses.
Each was to deliver a speech; after
which, a nobleman was to be permitted to address
the mob on her behalf, and then the majority
of their votes was to decide.</p>

<p>The rival princesses appeared, and were
hailed with enthusiasm. They were dressed
with the utmost simplicity, in the purest white;
whilst from their heads hung long veils of gossamer
web, the ample folds of which effectually
shielded their persons from observation. They
were followed by their respective suites; Lord
Gustavus and the opposition lords being most
conspicuous in that of Rosabella; and Lord
Edmund in that of Elvira. The Duke and Sir
Ambrose, attended by the reverend fathers
Morris and Murphy, were amongst the number
of spectators: the two former feeling too much
agitated to allow of their appearing as actors in
the scene; and the others being, from different
reasons, equally disqualified from taking a part
in it.</p>

<p>All now was silent&mdash;the tumultuous, wave-like
heaving of the multitude ceased; and every one
listened in breathless expectation&mdash;for the princesses
were about to speak. It was an awful
moment: the poor old duke's heart beat almost
audibly; he sate, his eyes fixed upon the ground,
not daring to look up, and holding the hand of
his friend, Sir Ambrose, firmly in his own. It
was Rosabella who was to speak first: she advanced
with a firm, decided step; and when the
attendants drew back the veil that covered her,
the assembled multitude uttered a shout of admiration
at her beauty. Her dark eyes flashed
fire, as she proudly surveyed the crowd; and anticipated
triumph gave an animated glow to her
fine features. She looked, indeed, already a
Queen, and seemed born only to command, and
be obeyed. The multitude were awed by her
presence; and listened with uplifted eyes, and
the most profound silence, whilst she thus addressed
them:</p>

<p>"My Lords and Gentlemen,</p>

<p>"I feel the presumption I am guilty of, in
thus venturing to address so august an assembly;
but I trust the magnitude of the occasion
that calls me forward may afford an excuse for
my temerity. I come, gentlemen, to offer myself
to you as your Sovereign, and the exalted
nature of the trust I wish you to repose in me,
inspires me with courage to deserve it. Yes,
gentlemen, I say to deserve it; for I should
consider myself unworthy to be appointed your
Queen, if I were to shrink from performing any
of the duties attendant upon the station; and
one of the most arduous of these do I consider
that of thus addressing you. I am aware, that,
upon occasions like the present, it is usual for the
aspiring candidate to promise miracles of reformation,
that are to be effected upon the obtaining
of power; I promise nothing of the kind,
for I will tie myself to no promises. Elect me
for your Queen, and I will fulfil the duties of
my rank, according to the best of my own judgment.
I will not submit to dictation; neither
will I be censured by my subjects. I will be a
free, independent Sovereign, or I will remain a
subject. I scorn to attempt to practise any deception
upon you. I wish you to see me as I
really am; and then, if you think me worthy of
the high office I aspire to, then, at least, I may
assure you, you shall never have reason to blush
for your choice; nor shall the proud character
which England has so long maintained, ever suffer
a stain upon its glory at my hands. No, my
countrymen, haughty as I may be deemed, I assure
you, with sincerity, that I have ever held
the name of Englishwoman as my noblest boast;
and that I would not relinquish my title to it,
were kingdoms offered in exchange. I can say
no more. If you approve me as your Sovereign,
your voices will obtain the fulfilment of your
wishes; if you do not, worlds would not tempt
me to accept the throne."</p>

<p>Rosabella now sate down amidst thunders of
applause, whilst acclamations of "Long live
Rosabella!" rent the air. These symptoms of
approbation were, however, only produced by
her beauty and her commanding manner; for
when men came to analyze her speech, they
found much in it to disapprove. The haughty
manner in which she had disavowed control,
indeed was neither calculated to win new
friends, nor secure those she already had: as
the counsellors who had so warmly supported
her cause, had certainly not imagined, that by
so doing, they should shut the door of preferment
against themselves; and what hope of
promotion or power could remain during the
reign of a Queen who had thus openly announced
her intention of acting entirely for herself?</p>

<p>The prejudices of the people, too, were
wounded; they had been so accustomed to
promises of reformation and relief from taxation,
upon the accession of a new Sovereign,
that they were disappointed at not receiving
them, although they knew from experience,
that they meant nothing: just as persons fond
of flattery cannot live without it, though they
are well acquainted with its fallacy. Besides,
even experience cannot make some people wise;
and though the hopes of the English had been
so often disappointed, it was pleasant still to
have something held out to them to hope for.
These thoughts soon arose in the breasts of
the multitude; and a rising murmur was beginning
to swell upon the ear, when the assembly
was hushed to silence by perceiving Lord Noodle
had risen, and was about to address them.</p>

<p>"My lords and gentlemen," said he, "it is
with feelings of considerable embarrassment
that I rise to address you. Every thing that
can be said, has been said; and every thing
that has been said, ought to have been said;
and every thing that ought to have been said,
has been said. What, then, can there possibly
be left for me to say?</p>

<p>"Let it not be supposed, however, by my
saying this, that I have nothing to say for myself;
on the contrary, I think every body must
allow I have said a great deal upon the said
subject;" (here the noble lord tittered at his
own wit, and well it was that he did so; as, if
he had not, perhaps nobody might have found
it out;) "say what I will, however, one thing
must be clear, and that is, (if I was to speak
for an hour I could say no more;)&mdash;that is, that
you must have a Queen; and that you cannot
choose a better one than the noble lady who
has just sat down!&mdash;and so, gentlemen, she
having finished, I think I cannot do better
than follow her example!"</p>

<p>Shouts and roars of laughter followed this
speech, to the infinite delight of the enlightened
orator; and he bowed and bowed on all
sides, till his little head and bobbing periwig
seemed to have acquired the gift of perpetual
motion.</p>

<p>No sooner was the tumult a little subsided,
than Elvira came forward to address the people.
When her veil was removed, her agitation was
extreme. Elvira was delicately fair, and the
"eloquent blood spoke in her cheeks" in a thousand
varying tints; for a few seconds she stood,
her eyes fixed upon the ground, apparently endeavouring
to collect herself: then raising her
eyes, she seemed on the point of speaking, but
her courage failing as she surveyed the immense
multitude, every eye fixed upon her, and every
ear listening for her words, the sounds died
upon her lips, and after a few ineffectual attempts
to speak, she buried her face in her
veil, and sobbed aloud.</p>

<p>Who can describe the agitation of her aged
father at this moment! When she appeared, he
had risen, and, leaning forward, listened with
a fearful eagerness, as though his ear would
drink in every syllable, and as though his own
death-warrant hung upon her words. He became
pale as he saw her agitation, and his countenance
varied with every variation of hers;
till, when he saw her total inability to speak,
his lips became of livid whiteness, he uttered
a piercing shriek, and fell senseless to the
ground!</p>

<p>A bustle immediately took place; the duke
was carried off; and Elvira remained pale,
trembling, and almost fainting, leaning against
one of the pillars that supported the canopy
over the platform upon which she stood. An
awful pause ensued, which was at last broken
by Lord Edmund rushing forward, and
eagerly addressing the crowd in the following
words:</p>

<p>"My friends and countrymen,</p>

<p>"If one spark of kindness and compassion
dwell in your breasts; if your hearts are open
to noble feelings; if you can pity defenceless
age and helpless womanhood, listen to me now!
Hear me whilst I plead the cause of the timid
female now before you; who, agitated by the
solemn occasion for which you are convened,
and awed by the august majesty of this assembly,
finds it impossible to give vent to her feelings
in words; for difficult, indeed, is it to
express by words the strong emotions of the
heart. Oh! would to Heaven, my friends,
that I could lay her heart open before you,
that you might there read the love of her country&mdash;the
devotion to your dearest interests&mdash;and
the generous wish to sacrifice her domestic
happiness to secure yours, that prompt her
this day to appear before you. Do you fear
tyranny? Is this trembling woman likely to
impose it? Do you wish remission from oppression?
Is not she who evidently possesses
such extreme sensibility likely to relieve your
cares? Can her breast, which now throbs with
emotion, ever be deaf to the cry of misery?
No, no; that gentle spirit which shrinks from exposure
in the garish light of day, will devote
itself to soothing your woes, and lightening
your burdens. Do you wish for victory?
Has not my arm been hitherto successful, and
am I not devoted to Elvira?</p>

<p>"My countrymen, I plead not from interested
motives, God knows I do not! Nay, there may
be some among you who know I now plead for
the destruction of my dearest hopes: but the
welfare of my country is more to me than my
own. I give my country the treasure that
might have been mine: contented, if by the sacrifice
of my own happiness, I can secure that
of thousands.</p>

<p>"My countrymen, I cannot more strongly
prove my devotion to your interests, for if
you choose Elvira for your Queen, my widowed
heart will have no bride but glory. Take,
however, the treasure I resign to you. Prize
her as she deserves, and Heaven in its mercy
grant that prudent counsellors and sagacious
statesmen may so direct her steps, that victory
may shine on her banners, wisdom in her counsels,
and happiness in her kingdom!"</p>

<p>Lord Edmund stopped, overpowered by his
own emotions; and his agitation found an
echo in the bosom of every auditor. The effect
of his speech was instantaneous: cries of "Elvira
shall be our Queen!" "Elvira for ever!"
rose in deafening tumult from the crowd, nor
did there appear a single dissentient voice. In
fact, after all that can be said upon the subject,
feeling is the only true eloquence. The passions
of the crowd were strongly excited: the
fainting of the duke; the agitation of Elvira;
and the speech of Lord Edmund, who was the
hero of the day, absolutely had driven them distracted.
They shouted again and again that
Elvira, and Elvira alone, should be Queen, and,
forming a triumphal car, placed her in it, and
dragged her along to Westminster Abbey,
where the ceremony of the coronation was
appointed to take place. This venerable pile,
which had stood for centuries, and resisted alike
the war of nature, and the destroying hand of
innovation, with which the barbarous taste of
the middle ages had endeavoured to destroy its
grandeur, shone forth in all its original splendour,
and afforded another magnificent proof
of the length of time the labours of man survive
the term of his fragile existence.</p>

<p>It had been a brilliant sight, when Westminster
Hall was crowded with the nobles of
the land, to choose the council of state; but
far more splendid was it now, when, after the
religious part of the ceremony of the coronation
had been performed in the Abbey, the
trembling and beautiful Queen entered its
sumptuous walls, surrounded by her counsellors,
and welcomed with transport by her
kneeling subjects. All had been previously
prepared for the ceremony, as the ordinance of
the old Queen had directed the coronation to
take place immediately after the election; and
the venerable Hall was now crowded with the
nobles and ladies of Claudia's court, splendidly
attired, waiting for the Queen, whom the choice
of the deputies might give them, with the most
eager impatience. Elvira was received with
transports; and though, perhaps, under different
circumstances, her rival might have been honoured
with equal rapture, yet, as Elvira
knew it not, the thought did not damp her
pleasure.</p>

<p>In the mean time Father Morris had remained
aghast, a prey to the combined tortures
of grief, rage, and disappointment. The
crowd had disappeared, yet still he stood
gazing upon the platform, the speechless image
of despair.</p>

<p>"For Heaven's sake, do not remain here,"
cried a voice he knew only too well; and, obeying
the impulse of Marianne's arm, he suffered
himself to be led from the scaffold, where all
his hopes had perished. There was a small
house, at no great distance from the spot,
where the partizans of Rosabella had held
frequent conferences respecting their plans for
securing her election; and to this place Marianne
led the disappointed friar.</p>

<p>"Curses on the fiend that has betrayed me
to my ruin!" said he, as he threw himself upon
a sofa in this abode: "may demons haunt him
here, and eternal misery be his portion hereafter!"</p>

<p>The fiendish laugh of Cheops rang in the
father's ears as he pronounced these words;
and ere he finished, the hated form of the
Mummy stood before him.</p>

<p>"What, Father Morris!" cried the Egyptian,
"is this your treatment of your friends? Fie!
fie! is this your strength of mind? I am
ashamed of you. Is it the part of a man of
courage to shrink from such a slight reverse?
However, I am still your friend, and if you
will follow my advice&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Avaunt! demon!" cried Father Morris;
"tempt me no more! Ruin hangs upon thy
words, and it is thy advice that has destroyed
me."</p>

<p>"Say rather, your own evil passions," returned
the Mummy.</p>

<p>"Fiend!" exclaimed the monk; "was it
not by thy advice Rosabella rejected the
address I had prepared for her, and determined
to deliver her own sentiments extempore."</p>

<p>"Such an expression of her genuine feelings
was likely to produce ten times the effect of a
studied address. The oration of Lord Edmund
was from the feeling of the moment,
and you saw its power was magical."</p>

<p>"And it was not by your desire that the
fool Lord Noodle seconded her, instead of
Lord Gustavus, as I had intended?"</p>

<p>"A ridiculous fool was more likely to put
the people in good-humour than a prosing
one."</p>

<p>"Yes, yes, I know; it was thus you made
your plans seem feasible, but how have they
succeeded?"</p>

<p>"Success is not always the test of merit.
How could I foresee the fainting of the duke,
and the agitation of Elvira? That timid silence
said far more for her than words: if she had
spoken, she would have had no chance."</p>

<p>"Would she were dead!" said Father Morris,
grinding his teeth.</p>

<p>"So would you seal your ruin. Rosabella
would be suspected, and her chance of reigning
destroyed&mdash;destroyed for ever."</p>

<p>"What shall I do?"</p>

<p>"Let Elvira reign!&mdash;Nay, start not! for
it is but for a time: she will naturally make
Edmund her first counsellor from gratitude for
the service he has rendered her; and, as he has
sense and talent, he will as naturally either
reject employing the noble lords who were your
friends entirely; or, at best, give them but
subordinate situations. Their hopes having
been previously raised, they will feel this disappointment
bitterly, and look back with longing
eyes to Rosabella, by whom they were
promised place and power. That princess
must moderate her natural haughtiness: if she
wish to reign, she must submit to bend before
she rise; for, though ambition be the most
lofty of all passions, perhaps no one makes its
votaries occasionally condescend to greater
meanness. At present patience alone is required.
Novelty is always delightful; but the
pleasure it produces can never be lasting: and
the expectations of men having been raised too
high by the brilliancy with which a new government
is certain to commence, they will
soon be disposed to quarrel with every thing
that may chance to fall short of the standard
they will then propose to themselves: though
this same standard, if they give themselves
time to consider, they would find far too exalted
for mortals to have ever any hopes of reaching.
Their extravagant expectations not being
realized, they will then plunge into the opposite
extreme; they will see every thing with
a jaundiced eye; and, not liking to own they
find themselves deceived, they will overturn
the government of Elvira to conceal for ever
the folly they have been guilty of."</p>

<p>"But will not the government of Rosabella
afterwards share the same fate?"</p>

<p>"No: for they will have learnt wisdom by
experience; and having just suffered from the
inconveniences inseparable from a revolution,
they will idolize every word and action of Rosabella,
to spare themselves the necessity of
again undergoing the same horrors, and yet
avoid the charge of inconsistency. They will thus
fear even to censure, and will gloss over any
thing that may not quite please them, rather than
run the risk of again interrupting that tranquillity
which the late disturbance has made
them taste the sweets of."</p>

<p>The sophistry of Cheops was well suited to
the feelings of his hearers; and well did he
know how to work upon the passions of those
he conversed with. The indignation of Father
Morris and Marianne subsided, and they again
became the Egyptian's devoted slaves. Cheops
watched them as they retired; a smile of derision
curling his haughty lip.</p>

<p>"Fools that they are!" said he, as again a
fearful expression flashed across his saturnine
countenance: "by Typhon! they are scarcely
worth deceiving, for they rush blindfold into
the net."</p>

<p>In the mean time, nothing could exceed the
grandeur of the scene exhibiting in Westminster
Hall. The ceremony was finished; for the
Queen had taken oaths of fidelity to the interests
of her new subjects, and had received
their humblest homage in return. A sumptuous
banquet was now served, where all that
could please the eye mingled in luxuriant profusion
with all that could tempt the appetite.
Music completed the charm; and as the harmonious
notes swelled through the lofty dome,
it seemed a choir of angels rejoicing from on
high. Thus, whilst all that could gratify the
senses was combined, the fairy loveliness of
Elvira seemed to fit her well to be the goddess
of the scene; and the figure of the poor old
duke, her father, gazing at her with indescribable
rapture&mdash;the tears trickling down his furrowed
cheeks, and his long white hair hanging
loose upon his shoulders, completed the interest
of the picture.</p>

<p>Great and glorious was the triumph of Elvira:
but, whilst the nation rang with acclamations
of joy, and bonfires and illuminations
proclaimed the transport of the people, who
shall paint the despair, the desolation, of the unfortunate
Rosabella? Forlorn and deserted by
her friends; despised and injured by him she
loved; disappointed in the fairy dreams of her
ambition; and disgusted with a world that had
rejected her&mdash;what could she do? where find a
refuge from her woes?</p>

<p>Rosabella sought no refuge: wretched as she
was, her proud spirit still supported her: she
neither retired from society, nor gave herself up
to the paroxysms of despair. Hers was not a
mind to brood over useless grief. She felt her
wrongs, it is true, and most keenly did she feel
them, but she wasted not her time in lamentation,
and burnt only to avenge them. Marianne
had communicated to her the advice of Cheops,
and her whole soul was now devoted to revenge.
For this, she determined to obey his injunctions;
to bend her haughty spirit to his wishes; to conciliate
the friends that had deserted her; and to
submit to any meanness to keep up a party in the
state. This done, she resolved to watch for the
errors unavoidable in a new government; to
take advantage of every weakness, and foment
every discontent; in short, to open a chasm
under her rival's feet, and then, like the lion
pismire on the brink of his sandy trap, to rest
concealed until the entanglement of the expected
prey enabled her to rush upon and destroy it.</p>

<p>Elvira's disposition was naturally noble; and,
satisfied with the possession of the throne, she
sought no farther triumph. Her generous
soul was touched by the apparent resignation of
her rival, and she endeavoured, by every means
in her power, to console her for her disappointment.
The duke had quitted the country, and
now resided entirely with his daughter; whilst
upon Rosabella, Elvira, with the utmost delicacy,
conferred a palace and a separate establishment.</p>

<p>Notwithstanding, however, the delicacy with
which Elvira's favours were conferred, Rosabella
could not forget that they were favours,
and hers was not a mind to brook dependence.
Her hatred for her cousin thus increased
with the weight of her obligations, whilst that
of Elvira had vanished with the occasion that
gave it birth. It is, indeed, scarcely possible
for a proud, haughty temper, like that of Rosabella,
to love the person to whom it owes every
thing. Such dispositions find infinitely more
pleasure in obliging, than in being obliged&mdash;pride
being gratified in one case and humbled
in the other. People are thus often devotedly
attached to their protégées, as they seem, in
some measure, creations of their own, and lavish
favours upon them with a profuse hand; but
they often expect such devotion in return, that
love withers into slavery, or changes into hatred,
and what was once gratitude, soon becomes
mortification.</p>

<p>Elvira had an arduous part to sustain. It
was difficult to find the medium between giving
too much or too little; and more difficult still,
to discover a means of giving at all, without
hurting the feelings of Rosabella. The sense
she had of this, rendered the manner of Elvira
towards her cousin, occasionally, cold and restrained,
and Rosabella felt acutely the slightest
change. She, indeed, saw every thing with a
jaundiced eye: she imagined insults, where none
were intended; she shrank from the slightest
observation, that could be supposed to allude to
her present situation; and she appeared to feel
so much pain whenever she was in the society
of Elvira, that the intercourse between the cousins
gradually dwindled to a mere formal interchange
of visits, and the customary ceremonials
of court etiquette.</p>

<p>The cousins thus completely estranged from
each other, Rosabella's palace became the resort
of the discontented. The King of Ireland had
died soon after the departure of the Duke of
Cornwall for the country, and those malcontents,
formerly in his pay, being repulsed by his
son, now crowded round Rosabella. Men of
talents, but of dissolute habits; daring spirits
that preyed upon themselves for want of employment;
and desperate characters, to whom
every change was agreeable, as they had nothing
to lose, and every thing to hope for by a revolution,
vied with each other in devoting themselves
to her service. It was often grating to
Rosabella's feelings to associate with wretches
such as these; but to what cannot proud spirits
sometimes submit, to gain the determined
purpose of their souls! Every thing is swallowed
up in one vast overwhelming passion, and
minor difficulties are neither seen, thought of,
nor felt.</p>

<p>Thus, Rosabella scrupled not to waste her
time in the society of such beings as Lord
Noodle and his friend Lord Doodle; she even
stooped to flatter them, and occasionally to ask,
and appear to follow their advice: she endured
patiently the dictatorial prosing of Lord Gustavus,
and listened with an appearance of interest
to the wearisome pettinesses of Lord Maysworth.
All she thought of, was whether any
particular line of conduct were likely to conduce
to placing her on the throne; and if it
were, be it what it might, the haughty Rosabella
instantly condescended to practise it.
Taught by the late events not to rely too confidently
upon her own strength, she rushed into
the opposite extreme, and descended even unto
servility.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the attention of Elvira was
completely devoted to the establishment of her
government. She had many qualities worthy of
her rank; and some of the most conspicuous
were her nobleness in forgetting injuries, and
her inflexible sense of justice: thus, though she
had made no promises herself to her people on
the day of her election, she justly considered
those made by Edmund on her part as equally
binding, and endeavoured by every means in
her power to redeem the pledges he had given.
Cheops had judged rightly in supposing she
would make Edmund her prime minister&mdash;her
gratitude to him, indeed, was unbounded; and
though her noble and generous disposition prevented
her depriving the lords who had voted
against her of their dignities, yet that the
strong mind, and commanding genius of Edmund
would make them dwindle into nonentities,
he had also been equally correct in predicting.
The noble lords, quite unconscious of
their own inefficiency, were indignant at finding
themselves subalterns where they had hoped to
be commanders, and rallied round the standard
of Rosabella, who, on her part, received them
so graciously, that her former haughtiness was
forgotten.</p>

<p>Elvira was not aware of their defection, or
if she were, she thought them too insignificant
to merit notice, her attention being entirely occupied
in affairs which she considered of infinitely
more importance. Though the laws of
the old Queen had been excellent, many abuses
had crept into the manner of putting them into
execution; and these Elvira now, with the aid
of Edmund, set herself diligently to work to
discover and correct. She could not, indeed,
have chosen an assistant more competent to the
task. The penetrating mind and commanding
genius of Edmund were unequalled. With a
single glance, he saw where errors had been
committed, and how they ought to be amended.
Whilst under his auspices, vice was punished
and virtue rewarded, goodness, though in rags,
was raised to affluence, and villainy compelled
to disgorge its ill-gotten wealth. Justice was
impartially dispensed to all, and the first Monday
in every month, the Queen proceeded in solemn
state to the grand square at Blackheath,
to receive there, in person, the petitions of her
subjects.</p>

<p>The crowd assembled upon these occasions
was immense. However well a constitution may
be organized, it is impossible to give satisfaction
to every one; and even under the best-regulated
governments there will be always some
who fancy themselves aggrieved. Besides, as free
access was allowed on these occasions to every
one, numbers went merely to see the Queen;
and nothing could be better contrived for letting
her Majesty know the real feelings of her
subjects, than this arrangement; as, from the
people being placed in lines, along each of
which the Queen walked, she became alternately
in personal contact with every separate individual.
Like every thing else, however, that
sounds perfect in theory, difficulties arose when
this plan came to be put in practice: it was
originally intended that the Queen should receive,
with her own hands, and read herself, all the
petitions that might be presented; but when it
was found their numbers frequently amounted
to some thousands, this scheme was abandoned
as impracticable, and the Lords Noodle and
Doodle were appointed to the important office
of walking behind the Queen, carrying large
bags, in which the petitions were deposited, and
from which they would probably never again
have emerged, if they had not been dragged to
light by the persevering and indefatigable exertions
of Lord Edmund.</p>

<p>The people, however, were not aware of this,
and there was something in the show that delighted
them. It was indeed a fine sight, to
behold so many hundreds of human beings
anxiously watching the movements of their
beautiful Queen, as she glided along their
ranks, smiling graciously upon all, and looking
like an angel sent upon earth to dispense blessings
to mankind: ladies of honour walking behind
her, with pages bearing their train, and the
two aged counsellors of state, bending beneath
the weight of their ponderous bags, bringing
up the rear.</p>

<p>Thus gloriously commenced Elvira's reign.
The people, delighted with the attention paid
to their wishes, and struck by some instances of
the Queen's love of justice and hatred of oppression,
lauded her to the skies; the nobility,
hoping riches and power from her liberality,
almost worshipped her; and the ambassadors of
foreign powers, dreading the valour of Lord
Edmund and his soldiers, offered the humblest
homage at her feet. In short, all seemed to
smile upon her, and the kingdom to bid fair
shortly to rival even the imagined happiness of
Utopia itself.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h3>


<p>In the mean time, what had become of Edric
and Dr. Entwerfen? Gloomy indeed were the
reflections of our travellers when they found
themselves immured in a dungeon, so far from
all they loved or reverenced, without friends,
and accused of a horrible crime, from the guilt
of which they felt it would be vain for them
to attempt to free themselves. Days and
weeks rolled on, yet no change took place in
their destiny. Every night the grating of a rusty
key in the lock announced the arrival of the
gaoler, bringing their daily pittance of bread and
water, but he never spoke, nor could the most
earnest entreaties of the doctor and Edric bring
one word from his lips.</p>

<p>Despair at length began to invade the bosoms
of the travellers; till one day, as they were
examining, for the thousandth time, the hieroglyphics
on the stones in the wall, Edric perceived
that one of them was loose. With infinite
difficulty they removed the stone, and found
a long vaulted passage, dimly lighted by an
opening at the farther extremity. The transport
of the prisoners, on making this discovery,
was unbounded, and can only be imagined by
those who have felt the loss of liberty, and rejoiced
at its recovery.</p>

<p>When their first raptures had a little abated,
they began to consult upon the best means of
availing themselves of their good fortune, and
preventing pursuit. The doctor had luckily
several chemical preparations in his walking-stick;
with one of these he dissolved the iron
of their chains, so as to free Edric and himself
from their weight, and then, smearing them
over with the remainder of the composition, he
laid them in a heap, exclaiming with a laugh,
"The jailors will be dreadfully frightened when
they find these fetters; for though they look
perfect to the eye, they will crumble to pieces
at the slightest touch."</p>

<p>Edric was too anxious to effect his escape, to
listen to his tutor's exultation; and his arrangements
being made, the travellers, with
trembling steps and throbbing hearts, explored
the vaulted passage, and found, to their infinite
delight, that it had led them to the borders of
the Nile. A small boat was anchored to the
shore, and its crew, an old man and his son, who
gained their living by conveying goods up the
Nile, were peaceably taking their supper on
the bank.</p>

<p>Edric and the doctor had taken the precaution
to replace the stone that had concealed the
vaulted passage, and having smeared the opposite
wall with phosphorus, they had no doubt
that when the jailor entered the prison, which
he generally did in darkness, he would be too
much alarmed to take any effectual means for
pursuing them till it should be too late. Having
luckily also plenty of money, that certain
road to the human heart, they easily persuaded
the old man to take them on board, and in a
short time they embarked in his fragile vessel
and set sail.</p>

<p>Slowly and silently they floated along the
majestic river, which rolled in solemn waves
like an inland sea, and swept proudly on to the
ocean, seeming to scorn the degenerate land it
left behind; and without one pang did our travellers
quit for ever the fertile plains and gorgeous
cities of Egypt. One only thought
swelled in their bosoms, and that was joy at
their escape. Offering up silent prayers of
thanksgiving, our travellers continued their
progress down the river, and, when morning
dawned, and the enormous forms of the Pyramids
were seen grimly frowning through the
mist, they shuddered involuntarily, and, devoutly
crossing themselves, muttered new prayers
for protection and deliverance.</p>

<p>After a long and tedious voyage, our travellers
at length reached the sea in safety. The
mouths of the Delta were at that time the seat
of extensive, and almost universal commerce;
and our travellers trembled lest they should
here encounter some emissary of their enemies,
who might re-convey them to the prison from
which they had so miraculously escaped.
They found, however, the belief of their supernatural
disappearance too strongly impressed
upon the minds of the multitude for even a
suspicion of their existence to remain; and
they stood upon that sumptuous quay, surrounded
by Greeks, Russians, Egyptians,
Arabs, and Turks, without exciting a single
remark, or obtaining the slightest attention.
They wished to proceed to Constantinople,
then the capital of the powerful empire of
Greece, and entered into conversation with the
master of a felucca, for that purpose.</p>

<p>"I will attend to you directly, gentlemen,"
said the sailor, leaving some persons with
whom he had been previously talking: "but I
have been listening to such a horrid tale!"</p>

<p>"What was it?" asked Edric, suspecting the
subject, but aware that to seem incurious
upon such an occasion, might betray that they
were already only too well informed.</p>

<p>"Two sorcerers," returned the man, "have
been taken into custody, for blowing up the
Pyramids and bewitching the mummies!"</p>

<p>"And how were they punished?" asked
Edric.</p>

<p>"Oh, you haven't heard half they did yet!"
said the man. "When they were put in prison
for their pranks, the Old One came to their help,
and carried them off in a flame of fire, leaving
a long train of light after them in the sky, like
the tail of a blazing comet. Dick Jones, who
was telling me, swears he saw them all going
off together. The old one hanging by the
Devil's horn, and the young one keeping fast
hold of his tail!"</p>

<p>"Shocking!" said Edric; scarcely able, however,
to repress a smile at this proof of the
vividness of Dick Jones's imagination.</p>

<p>"I haven't told you half," resumed the
man. "All Sumatra rings with it; several
have gone mad, and others died with fear;
and the man who was with Dick Jones, and
who was one of the soldiers of the guard
set over them, assured me as a positive fact,
that the chains they had had on, and left behind
them, crumbled between his fingers like
a bit of rotten wood."</p>

<p>"It is very awful!" said Edric.</p>

<p>"Ay, is it not?" rejoined the man; "thank
God I was not there to see! I am sure the
very look of one of those conjurors would have
driven me mad! I never could abide such
things."</p>

<p>Edric now, with some difficulty, persuaded
the man to return to the subject of their
transit.</p>

<p>"I am very sorry, Sir," said he; "but I
don't think there'll be a vessel going out to
Constantinople for this week at least; for
they've got the plague there, and our magistrates
won't let a ship that has been there,
return to our harbour again without performing
quarantine; and that is such a hindrance to
trade that our folks don't like it. But perhaps
you're in no hurry, and can wait?"</p>

<p>"Oh yes, we can wait quite well!" said the
doctor, trembling with anxiety to be off.</p>

<p>The sailor, however, had no occasion to say
more; for the bare mention of the plague was
quite sufficient to deter our travellers from visiting
Constantinople; and finding he was bound for
Malta, and that no other vessel would quit the
harbour that day, they hastily embarked,
notwithstanding his vessel was old and inconvenient,
and not forwarded by steam, and though
the superior certainty of the steam-packets was
now so generally felt and acknowledged by all,
that perhaps this was the only common sailing-boat
in the harbour. The joy of our travellers
at their deliverance was, however, too great to
permit them to dwell upon trifles; and as the
cabin was scarcely habitable, they resolved to
remain on deck the whole of the voyage, being
determined to submit to any thing sooner
than delay their departure. Accordingly they
stretched themselves upon their cloaks, and, reclining
against some ropes, watched attentively
the lovely scene around them. The evening
was beautiful, and, as the shores of Egypt
swiftly receded from their view, they felt their
minds soothed by the contemplation of the
grand scene that presented itself. There is,
indeed, something in the awful majesty of the
world of waters, which, like the gigantic monuments
of Egypt, powerfully affects the
mind by its very simplicity, and, by raising the
soul far above the common trifling occurrences
of life, soothes it to tranquillity.</p>

<p>The voyage was long, for contrary winds
impeded their progress; and one evening, after
Dr. Entwerfen had remained for some time
gazing steadfastly on the water, with a look
of deep abstraction, he exclaimed suddenly,
"There will be a storm!"</p>

<p>"Impossible!" returned Edric. "The sun
set in unwonted splendour, spreading its rays
of purple and gold through the waters like
a jewelled diadem; and the wind is even now
dying away to a gentle breeze, which scarcely
curls the surface of the ocean as our bark
dances gaily over it."</p>

<p>"That is a bad sign," said the doctor.
"Have you not often heard that a storm is
generally preceded by a calm? You will find it
no metaphor now."</p>

<p>The moon soon shone brightly; and as the
ship ploughed her way slowly through the
almost motionless waves, its beams sparkled
through the spray, which fell in silvery showers
over the prow. All now was still, except
the heaving of the vessel, and the monotonous
splashing of the waters as she slowly worked
her way through them. The wind gradually
sunk, and the sails only feebly flapped in the
breeze that could no longer inflate them, till at
last even that failed, and the vessel, completely
becalmed, lay like a log upon the water, which
spread like a vast and tranquil mirror around
her.</p>

<p>Bitterly now did our travellers regret the
precipitate haste that had made them embark
in such a frail, unmanageable boat; and they
regarded with longing eyes the compact steam-packets
that glided past them; their black
smoke curling in the air as they were wafted
swiftly along. It was too late, however, to repent;
and the doctor consoled himself by taking
advantage of the effect produced by the thick
black smoke, as they saw it rising in the distance,
to illustrate the lecture he had formerly
given his pupil, on the theory of combustion
and decomposition of amphlites, till he fairly
lulled him to sleep.</p>

<p>Morning came, but brought not with it the
wished-for breeze. Edric rose, and walking
upon deck, encountered the doctor. "How
still all seems!" said he; "Nature seems to
sleep: but 'tis an awful stillness, such as falls
upon a dying patient, prophetic of his end.
Nature seems exhausted, and I could fancy is
seeking a short repose to rally her energies
for some decisive blow."</p>

<p>"You are fanciful, Edric," said the doctor;
"you alarm yourself unnecessarily. The violent
shock your nerves have sustained, unfits
you for exertion, and renders you disposed to
see every thing in a gloomy light."</p>

<p>"I beg your pardon, Sir," said a ragged
English sailor, who happened to be on board;
"in my opinion the gentleman is right, for
every thing portends a storm. Cirro-strati
streak the sky, and as they join with the fleecy
cumuli below them in cumulus-strati, nothing
can more clearly indicate wind and rain, and
probably thunder. And see, too, how the dark,
frowning nimbus spreads its black shade along
the edge of the horizon, and how the birds fly
cowering, almost touching the waters with their
wings as they flit along. Now it begins, hark!"</p>

<p>Whilst the sailor had been speaking, the
clouds had thickened gradually, and the sky
had grown dark as night. A hollow murmuring
was heard, which seemed to gather fury as it
came, till it burst over the devoted vessel with
terrific violence, and rent the sails to atoms,
whistling round in fearful gusts, as though
mocking the mischief it had done. The sea
now heaved mountains high. The forked lightning
played like writhing serpents along the
deep black sky; now streaming like floating
ribands in the air, and then darting downwards
like fiery arrows. Thunder rolled
heavily in the distance, approaching however
nearer and nearer, every peal reverberating
through the sky, as though echoed back by
unseen rocks, till at last a tremendous crash
announced the fall of the electric fluid. Our
travellers were preparing to retire below, when,
just as they reached the cabin stairs, the heavens
seemed to open, and a ball of light-blue fire, of
a most vivid brightness, shot downwards from
the chasm, and struck the mast of the labouring
ship. Immediately after, a loud crackling
noise rattled over their heads, and then all
again was still, save the howling winds, and
the groans of some prostrate seamen, wounded
by the scattered fragments of the splintered
mast.</p>

<p>The rain now descended in torrents, and
the feeble vessel, at one moment raised to a
fearful height, then dashed down, and apparently
engulphed by the heavy seas that washed
over her, seemed every instant doomed to destruction,
and to escape only by a miracle.
The shouts of the seamen, and creaking of the
strained timbers of the ship, mingled horribly
with the howling of the wind, and roar of the
billows. Every instant it was expected she
must go to pieces; for she had sprung a leak,
and the water rose so fast as to baffle every
attempt made to check its progress. The seamen
were now in despair: they broke open
their trunks, and dressing themselves in their
best clothes, they filled their pockets with all
the valuables they could find: then, whilst
some went to prayers, others broke open the
captain's spirit-chest, and many rolled overboard
in a state of intoxication, whilst the
ship, now become a perfect wreck, drifted
before the wind, and was rapidly sinking.
The storm, however, seeming to abate, the
master ordered out the boat, and all the seamen
who retained their senses, eagerly sprang
on board. Our travellers attempted to follow,
but the seamen pushed them back, and exclaiming
the boat was full, rowed off, leaving
them to their fate.</p>

<p>The English sailor had been in the act of
stepping on board the boat, the very moment
she pushed off, and the sudden shock precipitated
him into the sea. A piercing scream
burst from his lips, as his body, with a dying
effort, sprang from the waves, which seemed to
rise after him and suck him back into their
gulph. Our friends heard the cry, and rushed
to the side of the vessel, but alas! they were
powerless to save him: the ship drifted rapidly
by, they saw his hands gleam for a moment
through the waves, as he raised them in agony,
and then the roaring billows rolled on, deep,
black, and gloomy as before.</p>

<p>The horror of Edric and the doctor was excessive;
but the impending terrors of their own
fate prevented the possibility of their minds
dwelling long upon his. The storm, however,
visibly abated, and the dismantled hulk they
were upon, lightened by the desertion of the
sailors, still swam: light, fleecy clouds now
scudded rapidly along the skies, and the moon,
struggling to break forth from behind them,
shed a faint and watery gleam upon the scene.</p>

<p>Our travellers now, by the feeble light
afforded by the moonbeams, perceived the
boat labouring heavily through the dark-grey
sea, and struggling to reach a long black line
of rocks, distinctly marked in the distance,
against which the still boiling waters broke
with tremendous roar, curling in whitened
foam as they laved their craggy sides; whilst
the wreck our travellers were upon, seemed
rapidly drifting upon the same point. Death
now appeared inevitable, as it was impossible
their shattered bark could resist the shock, if
it should be tossed against these jagged crags;
and every moment she seemed rising upon a
wave that must dash her upon them, and floating
back to escape only by a miracle. The
doctor and Edric became giddy with these repeated
shocks, and in despair fancied themselves
resigned; or rather, stunned by the misfortunes
which had followed each other with
such overwhelming rapidity upon their devoted
heads, they awaited their fate with an apathy
which they mistook for resignation.</p>

<p>The seamen in the boat still continued labouring
on, straining every nerve to reach the
shore, though ineffectually; for the foaming
surge beat them back with repeated, with resistless
violence. With anxious eyes and
beating hearts, our friends marked the progress
of the boat; till, giddy with watching,
and feeling their spirits exhausted as they surveyed
the fruitless struggle of the toiling boatmen,
they hid their faces with their hands, and
shut it from their sight.</p>

<p>At this instant a wild and piercing cry rang
in their ears:&mdash;'twas from the boat. She had
swamped; the human beings she contained
were all swallowed up in the boiling waves,
and that shriek of agony was their funeral
knell. A horrid silence followed this appalling
scream, unbroken save by the lashing of the
billows against the rocks, and the low, half-suppressed
moaning of the winds,&mdash;till the senses
of the travellers became bewildered, and they
shrieked in agony. Their peril indeed grew
every moment more intense, for every wave
carried them nearer and nearer to those frowning
crags, whilst their dark sides, rearing themselves
in awful majesty, seemed mustering their
strength to repel the insolent intruders that
sought to invade their territory. The doctor
and Edric, in the mean time, suffering a thousand
deaths in the protracted horrors they were
compelled to endure, and which they could
neither mitigate nor evade, shrank back with
the shivering of affrighted nature trembling at
dissolution, every time the wave on which
their vessel floated seemed to dash against the
shore.</p>

<p>At length, however, the fate they had so
long dreaded arrived. Their shattered hulk
was raised on a tremendous billow, and thrown
with fearful violence upon the rocks, with a
force that shivered it to atoms, and engulphed
the doctor and Edric in the boiling surge.
The next wave, however, returning, swept
them along in its bosom, and threw them, perfectly
insensible, though locked in each other's
arms, upon the shore.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></h3>


<p>It was morning, and the glowing sunbeams
danced gaily on the sparkling waters of the dark
blue deep, as, gently rippling, it laved the rocky
shore on which Edric and his tutor had been
thrown; and seemed to smile, as if in mockery
of the mischiefs it had wrought. There, sheltered
by a rock, whose jutting crag had saved
them from being carried back into the devouring
ocean, lay our travellers, apparently buried
in sleep; returning consciousness not having yet
dispelled the torpor produced by the fearful terrors
of the night. The sun now shone brightly,
and its glowing heat revived Edric from his
trance. Slowly and heavily he unclosed his languid
eyes, and, forgetting where he was, attempted
to rise. He succeeded; but weak and
dizzy, he only staggered a few paces ere he again
fell: the roaring of the ocean still sounded in
his ears, his senses swam, and, giddy and enfeebled
by his previous exhaustion, he fancied himself
still tossed upon the foaming billows. For
some time, he lay in a state of torture, the thrill
of returning circulation tingling through his
veins, till the recollection of what had passed
flashing across his mind, he again endeavoured
to rouse himself, and seek his tutor. The unfortunate
doctor, however, appeared to be no
more, and as Edric gazed upon his inanimate
form, he might have exclaimed with Prince
Henry, "I could have better spared a better
man."</p>

<p>At this moment, Edric recollected the strong
chemical preparations the doctor generally carried
about him, and, searching his pockets, found
a potent elixir. With some difficulty, he forced
a few drops down his throat, taking a dose also
himself. The effects of the medicine were soon
visible: the doctor heaved a deep sigh, and, opening
his eyes, gazed vacantly around, whilst
Edric himself felt perfectly restored.</p>

<p>"Where am I?" cried Doctor Entwerfen, as
soon as he was sufficiently recovered to speak,
and then, as some of the horrors he had so lately
witnessed recurred to his mind, he exclaimed:&mdash;"I
will never disclose it&mdash;no torture shall compel
me; where is the justice? He fled away in a
flame of fire hanging to the Devil's horn. Ah,
Edric! where are we? Ah! I have had such
a horrid dream."</p>

<p>"Alas!" returned Edric, "it is but too
real!"</p>

<p>"What! what!" cried the doctor, getting
up and staring wildly around him; "I remember
now, we were drowned&mdash;but where&mdash;where
are we?"</p>

<p>"I know not," replied his pupil mournfully.
"You forget I have been exposed to the same
perils as yourself, and that I am equally ignorant
where fate has thrown us. I should
think, however, from the position we were in
when the storm began, that we are somewhere
on the shores of the Mediterranean; but whether
in Europe or Africa, I have as yet had no
means of ascertaining."</p>

<p>"We must explore," said the doctor solemnly;
"we ought not to remain in doubt
another instant upon so important a subject.
Follow me!"</p>

<p>They now quitted the rocky beach on which
they had so long lain, and advanced towards
some cliffs which shut them out from the view
of the surrounding country. When they had
surmounted this natural barrier, they found the
prospect that presented itself superb; and their
eyes wandered with delight over orange groves
and forests of cork-trees; whilst the green shining
leaves, and rich scarlet blossoms of the
pomegranates, and light tender waving foliage
of the olive, afforded variety to the scene. The
burning heat of the sun's rays felt softened by
the breezes from the sea; a balmy fragrance
seemed to pervade the air; birds flew twittering
around them, or, perched upon the branches of
the trees, made the groves resound with melodious
harmony; whilst butterflies of the most
brilliant colours fluttered from flower to flower,
and innumerable buzzing insects seemed to
fill the air with motion.</p>

<p>"What a lovely country!" said the doctor,
as he and Edric penetrated into the deep recesses
of a shady grove; "and how delightful is this
sensation of refreshing coolness, after having
been exposed to the burning rays of the sun!
It is yet early, for the sun has not yet reached
far above the horizon, and the dew-drops still
glisten in his rays like diamonds hanging from
every leaf. Where can we be? Surely we are
not dead, and now in Paradise!"</p>

<p>Edric smiled: "I rather think," said he,
"that we are in Andalusia. I have often read
of the exquisite beauty of some of the southern
provinces of Spain, and this seems well to accord
with the ideas I have always entertained
of that country."</p>

<p>They now approached what appeared to be a
cemetery, and which was tastefully adorned with
weeping willows hanging over the graves;
whilst roses, and a thousand beautiful flowering
shrubs, flourishing in wild luxuriance from the
genial nature of the climate, spread around, and
gave this receptacle of the mouldering remains
of mortality the aspect of a blooming garden.</p>

<p>"How different from the Pyramids!" exclaimed
the doctor and Edric at the same moment.</p>

<p>"The tomb-stones seem to have inscriptions
upon them," continued the former, after a short
pause; "let us approach and examine them:
they will at least declare the country we are in,
by the language in which they may be written."</p>

<p>The idea struck Edric as feasible, and they
entered the cemetery. "You are right, Edric,"
said the doctor; "we are in Spain, for here lie
the mortal remains of Don Alfonso, that mighty
hero of the Bourbon race, who, you doubtless
remember, was the first that conquered the
northern part of Africa, and by transferring
the seat of the Spanish empire to Fez, contributed
so powerfully to the civilization and
conversion to Christianity of all that vast territory."</p>

<p>"And who destroyed Spain as a monarchy,
by so doing," added Edric.</p>

<p>"It is true," replied the doctor, "that Spain,
finding itself too mighty for a province, shook
off in consequence the yoke of his descendants,
and erected its present republic, which it most
probably would never have done if the seat
of government had remained at Madrid. But
that is trifling compared with the inestimable
benefits produced to the world at large, by
the civilization and reduction to a Christian state,
of such a mighty empire as that of Morocco.
Had it not been for that, we might still have
remained in the degrading ignorance in which
mankind were immersed for so many centuries
respecting the interior of Africa:&mdash;Timbuctoo
would never have risen to its present eminence
in science and commerce; the real course of
the Niger would never have been discovered:
and the sources of the Nile still remained wrapped
in oblivion. Yes, mighty shade! thou
wert indeed a hero! Calumny may assail thy
fame, and unenlightened minds cavil at the
wonders of thy glory; but one firm and attached
votary still remains to thee, and thus he
humbly bends to do thee homage."</p>

<p>So saying, the doctor prostrated himself upon
the tomb, and reverentially kissed the cold marble
inscribed with the hero's name.&mdash;"Hold!
hold!" cried a man, rushing from behind a
small temple, and seizing him, whilst in an
instant Edric and his tutor found themselves
surrounded by soldiers, whose grim visages
spoke them inured to blood and warfare.&mdash;"Wretch!"
exclaimed the leader, apostrophizing
the terrified doctor; "but thy life shall
soon pay the forfeit of thy crimes. Away with
him!" continued he, addressing his soldiers;
"bear him before the next alcaide, and let
him there suffer the punishment the law enacts
against all those who dare to praise the actions
or worship the memory of the tyrannic Alfonso&mdash;Away
with him, I say."</p>

<p>"Mercy! mercy!" implored the doctor.</p>

<p>"Impossible!" said the leader sternly; "do
you not know that this is a land of liberty, and
that we abhor the very name of tyranny and
oppression? How then can the admirer of a
tyrant hope for mercy at our hands? Away
with him, I say, and with his companion too;
for as they appear to be associates, no doubt
their principles are the same."</p>

<p>"And do you call this a land of liberty?"
asked Edric reproachfully.</p>

<p>"Hear him! he blasphemes!" cried the soldiers;
"gag him if he dare again to breathe
such impiety!" and amidst their shouts and execrations,
Edric and his tutor were dragged
away. Taught by this lesson that the liberty
of the republican Spaniards did not extend to
the tolerance of any opinions except their own,
Edric and the doctor did not again venture to
speak; and they soon, to their infinite dismay,
found themselves in the presence of the alcaide;
who, however, luckily for our travellers,
happened to be a man of some sense and liberality.
He smiled when he heard the substance
of the facts gravely stated against the
prisoners. "This case requires a private hearing,"
said he: "Velasquez, conduct the prisoners
to my own apartment."</p>

<p>"We will have no private hearing," clamoured
the people and the soldiers. "The crime was
public, and the punishment should be so too;
we will not be gulled."</p>

<p>"But, gentlemen," said the magistrate, "supposing
these prisoners to be part of a gang of
conspirators who have been plotting against
the state, it might defeat the ends of justice
to have them examined publicly; as it is possible&mdash;mind,
gentlemen, I only say, as it is possible&mdash;some
traitors may lurk even among the crowd
before me, who might give intelligence to other
parties interested, who might be thus enabled
to make their escape."</p>

<p>"Ay, now you speak reason," said the
mob; "we are always willing to listen to reason;"
and without farther remonstrance they
permitted the alcaide and the prisoners to
retire.</p>

<p>"You see, gentlemen," said the alcaide,
shutting the door of the room carefully, and
placing chairs, in which he invited his prisoners
to sit down, "that all is not liberty which is
called so, and that a mob can occasionally be
as tyrannical as an emperor. I know that in
reality there is not a shadow of complaint
against you; yet I dare not release you, as
my own life would be the forfeit if I did.
You must thus submit to a temporary restraint,
which you may rest assured I shall not
only endeavour to shorten, but shall render as
light as possible whilst I am compelled to inflict
it."</p>

<p>"My dear sir," said the doctor, "we are
exceedingly obliged by your kindness. If we
had not met with you, I do not know what
would have become of us. I could not have
believed people were in existence so illiberal as
these Spaniards, or that any human beings
could be so weak as to fancy themselves in a
land of liberty whilst they are practising the
most refined tyranny."</p>

<p>"And yet my countrymen are neither fools
nor hypocrites," returned the alcaide; "but,
like many other people, they deceive themselves,
and talk about freedom till they fancy they
possess it. Their great fault, however, has
been, that they did not know where to stop;
and as even virtue becomes vice when carried to
the extreme, so have the most sublime principles
of liberty and patriotism become degraded in
their hands, by being attempted to be carried
to an exaggerated degree of perfection!"</p>

<p>"Oh, England! England!" sighed the doctor;
"would to Heaven I had never left thy happy
shores! Alas! alas! what a crowd of horrible
events have occupied the last few months!"</p>

<p>"Why did you leave your country, since you
so bitterly regret it?" demanded the alcaide.</p>

<p>"Because we could not be contented," replied
Edric. "Devoted from my earliest youth
to the pursuits of science, I craved ardently
for knowledge denied to mortals; I aspired
to penetrate into the profoundest secrets of
Nature, and burnt to accomplish wishes destined
never to be realized. The desire of seeing
foreign countries also filled my soul: I
longed to travel, to acquire new ideas and meet
with strange and wonderful adventures; I
sickened of the quiet and tranquillity of home.
'Give me change,' cried I in my madness, 'give
me variety, and I ask no more; for even
wretchedness itself were better to bear than
this tiresome unvarying uniformity.' The unreasonableness
of my wishes deserved punishment,
and I have been curst with the very
fulfilment of my wishes."</p>

<p>"Is this gentleman also a votary of science?"
asked the alcaide, who had appeared musing
whilst Edric spoke.</p>

<p>"What a question!" exclaimed the doctor,
in a transport of indignation. "What! has
my whole life been devoted to scientific pursuits!
have I deprived myself of rest and
almost of food! and wasted the midnight lamp in
bringing to perfection some of the most sublime
discoveries ever vouchsafed to man, to be insulted
suited with such a doubt as that? Know, sir,
that you see before you Doctor Entwerfen, the
fortunate inventor of the immortalizing snuff,
one single pinch of which cures all diseases by
the smell; the discoverer of the capability of
caoutchouc being applied to aërial purposes;
and the maker of the most compendious and
powerful galvanic battery ever yet beheld by
mortal!"</p>

<p>"Then you are the very man I want," said
the alcaide; "go to prison contentedly, and rest
satisfied that your confinement will be of very
short duration. In a day or two I will see you,
and explain the project I have conceived for
your deliverance."</p>

<p>So saying, he summoned his guards, and, ordering
them to convey the travellers to prison,
the doctor and Edric were dragged away, and,
being immured in separate dungeons, were left
there to ruminate upon the varied and busy
scenes in which they had been so lately engaged.
Sadly and heavily passed the time; yet days and
weeks rolled on ere they again saw the alcaide.
At length, when they had begun almost to despair,
they were reconducted to his presence.</p>

<p>"Do you understand the management of an
electrical machine?" asked he abruptly.</p>

<p>"Certainly!" cried the doctor, transported
with joy at the question, before Edric, who
was half blinded by the sudden change from
his gloomy prison to the broad light of day,
had sufficiently recovered himself to reply.</p>

<p>"Then it is in your own power to set yourselves
free," continued the alcaide. "The
principal general of the army stationed here is
ill; a powerful party exists against him who
wish his death, at the head of whom stands the
leader who was the cause of your being taken
into custody. The general himself is a mere
nonentity; but the opposite party, to which I belong,
wish to save his life, as his name affords a
sanction under which they can act. He is now ill
of a palsy, and has been recommended to try
the effects of an electrical shock. A machine
has been with difficulty procured in this remote
district; but the philosopher of the army being
lately dead, and another not having been yet
appointed, no one here knows how to apply it.
Now, if you&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Say no more!" cried the doctor, interrupting
him, in a transport of delight; "say no
more&mdash;I see, I comprehend the whole! I shall
restore him, and receive my liberty as the reward.
Nay more, I shall obtain immortality
amongst the Spaniards by the deed; their
poets will sing my fame, and their historians
will pause upon the fact!"</p>

<p>"You will undertake it then?" said the
alcaide, and, reading an indignant affirmative
in the doctor's looks, he led the way to a camp,
at a short distance from the village, where the
paralytic general was sitting in a kind of throne,
placed without his tent, and surrounded by the
principal officers of his staff; the electrical machine,
a large, clumsy, heavy-looking thing,
standing before him. The doctor looked with
dismay at this unwieldy apparatus, so different
from his own neat, powerful compendium of
science, as he was wont to call it; and saw with
infinite horror that even its construction was
totally different from those he had been accustomed
to. His natural vanity and presumption,
however, revolted from making this mortifying
acknowledgment, particularly after the
boasts he had been indulging in to the alcaide;
and, relying upon his general knowledge of the
principles of science, he walked boldly up to
the machine, with as much composure and self-confidence
as though he had been accustomed
to the management of it all his life.</p>

<p>A considerable trepidation, however, crept
over him as he examined it and found its movements
intricate and complicated in the extreme;
and his hands trembled, and a thick film came
over his eyes, as he attempted to charge and
adjust the cylinder. No time, however, was
allowed for deliberation; he was ordered to apply
it instantly; and, terrified by the recollection
of the prompt manner in which the Spaniards
were accustomed to make themselves
obeyed, and the already long and severe imprisonment
he had undergone, he set it in motion:
an unlucky wire, however, which he did not
quite understand, pointed upwards, and he
tried in vain to arrange it; he tried again, but
was instantly felled to the ground by a tremendous
shock, whilst a loud crash of thunder
burst with violence over his head, and a vivid
flash of lightning proclaimed that the ill-managed
machine had drawn down the electric
fluid from a heavy cloud, that happened unfortunately
to be just above them, upon the head
of the unfortunate general, whom it scorched
to a cinder, levelling some of his officers to the
earth, and scattering the rest in all directions.
For the moment, the doctor himself was blinded
by the sudden light, and, when he recovered
his sight, the first thing that met his eyes was
his friend the alcaide sticking fast by the skirts
of his coat in a hedge.</p>

<p>Terrified at the mischief he had done, the
first impulse of the learned doctor was to run
away; but, notwithstanding the general confusion
and dismay, the first intimation he showed
of his design, drew around him a crowd of soldiers,
like peasants round a mad dog, who
seemed to think him as little entitled to mercy
as though he had really been one of those unfortunate
animals. "Cut him down!" cried
one&mdash;"blow his brains out!" shouted another&mdash;"chop
his head off!" screamed a third; and
summary punishment would instantly have been
inflicted, if the alcaide, who in the mean time
had contrived to extricate himself from his uncomfortable
situation, had not interfered. "Villain!"
cried he, as soon as he had recovered
his breath&mdash;for being rather fat, he found flying
exercise rather too violent to suit his taste; "is
this the manner in which you treat me? Was it
for this I brought you to the camp, and would
have made your fortune? Wretch that you
are! hanging is too good for you, and impaling
alive mercy to what you deserve.&mdash;Away to
prison with him! he merits not a death so easy
as you would give him; carry him back to his
dungeon, and let him there await what punishment
the council of state may judge fit for killing
a general and frightening an alcaide out of
his senses."</p>

<p>"Mercy! mercy!" screamed the doctor; but
his cries were disregarded, and he and Edric
were dragged back to prison, deprived of every
hope of obtaining forgiveness. Sadly and silently
passed the hours in this gloomy abode;
for, though the doctor and his pupil were now
permitted to be together, little communication
took place between them, as, though Edric was
too good-natured to upbraid his unfortunate
companion, yet it was past the power of human
nature not to feel enraged at the folly that had
drawn them into so disagreeable a situation.</p>

<p>The poor doctor, however, needed not to be
upbraided; for the reproaches of his own conscience
were more bitter than any Edric could
have lavished on him. "I am lost!" cried he;
"ruined, and utterly undone! Not only my
body will perish miserably, but my fame, my
immortal fame is destroyed&mdash;oh! I shall go
distracted!"</p>

<p>In this manner he lamented; wringing his
hands and tearing his hair, whilst Edric felt
too angry to attempt to console him.</p>

<p>"Speak to me, Edric, dear," cried the poor
doctor at last, quite in despair at his silence;
"for Heaven's sake, speak to me! Do let me
hear the sound of some voice, besides my own
and that of those cursed Spaniards. Oh, Edric!
Edric! solitary confinement is quite enough to
drive a man distracted; but to have a companion
in such a place as this, and he to refuse
to speak&mdash;Oh, Edric! Edric! your heart must
be turned to stone, if you can resolve to use
me so cruelly."</p>

<p>Edric was moved by the doctor's sorrow.</p>

<p>"What do you wish me to say?" asked he,
smiling.</p>

<p>"Oh, now that's like yourself," cried the poor
doctor, bursting into tears, and throwing his
arms round Edric's neck, whilst he sobbed upon
his shoulder like a child. "Now I shall die
happy! I don't care what they do to me; I
am quite ready for any thing that may
happen."</p>

<p>Edric was affected by the doctor's manner,
and returning his embrace warmly, he could
not restrain his own tears.</p>

<p>"Oh! my dear, dear Edric!" cried the
doctor; "how I love you! would to Heaven
I could save you! I would not care for myself."</p>

<p>"And I would not accept of liberty without
you, my dear tutor, I assure you!" returned
Edric. "No, no! the perils we have undergone
together have added new force to the ties
that formerly united us; and our fate now, be
it good or ill, shall be the same. It is possible,
however, that there may be some means of
escape."</p>

<p>"Alas! no!" said the doctor mournfully;
seeing Edric look round at the walls and windows:
"this is the same dungeon I have been
so long confined in, and not even a mouse
could get out of it without the keeper's permission."</p>

<p>"What is to be done, then?" cried Edric.</p>

<p>"Ay," returned the doctor; "what, indeed!
However, it is certainly a great comfort
to have a companion in one's misery; and
though my prospects are certainly not much
improved since you joined me, my cares are
lessened at least one-half."</p>

<p>"Oh! my poor father!" exclaimed Edric.
"The hardest part of my fate seems to die
without obtaining his forgiveness! Alas! if
he could see me now, he would surely repent
his ill-timed severity. Fain would I also know
what has passed in England since we left it: if
Edmund be married, and if Claudia still
reigns. It was spring when we left England,
it is now winter: alas! alas! how many
changes this brief space of time may have
produced. If, however, my father's life has
been spared, I care not for the rest."</p>

<p>"How little did we anticipate," said the
doctor, "when we first proposed to travel, the
misfortunes that were to attend us! Alas!
they seem a just punishment for our crime, in
presuming to wish to pry into secrets never
intended to be revealed to man."</p>

<p>"Can you believe it," returned Edric, "but
in spite of all the misfortunes I have suffered,
a restless curiosity to know the fate of the
Mummy we so strangely resuscitated, is one of
the strongest feelings in my bosom."</p>

<p>"I can readily credit it," said the doctor;
"for the same feeling operates upon me! It
is, however, vain to indulge in useless regrets:
we must die; and all we have to do, is to endeavour
to become resigned to our fate."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h3>


<p>A few days after this, the prisoners were honoured
by another visit from the alcaide.</p>

<p>"Thank God!" cried Edric involuntarily,
as soon as he saw him; for, as he felt confident
that the anger he had expressed against them,
had been assumed, he hoped he was now come
to save them.</p>

<p>"Alas!" returned the worthy magistrate,
"I fear you have little reason to be thankful.
All my endeavours to save you have only succeeded
in obtaining a few hours respite, and to-morrow
morning you are condemned to be burnt
alive."</p>

<p>"Oh!" shrieked the doctor; whilst even
Edric's courage could not prevent his turning
deathly pale. "It is dreadful," said he, "to
die thus so young in a foreign country, and by
such fearful means."</p>

<p>"Oh! don't talk of it," sobbed the doctor.
"My poor dear, dear Edric! Save him, sir! in
mercy, save him! Though I may be doomed
to pay the penalty of my folly, it is very hard
he should suffer."</p>

<p>"It is, indeed," returned the alcaide; "and
my wish to save him, joined to the hatred I
bear the present general, has made me a traitor
to my country. I see you look astonished, but
to explain what I mean, it will be necessary to
give you a short sketch of the present state of
this country, which I will endeavour to do in as
few words as possible. You know, no doubt,
that Spain was once a powerful empire, till the
ill-judged policy of one of her monarchs, in removing
the seat of government to Africa, occasioned
her fall: for the tree of majesty becoming
too widely extended, it was but natural that
some of its branches should strike root for themselves,
and detach themselves entirely from the
parent stem.</p>

<p>"This was the case with Spain; and her first
directors as a republic happening to be intelligent
men, the infant state grew and flourished,
exciting the admiration of its neighbours, and
the envy of its mother country. Unfortunately,
however, the wheel of fortune is always turning,
and Spaniards, as I before said, not knowing
where to stop, have gone on, getting worse
and worse by degrees, till they have become the
bigoted and intolerant wretches you have found
them. In fact, the army now rules the state,
and the people, finding the tyranny of the soldiers
insupportable, have been for some time
attempting to throw off the yoke. They were
long unsuccessful, as they found the discipline
of the soldiers far outweighed all their bravery
and self-devotion. In their distress, however,
they called in the aid of Roderick the Second,
the young and warlike King of Ireland. This
powerful monarch, who realizes in himself all
the romantic qualities of the ancient knights of
chivalry, hastened instantly to their assistance,
and they are now combating under his auspices
with every prospect of success. His progress
has been magical; success has followed wherever
he has gone, and his army now lies at a
little distance, though he landed in the north of
Spain. It is to him, therefore, that I have sent
secretly, giving him (in the hope of saving you)
instructions, by which, if he follows them, he
cannot fail of surprising the camp."</p>

<p>The doctor and Edric, though they were fully
aware that they were principally indebted to the
hatred the alcaide bore the present general for
the steps he had taken in their behalf, yet felt
and expressed themselves properly grateful;
and the alcaide quitted the prison, leaving the
flatterer Hope behind to console them for his
absence, mingled, however, with the natural anxiety,
which they could not help feeling, lest the
well-arranged plan laid for their escape should
fail. Morning had just dawned, after a tedious
and miserable night, and the doctor and Edric
were yet shivering from the damp cold which
often precedes the break of day, and which now
seemed to have struck a chill to their inmost
souls, when the door of the prison opened, and
a file of soldiers appeared, ready to conduct
them to the place of execution. The doctor's
heart beat thick, so as almost to impede respiration,
and a heavy film spread before his eyes;
whilst the agitation of Edric, who had, however,
now quite forgiven him, was scarcely inferior to
his own. Fervently they embraced, and then
submitting to be pinioned, they were forced to
march to the spot appointed for their sacrifice,
where an immense crowd awaited their approach.</p>

<p>The doctor's heart sunk within him as he
looked down from the kind of terrace upon
which the ceremony was to take place, upon
the mass of human heads jammed together
below, every face regarding him with a gaze of
anxious expectation; and as he turned from
these eager looks with a thrill of horror, his
feelings were yet more forcibly harrowed up
by the sight behind him. This was composed
of two iron stakes fixed firmly in the ground,
and provided with ponderous chains so as to
prevent the remotest possibility of escape,
whilst the enormous heaps of green wood piled
round each, gave a frightful idea of the intensity
of the lingering torments the unfortunate
prisoners were condemned to suffer. The
mind of Edric, in the mean time, was not
much more composed than that of his friend.
He also had looked round, and whilst nature
shuddered at the thought of the horrid death
awaiting them, the immensity and compactness
of the crowd seemed to destroy all probability
of a rescue, and the hope which had
till then supported him, fled from his breast;
whilst, as his eyes again met those of the poor
doctor, mournful, indeed, was the glance that
they exchanged.</p>

<p>It is an awful thing to die! and though
there are occasions when death may be braved,
or at least met with unabated courage; yet
when it comes on thus slowly and deliberately,
seen from afar off, and yet impossible to be
avoided, the firmest mind will find it difficult
to bear its approach unmoved. That of Edric,
however, notwithstanding it had been weakened
by his long confinement, and by the
delusive flattery of hope, did not shrink from
the trial: and calmly he even saw the crowd
divide, to make way for the executioner, who
slowly advanced, preceded by a band of martial
music, playing a mournful air, the drums
being covered with black crape, and followed
by a long train of soldiers, in mourning cloaks,
with their arms reversed. Nothing could be
more appalling than this lugubrious procession:
the executioner, musicians, and soldiers,
being all shrouded in their gloomy cloaks, (the
very hoods of which were drawn over their
heads,) had the air of demons coming to bear
away the miserable victims to everlasting perdition;
and the mind of the unhappy doctor
not being able to endure such accumulated
horrors, he sunk upon his knees, uttering
shrieks of anguish, whilst the cold sweat ran
in large drops from his forehead, and every
nerve quivered with agony.</p>

<p>The procession had now nearly reached the
prisoners, and even Edric's firmness gave way,
as he saw the executioner spring upon the terrace,
and advance towards him. A convulsive
throb of anguish seemed to rend his heart, and
his lips and cheeks turned of a livid paleness.
But how was he surprised, and what a sudden
revulsion of feeling did he not experience,
when the supposed executioner, after having
unbound his arms, put a sword into his hands,
and whispering,&mdash;"Now is the time, defend
yourself!&mdash;our soldiers are in green," left him
completely free.</p>

<p>Completely overcome, Edric stood for a
moment lost in amazement, unable to credit
the evidence of his senses, and gazing after his
deliverer, who, the moment he had also unbound
the doctor, threw off his disguise, and
shouting "Roderick for ever!" disclosed to
the multitude below the dreaded form of the
Irish hero himself. Shouts of "Roderick for
ever!" now rent the skies; the soldiers who
had followed their monarch, and several others
who had lurked concealed amongst the crowd,
threw off their disguises at the same moment,
and formed round the leader; whilst the
main body of his troops, left behind in the care
of experienced generals, tutored for the purpose,
charged the affrighted Spaniards in the
rear.</p>

<p>The confusion and dismay that now prevailed
were quite beyond description. The
terrified Spaniards, who, naturally superstitious,
had long fancied the wonderful acts of heroic
valour attributed to Roderick could only be
performed by magic, were now firmly convinced
that his sudden appearance amongst
them was an act of especial favour from his Infernal
Majesty himself! and finding themselves
attacked on all sides, imagined their enemies
multiplied by the powers of darkness, and fled
without striking a blow. Roderick and his
soldiers returned laughing, after they had pursued
them a little way, to ransack and burn
their camp; which when they had done, they
retired to their former station; having previously
promised the alcaide to spare the town,
and not to push the consequences of their victory
farther.</p>

<p>The doctor and Edric, who had been too
much agitated to take any very active part in
the combat, had been conveyed by the guards
of Roderick to their master's camp, to await
there the return of the monarch, in whose
hands destiny had now placed them. Neither
of our travellers had noticed the person of the
Irish king in the bustling moment of their
deliverance; but the almost magical celerity
with which he had contrived to disperse their
enemies; the evident terror with which his
very name seemed to inspire the Spaniards;
and the wondrous feats the guards around
them seemed to delight in attributing to him,
made them now almost tremble at the thought
of being presented to so tremendous a personage;
whom they amused themselves in picturing
as a stern, fearful tyrant, breathing
nothing but war and desolation.</p>

<p>Roderick the Second, surnamed the Great,
was then in the flower of his age. He had not
long ascended his throne; and his father, who
had been a prudent prince, having left behind
him a well-established government, able statesmen,
and a considerable sum in the treasury,
Roderick had little to employ his mind at
home. Brave, ardent, and enterprising,
burning for conquest, and spurning the quiet
of domestic peace, the overtures of the Spaniards
had met his most ardent wishes; and he
had embraced their cause with an eagerness
and impetuosity that had hitherto carried every
thing before it. The greatest part of Spain
lay at his feet. Even Madrid was his! but it
was to attack Seville, that queen of cities, that
he was now in Andalusia. This city was still
in the power of his enemies, and Roderick,
having made Cadiz his head-quarters, was about
removing thither, when the message of the
Alcaide, had induced to undertake the romantic
enterprize he had just so successfully
accomplished. Romance was, indeed, a leading
feature in Roderick's character: it had been
the policy of his father, the late King, to foment
secretly the discontents nourished amongst the
English; but the spirit of Roderick revolted
at conduct he considered so mean and base.
The Spanish war, on the contrary, exactly suited
his disposition: to aid an oppressed people&mdash;to
throw off the yoke of their oppressors, seemed
noble and generous; and he engaged in the
enterprize with all the energy of his bold and
daring temper. His soldiers adored him, and
his people warmly seconded his efforts; for, as
the seat of war was far removed from them,
and as the treasury of the late King defrayed
the expenses, they felt none of the inconveniences
of war, and gloried in the triumphs of
their Sovereign. Thus, Roderick's praise was
the theme of every tongue: even the Spaniards
worshipped him almost as a god, and their
active imaginations magnified his exploits, till
both friends and foes alike regarded him as a
being who had only to will to conquer! and
whose prowess it was perfect madness even to
struggle to resist.</p>

<p>Such was the monarch our travellers now
anxiously awaited, till suspense became almost
agony. At last the joyful sounds of "He
comes! he comes! Long live the mighty Roderick!"
burst upon their ears, and the travellers
bent forwards, eagerly expecting, yet
dreading to see, a countenance stern and fearful
as that of Cheops in his tomb: but how
were they astonished to behold, in the redoubtable
Roderick, only a tall handsome young
man, riding carelessly upon a beautiful Barbary
charger, and laughing and talking gaily with
his officers as he came along.</p>

<p>"What!" cried the doctor indignantly,
"would you attempt to make me believe that
slight blooming boy a conqueror? the thing is
impossible! It is quite ridiculous to mention
it. Those laughing eyes, smooth down-like
cheeks, and white teeth, may be well adapted
to win a lady's heart, but I am sure they never
can belong to a hero!"</p>

<p>The King, in the mean time, was equally
struck with the doctor; and seeing something
peculiarly honest and simple in his fat, round,
oily face, he felt a lively interest for him, and
an excessive curiosity to know what could possibly
have brought a man, apparently so harmless
and inoffensive, into so perilous a situation.
The fine person of Edric, disfigured as
it was by the troubles he had undergone, also
attracted his attention; and as he rode up to
his guests to question them as to their adventures,
(the noble barb that carried him, pacing
proudly along, as though conscious of the illustrious
burthen he bore,) even the doctor
was compelled to admit, the face and figure
of his rider bespoke firmness, intellect, and
dignity.</p>

<p>"What crime had you committed amongst
the Spaniards?" asked he, as he approached,
addressing himself to the doctor in a full, mellow,
yet commanding tone. "It must have been
of the blackest dye, if we are to judge by the
enormity of the punishment."</p>

<p>"I am innocent!" cried the doctor, "an' it
may please your Majesty! I am quite innocent."</p>

<p>"It will please me very much to find you
so," said Roderick, smiling; "but assertion is
nothing&mdash;what proof have you?"</p>

<p>"My friend here will bear witness in my behalf,"
said the doctor solemnly, not feeling at
all pleased with what he thought the King's
unseasonable disposition for merriment; whilst
as he stood looking very cross, his red face and
bald head streaming with perspiration from
anger and vexation, his clothes having been
torn to rags, and his hat and wig lost in his
late troubles, he struck Roderick as presenting
so very whimsical and ridiculous a figure, that
after looking at him a few minutes, the Merry
Monarch burst out into a violent and almost
convulsive fit of laughter.</p>

<p>"Well!" said the doctor, still more gravely,
"I am glad your Majesty seems so well
amused; but for my part, I don't see any
thing at all agreeable or entertaining in being
about to be burned alive."</p>

<p>The doctor's solemn look and lengthened face,
as he made this naïve remonstrance, only increased
Roderick's peals of laughter. "I beg
your pardon, Sir," said he, addressing Edric,
as soon as he was able to speak; "I really beg
your pardon; but your friend here is so exceedingly
amusing, that I am really under infinite
obligations to him, and know not how I shall
ever be able to repay him."</p>

<p>"It is we who are under obligations to your
Majesty, for which we can never be sufficiently
grateful," said Edric gravely; for he also was
not very well pleased at seeing his friend so
openly ridiculed; as, though he did sometimes
take the liberty of smiling at the learned doctor's
innocent follies himself, he did not like to
see him made the laughing stock of another.
Roderick, however, saw and instantly understood
the ill-humour of Edric; and as he applauded
its motive, he endeavoured to divert it
by every means in his power, and soon completely
succeeded. Few people, indeed, knew
so well how to make themselves agreeable as
Roderick; and though Edric, at first, felt indignant
that the King should treat him so much like
a child, as to suppose his displeasure could be
easily joked away, yet this feeling insensibly
wore off, and he soon thought Roderick the most
fascinating of human beings. Indeed, that heart
must have been hard that could have withstood
unmoved the fascinations of Roderick when he
wished to please. His bright laughing eyes that
looked the very colour of gladness, and his arch
smile, might have subdued the melancholy of a
stoic; whilst his character had something bewitching
in its very failings. He had been all
his life the spoiled child of fortune, and though
his rashness and impetuosity, his pettishness
and his caressing manners, his bravery, haughtiness,
and obstinacy; his fondness for any thing
that promised a frolic, and his chivalrous devotion
to noble and grand enterprizes, formed a
singular melange, he was, perhaps, more beloved
than he would have been if his character
had been more perfect; and it was this very inconsistency
that made him so completely the
idol of his soldiers.</p>

<p>"Believe me," said he, addressing Edric,
"that it is impossible for me to describe the
pleasure I feel in having had it in my power to
be of service to you; and though I should have
been happy to relieve any of my fellow-creatures
in distress, yet I must own I am glad you
are Englishmen. It was the policy of my late
father to act as the enemy of England; but I
have always been her friend. I am sure that
Nature intended the English and Irish for brethren;
and I am too sincere a votary of the
goddess to wish, even in the slightest degree, to
counteract her designs."</p>

<p>"Your sentiments perfectly coincide with
mine," said Edric; "and as it has been my fate
to live in habits of intimacy for several years
with a very worthy countryman of yours, Father
Murphy, confessor of the Duke of Cornwall,
who was the most intimate friend of my
father&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Father Murphy!" interrupted Roderick.</p>

<p>"Yes," returned Edric, surprised at the wonder
expressed by the King. "Is it possible
you can know him?"</p>

<p>"The name appeared familiar to me, that
was all," replied Roderick, evidently finding it
difficult to repress a strong inclination to laugh.
Edric looked at him with still increasing astonishment,
not being able to discover any thing
in the slightest degree ridiculous in what he
had said; and Roderick's disposition to mirth
seemed to increase in exact proportion to Edric's
gravity. At length, perceiving he remained
silent, Roderick with infinite difficulty contrived
to say,&mdash;</p>

<p>"Go on, my dear Mr. Montagu, I entreat
you to go on; never mind me; it is a strange
thought that has just entered my head."</p>

<p>"Mr. Montagu!" exclaimed Edric. "I was
not aware that your Majesty was acquainted
with my name; I do not recollect having mentioned
it."</p>

<p>"Perhaps, however, the doctor did," returned
the King; "or the alcaide might have told
me, or my servants may have seen it marked
upon your trunks or your linen, or&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Your Majesty need not give yourself so
much trouble to explain a circumstance in itself
perfectly immaterial," replied Edric. "I have
no wish to conceal my name; I was only astonished
to find your Majesty so well acquainted
with it."</p>

<p>"Well, well," cried Roderick, somewhat impatiently,
"the circumstance is, as you say,
quite immaterial, so pray go on with what you
were saying of Father Murphy."</p>

<p>"I was simply observing that the excellence
of his disposition had given me a favourable opinion
of your Majesty's countrymen."</p>

<p>"Which I hope the thoughtlessness of their
King will not induce you to change. I trust
you have too much good sense, Mr. Montagu,
to feel offended with what you may call the
frivolity of my manner. My heart, I hope, is
good, though I own even I cannot say much in
favour of my head. I am a laughing philosopher
however, a sort of Democritus the second;
and finding it more agreeable to laugh than
cry, I generally try to extract amusement from
every thing that happens to fall in my way.
We shall soon know each other better, and so
now, as doubtless you may wish for repose after
the fatigues you have undergone, you will perhaps
like to retire to the tent prepared for you."</p>

<p>The doctor and Edric willingly assented and
repaired to their new abode, completely puzzled
by what seemed to them the extraordinary and
inconsistent character of the King.</p>

<p>Under this gay, laughing exterior, however,
Roderic hid a sound penetrating mind, and a
firm determined spirit; whilst, though no one
enjoyed more to ridicule occasionally the foibles
of his subjects, no one knew better how to check
them, and bring them back instantly to their
proper stations, if they ventured a hair's
breadth beyond the limits he prescribed to
them. He had thus the art to make himself
feared as well as loved, and to rule his subjects
despotically, though he never spoke to them
without a smile.</p>

<p>Such as I have described him, it may be easily
imagined Roderick was not long in winning
the affections of his new friends, and he, in his
turn, was equally delighted with them. The
noble, generous, and inquiring spirit of Edric
exactly accorded with his own; and the follies
of the learned doctor afforded him never-ceasing
amusement, whilst Edric, delighted to meet
with a companion who could understand and
sympathize with his feelings, felt happier than
he had been for years; and the learned doctor,
proud of being admitted to the intimacy of
such a man as Roderick, declared all his troubles
were repaid, and that he now considered
himself as the most fortunate of mortals.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h3>


<p>The Spanish nobility were daily collecting
round the Irish King. To one of the most distinguished
of these, the Duke of Medina Celina,
Roderick was particularly anxious to introduce
Edric. For this purpose, therefore, as soon
as the army of Roderick returned to his head
quarters at Cadiz, where the duke had remained,
the friends went together to pay him a
visit.</p>

<p>Edric was exceedingly interested by this call.
The duke's family consisted only of himself and
his grand-daughter, the Princess Zoe, but the
appearance of both was excessively striking.
The duke was a blind old man with white
flowing hair and a long silvery beard, clad
with almost patriarchal simplicity; whilst Zoe,
who sate closely by his side, and seemed devoted
to his comfort, was beauty itself. Exquisitely
lovely, however, as her features were,
they excited rather pain than pleasure in the
mind of the beholder, from their excessive paleness.
Her dress was simple: a robe of black
silk fitted tight to her slender shape, and her
jet black hair was simply braided on her forehead,
and confined in a net behind.</p>

<p>When she saw the strangers, a slight blush
stained the usual alabaster fairness of her complexion,
and a trifling agitation was visible in
her manner. It was but for an instant, however,
that this glowing tint suffused her pallid
cheeks, or that her fine features betrayed agitation.
Her usual calm dignity of expression was
immediately re-assumed, and her countenance
regained its marble whiteness. There was,
indeed, something very singular in the whole
countenance of this young beauty, for, notwithstanding
the exquisite loveliness of her features,
her charms were rather those of a statue than
of a human being. Her fine features were
strictly Grecian and perfectly regular, but they
were always fixed in one unvarying expression;
whilst her large black eyes fringed with long
silken eyelashes, and her glossy raven hair, contrasted
strangely with the spotless fairness of
her complexion; the whole gave her the air of
some unearthly visitant from the tomb.</p>

<p>Zoe had been unfortunate from her birth.
Her mother having accompanied the old duke
upon an embassy to Constantinople, had happened
to please the fancy of the reigning Emperor
so forcibly, that, contrary to the advice
of his counsellors, he had married her. Disproportioned
marriages, however, are seldom happy
ones: and that of the parents of Zoe formed
no exception to the general rule. The Emperor
soon repented his rashness, and, becoming tired
of his wife, treated her with coldness and neglect;
whilst she, far removed from all her former
friends, and finding herself despised by the man
for whose sake she had sacrificed every thing,
lingered a few years and then died unheeded
and forlorn, leaving only the hapless Zoe to
lament her fate.</p>

<p>The Emperor married again; and Zoe had
dragged on a miserable existence, till in an
insurrection of the Greeks, her father had been
murdered, and she herself compelled to fly
from Constantinople. She had repaired first to
Africa; but finding her grandfather was in
Spain, she had followed him thither, and still
remained with him, under the protection of
Roderick.</p>

<p>It was, indeed, the aristocracy of Spain
for which the Irish hero was now principally
fighting; for they had suffered most severely
from the licentious conduct of the soldiers,
and were most earnest in imploring his assistance.
When the seat of the Spanish monarchy
had been removed to Africa, most of the
nobles had followed in its train, whilst those
that remained had become objects of hate and
suspicion to the republican governments that
ensued. Still, however, the <i>amor patriæ</i> glowed
strongly in their breasts, and chained them to
their country; they submitted patiently to innumerable
grievances, till, a few months before
they applied to Roderick, finding the insolence
of the soldiers become insupportable, they determined
to throw off the yoke, and re-establish a
monarchy in Spain.</p>

<p>For this purpose, they had invited Don
Pedro, a younger branch of their former Royal
family to come over from Africa to accept their
throne. He complied, and had brought in his
train many of the old nobility; and amongst
the rest the venerable Duke of Medina Celina,
whose most passionate wish it was, that he
might die and be entombed in Spain. Don
Pedro had been unsuccessful, and had fled; but
many of those who had accompanied him remained,
and with the resident Spanish nobility
now formed the splendid Court of Roderick at
Cadiz.</p>

<p>The duke received Edric kindly, and treated
Roderick with that enthusiastic devotion, which
is, beyond all other praise, flattering to the mind
of man. Zoe never spoke, nor did her features
betray that she took the slightest interest in
the scene before her. It has been before observed,
that education was carried to such a
pitch in England, that all, even the common
people, were universal linguists. Instruction
indeed, in that respect, was imparted in many
brief and ingenious modes; and knowledge
being thus rendered so cheap and easy, as to
be <i>à la portée de tout le monde</i>, it of course
was going partially out of fashion with the
higher classes; but as Sir Ambrose piqued
himself on his devotion to all the old customs,
he would not swerve from them in the education
of his sons; and in consequence, Edric was
almost as learned in this respect as a servant
or a labourer.</p>

<p>This had often been a source of chagrin to
him at home, as it prevented his feeling upon
equal terms with those in the same situation of
life as himself, and had contributed greatly to
give him those shy and reserved manners we
have noticed. On the present occasion, however,
Edric found his learning advantageous,
as it enabled him to enjoy thoroughly the animated
and entertaining conversation of the old
duke. After a lively and spirited discussion
of the manners of the age generally, and the
state of Spain in particular, the friends retired,
having first obtained a promise from the duke
and Zoe to be present at a grand tournament
Roderick intended giving on the following
day.</p>

<p>"Well, Edric!" said Roderick, "what think
you of the Princess Zoe?"</p>

<p>"That she would be a Venus de Medicis, if
she had a little more soul."</p>

<p>"Oh come! Edric," said Roderick, laughing;
"that is really too bad. I'll allow that Zoe
wants animation; but she has at least as much
as a statue. Besides I thought you were fond
of still life, or you would not feel so anxious
about your Mummy."</p>

<p>"Oh, for God's sake!" said Edric, "do not
joke me upon that subject; it is too solemn,
too awful!"</p>

<p>"At least, your doubts are now satisfied,"
said the King.</p>

<p>"Not at all," returned Edric; "for I cannot
help imagining it was only permitted to
appear resuscitated to punish my presumptuous
daring; and its mysterious disappearance, added
to the strange and fearful adventures that have
since attended us, only confirm my opinion."</p>

<p>"It must have been a horrible feeling when
you first saw it stir," observed Roderick.</p>

<p>"Words cannot express the agony of that
moment," replied Edric, "when I saw my
strange unearthly wishes gratified, and felt
the impiety I had been guilty of in having
formed them; and I would have given worlds to
restore the Mummy to the deep sleep I had
disturbed. It was, however, then too late."</p>

<p>"Can you form any idea of what has become
of it?"</p>

<p>"None. If the Egyptian's story be correct,
it contrived to re-inflate the balloon, and that
carried it away, though it is quite impossible
to say how far it might go, as the Mummy
could not possibly understand the management
of the machine, though he might accidentally
fill it."</p>

<p>"Would it relieve you to think the Mummy
safe in England?"</p>

<p>"Oh no! I shudder at the thought."</p>

<p>"Well, well, then it is useless to make yourself
unhappy about the subject. Depend upon
it, all is for the best. I am sure, for my part,
I am very much obliged to the resuscitated
gentleman; as, if it had not been for his freak
of flying away with your balloon, you would
not have been here at the present moment, and
I might never have even known that such a
person was in existence. However, now you
<i>are</i> here, you must not leave me; and when we
have finished our campaign, we will return to
Ireland together, and pass the remainder of our
lives in peace and tranquillity."</p>

<p>Edric smiled, for the very idea of peace and
Roderick seemed incongruous.</p>

<p>The tournament was held on a fine plain on
the mainland, a few miles from Cadiz, and nothing
could exceed the brilliancy of the show.
"The sun shone o'er fair women and brave
men," for even in winter, the bright beams of
an Andalusian sun give a glowing animation to
the scene. The busy murmurs of the crowd,
the prancing of the horses, and the gay laugh of
the light-hearted Irishmen, as they paid their
highflown compliments to the Spanish beauties,
were, however, soon interrupted by the
firing of cannon, and a pause ensued, which
was at length broken by loud shouts of
"Roderick! Roderick, for ever! Long live
the Conqueror of Spain!" And immediately,
the pressure and bustle of the people, and the
sound of warlike music which gradually swelled
upon the ear, announced the arrival of that illustrious
Sovereign upon the field.</p>

<p>Roderick was, as usual, riding upon Champion,
his noble barb, and surrounded by the
officers of his staff; but he was not talking to
them with his accustomed familiarity; his
countenance even wore an air of sadness and
reflection, very unusual to it. However, as he
rode along, his fine horse tossing his head and
spurning the ground as he advanced, he looked
completely the powerful Sovereign that he really
was.</p>

<p>His dress was exceedingly becoming. Roderick
knew mankind too well not to appear to
adopt, in some measure, even the prejudices of
those he associated with; and knowing the partiality
of the Spaniards for dress and appearance,
his own was magnificent. A tight vest
and pantaloons of black satin displayed the elegance
of his figure to the best advantage, whilst
a short cloak of the same material, hung from
his shoulders in graceful negligence, and his
head was covered with a large Spanish hat of
black velvet, having a magnificent plume of
ostrich feathers, secured by a diamond aigrette
in front. A superb collar of diamonds also
adorned his breast, and a deep frill of vandyk
lace was fastened round his neck.</p>

<p>Splendid, however, as was the attire of Roderick,
it was far exceeded by his personal advantages;
and no one could look upon that fair,
open brow, those bright blue eyes, that manly,
though youthful form, that glossy chestnut
hair and curling mustachios, or, what was more
than all, upon the fascinating smile of the mouth
they decorated, without feeling deeply interested
for their possessor.</p>

<p>The fascinating manners of Roderick have
been already mentioned; but, upon the present
occasion, his usual <i>gaité de c&#339;ur</i> was tempered
by an air of dignity and command which became
him equally well, and which powerfully told,
that though he might sometimes condescend to
seem amused with trifles, he could, when he
pleased, be indeed a king.</p>

<p>The affairs of Spain were now beginning to
assume a favourable appearance, and, consequently,
the people were better disposed to be
amused; whilst, as a truce had been granted for
some weeks, during a negotiation for peace
which was carrying on, the combined Spanish
and Irish soldiers shut up in the Isle of Leon,
and thrown entirely upon their own resources
for amusement, like most persons in similar situations,
grasped eagerly at every trifle that
seemed to promise variety and amusement.</p>

<p>Roderick was perfectly aware of this; and it
was partly to afford employment for his officers,
and partly to gratify his own taste for the pursuits
of chivalry, that he had proposed the present
tournament. The lists were marked out,
and a flourish of trumpets summoned the combatants
to the field. Two of the Irish officers
were the first who engaged, and whilst every
eye was occupied in watching their movements
with the most intense anxiety, Roderick took an
opportunity of whispering to Edric that he had
just received news from England.</p>

<p>"Well!" cried Edric, his eyes sparkling with
impatience.</p>

<p>"Elvira is elected; but I am afraid there is
a strong party in the state against her."</p>

<p>"And my father?"</p>

<p>"He is well, and Edmund is prime minister!"</p>

<p>"What says Rosabella?"</p>

<p>"She is silent; and, therefore, I fear&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You are right. In such a case, Rosabella's
silence can only portend a storm."</p>

<p>"The duke has left the country, and now
resides entirely in town."</p>

<p>"What a change," said Edric, "a few
short months has produced! all is altered. I
was excessively shocked when you informed
me of the death of Claudia; but this news,
though it surprises, does not displease me; and,
thank God! my father is well."</p>

<p>The defeat of one of the combatants, and
the shouts and triumph attending the success
of the other, now interrupted the conference;
and the rush of all parties towards the King
separated him from Edric, who walked quietly
away from the crowd to meditate upon the
news he had received. The train of thought
thus conjured up was so pleasing, that he was
soon completely lost in it. His father, his
brother, and all the scenes of his childhood,
those early recollections so dear to every heart,
seemed to rise before him, and he had forgotten
Spain and all that it contained, when he was
roused from his reverie by a piercing scream;
and, looking round, he saw the Princess Zoe,
near whose palanquin he had accidentally placed
himself, attempting to break from her carriage
in a state of the most violent agitation.</p>

<p>Astonished beyond the power of expression
at her emotion, Edric hastily assisted her to
unfasten the door of her palanquin, and offered
her his arm: Zoe took it without speaking,
and with trembling steps hurried across the
plain. In a few minutes, however, the cause
of the princess's agitation was explained; for,
as they approached the spot she evidently
wished to reach, Edric saw the body of Roderick
extended upon the ground, apparently
without life or motion. Uttering an exclamation
of horror, he attempted to rush towards
him, but the princess held his arm firmly, and
prevented him. Quite astonished, he looked
up in her face; she was still dreadfully agitated,
but she did not speak, and only pressed
her finger against her lips.</p>

<p>In a few minutes, Roderick opened his eyes,
and the princess again pressing Edric's arm,
said in a hurried, though low tone, "Let us
go!" Edric obeyed; and they walked hastily
back to the palanquin in perfect silence. When
Edric had assisted the princess into her carriage
however, and was about to retire, she
pressed his hand, and said again in her peculiarly
low soft voice, "Do not speak of this!"</p>

<p>"I will not," said Edric; and bowing respectfully
as he pressed her hand to his lips, he
walked away excessively surprised at the scene
he had witnessed. Upon reaching the King, he
found he had been thrown from his horse, and
so slightly hurt as not to think it necessary to
interrupt the amusements of the day; which
concluded after a brilliant display of Irish and
Spanish valour, without any other incident
worthy of notice.</p>

<p>A few days after this adventure, as Edric
was sitting, lost in thought, in his own apartment,
musing, as was his custom whenever he
was alone, upon the strange adventure of the
Mummy, and endeavouring in vain to imagine
what might be its probable fate, he was startled
by the door of his room flying suddenly open,
and Roderick's rushing in pale and in violent
agitation.</p>

<p>"Oh, Edric!" cried he, "I am ruined!
my fame is lost for ever! whilst I have been
loitering away my time here, the enemy has
obtained the assistance of the French: they
have taken Madrid, and almost all the towns
between that and the frontier! An immense
army is marching upon Seville, and they intended
to have blocked me up here, amusing
me with their pretended treaties, till they had
caught me in their snare."</p>

<p>"And how has their plot been discovered?"</p>

<p>"The Princess Zoe&mdash;yes! I know what you
would say&mdash;she loves me, and though I love her
not, nay, though I am devoted to another, if I
reconquer Spain, myself and crown shall be
thrown at her feet;&mdash;but, if I fail, I will never
live to be the herald of my disgrace."</p>

<p>"It is unworthy of Roderick to despair: it
will be by treachery, if you are vanquished."</p>

<p>"Hold!" cried Roderick, driven almost to
frenzy at the thought. "For mercy's sake,
talk not so calmly of my being vanquished. I
will conquer&mdash;I will redeem my name, or perish
in the attempt; and if they do vanquish
me, it shall be my corpse alone that they shall
conquer, for the immortal spirit shall escape
their fury."</p>

<p>"Alas! alas!" said Edric; "your words
have again conjured up the fiend that so long
has haunted me:&mdash;<i>does</i> the immortal spirit
escape?"</p>

<p>"Edric," returned the King, "this is not a
moment for metaphysical subtleties; we must act,
and that immediately and decisively. We must
advance upon Seville, and, if possible, get possession
of that city before the army of the
enemy shall reach it: this blow will strike the
Spaniards with awe, and before they have recovered
themselves, I shall have made myself
master of half Spain. I know the character of
the people I have to combat; I must carry
every thing by a <i>coup de main</i>, or I shall fail."</p>

<p>It was impossible to deny the justice of this
observation, and Edric warmly seconded the
preparations of Roderick to march immediately
upon Seville. These preparations were soon
made; for Roderick was so completely idolized
by his soldiers, that they regarded his will as
law, and were ready to march at an hour's notice,
though they knew not where they were
going. Dr. Entwerfen was excessively agitated
when he found he was going now really to engage
in war; not that the base emotion of fear
took possession of his soul, but a slight trepidation,
such as that which scandal says even
heroes feel at their first battle, crept over his
nerves, and gave him an odd kind of sensation,
which, he said, was only anxiety to engage.</p>

<p>No one knew where they were going; it was
only rumoured, indeed, that hostilities were
about to recommence, and, as the doctor said, it
was very disagreeable to be unacquainted with
the theatre of their future glory. Roderick was
amused, notwithstanding even the agitation of
the moment, with the efforts of the doctor to
discover the secret, and told him, as though in
confidence, that they were going to attack Lisbon.
Delighted with this news, which he firmly
believed, the doctor strutted about with indescribable
dignity, walking upon the tips of
his toes, pressing his lips together, and swelling
out his cheeks like a cherub in a country church-yard,
whilst he seemed absolutely bursting with
the importance of the secret he carried. All
was now ready; but before Roderick quitted
Cadiz, he took leave of the Princess Zoe.</p>

<p>"It would be unjust to your merit, and my
gratitude," said he, "to insult you with words;
but if I survive, the devotion of my whole
life&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Stay!" interrupted Zoe, "nor overrate so
strangely the value of the service I have been
so fortunate as to render you. Besides, even if
your estimate were just, know that the services
of Zoe are not to be purchased. No, prince,
judge me not so meanly. Had I not determined
that we should never meet again, the intelligence
you so highly value would never have
reached your ears. My greatest enemy is dead;
and to-morrow I return to my native land,
where the rebels have no longer the power to
injure me. Demetrius, the ancient minister of
my father, arrived yesterday, with the permission
for my return, and I do not hesitate an instant&mdash;yet,
before I go&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Speak," cried Roderick hastily; "command
my life! my throne! my fortune!"</p>

<p>Zoe smiled. "The favour I have to request
is trifling. I have a favourite page, who dreads
to return to Greece, and I would willingly
place him under your care."</p>

<p>"He shall be my brother!" exclaimed Roderick
enthusiastically; "my friend! my companion
in arms! He shall live with me, fight
with me, and&mdash;"</p>

<p>Again a faint smile played on Zoe's marble
features, like the ghost of departed joys; it was
but for an instant, however, and it added fresh
darkness to the succeeding gloom. "I wish no
privileges for my page," said she gravely, "beyond
those usually bestowed upon his class.
Treat him kindly, but promise me you will not
over-indulge him, or I will not leave him with
you."</p>

<p>"You have only to command," said Roderick,
"and you may rely upon obedience."</p>

<p>"Adieu! then," exclaimed the princess, extending
her hand, whilst a slight blush stained
her alabaster complexion. "God bless you!&mdash;we
may meet again."</p>

<p>Roderick kissed her hand as he would have
done that of an empress. "Heaven grant we
may!" exclaimed he, "for, rest assured, no
earthly pleasure could afford me half the joy."</p>

<p>"None?" asked Zoe incredulously.</p>

<p>"None!" repeated he firmly; "unless, perhaps,"
added he with a smile, "the re-conquering
of Spain."</p>

<p>"Then you will accept my page?"</p>

<p>"As a gift from Heaven!"</p>

<p>"He shall join you ere you cross the bridge:
once more, adieu!"</p>

<p>"Adieu!" cried Roderick, and Zoe vanished.
In half an hour the troops were under
arms, and had quitted Cadiz; but Roderick, in
the bustle and confusion attendant upon the
removal of so large a body of men so suddenly,
had quite forgotten the Greek page. As he
was crossing the bridge, however, his noble
barb started, and Roderick, looking for the
cause, saw a slight, graceful boy, who, kneeling,
presented him with a letter; it was from Zoe.</p>

<p>"I forgot to tell you," wrote she, "that my
page is dumb. As his loss of speech, however,
was accidental, he is, notwithstanding, perfectly
intelligent, and will obey your slightest gesture."</p>

<p>Ordering some of his attendants to provide a
horse, Roderick desired the page to mount it,
and ride by his side: the boy crossed his arms
upon his breast, and bowed his head in token of
obedience, and then lightly vaulted into the
saddle.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h3>


<p>The army of Roderick advanced rapidly
through a lovely country richly tinted by the
rays of a southern sun. Nothing, indeed,
could be more beautiful than the scene. Though
spring was only just bursting from the icy
chains of winter, vine-covered cottages peeped
through orange groves loaded with their fragrant
flowers; whilst behind, the dark foliage
of the lofty palm-trees gave depth and richness
to the landscape. Innumerable flowers
perfumed the air, and the sky glowed with
azure and gold.</p>

<p>Under these circumstances, the advance of
Roderick's army, though rapid, resembled
rather the journey of a party of pleasure than
a fatiguing and toilsome march; and when,
just as the sun was setting, they approached
a small village, Edric paused on the summit of
a hill, to survey with delighted admiration the
lovely scene below. A white church peeped
from between a thick cluster of trees, and romantic
cottages covered with wild festoons of
luxuriant plants, were scattered about at intervals;
whilst sitting before the doors, were
placed groups of peasant girls, singing patriotic
airs to their mandolines or lutes, and others
were dancing gaily beneath the shade of some
widely spreading trees. Neat dresses of black
serge fitted tightly to the shape of these girls,
and displayed the graceful elegance of their
figures to the utmost advantage. Their long dark
hair was bound in a simple net; and their sparkling
eyes beamed with animation and love, whilst
the clear dark complexion, well proportioned
forms, jet black hair, and aquiline noses of their
male partners, still, notwithstanding the lapse
of so many centuries, strongly marked their
Moorish origin. Songs of joy and lively
music swelled upon the gale; but these sounds
of peace and happiness were soon changed to
shrieks of terror, as the unfortunate peasants
saw the army of Roderick wind slowly through
the trees, and they fled screaming for mercy,
whilst all their little store of wealth fell an
easy prey to the foe they left behind.</p>

<p>Edric shuddered at the pillage that ensued,
and warmly remonstrated with his friend.</p>

<p>"My dear Edric," said Roderick, "these
things are inevitable; though what you see
here can give you but a very faint idea of the
dreadful havoc and devastation of war. My
soldiers destroy nothing, and generally even
pay for what they take: but commonly in an
enemy's country, men burn what they cannot
make use of, and treat the unfortunate inhabitants
with the most appalling cruelty. However
these are things we cannot reason about."</p>

<p>"I think not," returned Edric; and finding
his remonstrances unavailing, he had the discretion
not again to allude to the subject, till
the army approached Seville. The first view
of this splendid city, illumined by the glowing
rays of the setting sun, struck our young philosopher
most forcibly. "Oh, Roderick!" cried
he, "look at that long line of sumptuous palaces,
adorned with marble pillars, and the finest
statues; those lovely gardens&mdash;those bowers of
roses; and those crystal fountains, whose sparkling
spray looks dazzling in the sunbeams."</p>

<p>"Well," said Roderick, "I see them all,
and more, the lofty spires of the town rising
beyond, their gilded vanes glittering in the
sun."</p>

<p>"And can you look upon this fair scene?"
asked Edric, "and not feel compunction?
Alas! alas! that the cruel hand of man should
dare to destroy so lovely a picture!"</p>

<p>"My dear Edric," returned Roderick, smiling,
"you would never do for a conqueror.
If you make war a profession, Glory must be
your mistress, and to obtain her, you must sacrifice
all your better feelings. But, ah! what
is that? look yonder, Edric!"</p>

<p>"I see nothing but a volume of fleecy smoke
curling up between the trees," said Edric;
"which harmonizes well with the lovely scene
around&mdash;that scene which the grim hand of
War is destined so soon to desolate. Oh, Roderick,
can it be possible, that you, whose kind
and charitable nature would not crush a worm
to death unnecessarily, should&mdash;"</p>

<p>"They have fired the suburbs!" cried Roderick,
interrupting him; and clapping spurs to
his horse, he darted forward like an arrow discharged
from a bow. His suspicions were correct.
Light clouds of white vapour hung high
in the clear blue heavens; whilst below, a thick
yellow smoke, mingled with flames, spread wide
ruin and devastation. Crackling pieces of
wood, sparkling like a <i>feu d'artifice</i>, were
thrown up with violence at intervals, and the
scorching heat felt intolerable, as showers of
sparks, and pieces of ignited matter, rained
thick and fast upon the plain.</p>

<p>Edric and Roderick were on a gentle eminence
when they first saw the city; and, deceived
by the remarkable optical delusion often
observable in similar situations, they had fancied
it very near them. When they plunged
into the valley, however, they soon discovered
that this was of very considerable extent; and
their horses, weary with their toilsome march,
with difficulty made their way through the
thick underwood and tangled grass that every
moment threatened to impede their progress.
At length, they entered into the mazes of a
wood, that quite obscured the city from their
sight; and when fair Seville again broke upon
them through an opening in the trees, she appeared
one vast mass of flame.</p>

<p>"Good Heavens!" cried Edric, "surely
they will not burn the city! What a multitude
of human beings will be sacrificed if they do!"</p>

<p>"I hope they will not be so foolish," said
Roderick, "yet I own I fear; no&mdash;no&mdash;"
cried he, after a moment's pause; "see,
see! the smoke divides, and as the wind bears
the rolling volumes asunder, the city's walls
still stand: no fire as yet has touched the
glory and the bulwark of proud yet fair
Seville."</p>

<p>The glowing embers still crackled as they
approached, and still threw up occasional
showers of sparks fearfully glaring amidst
the darkness of the night, which now closed
in upon them with a thick gloom very unusual
to that climate. The flames had caught the
bridge ere the army of Roderick reached the
banks of the river; and the fiery bow, glowing
through the surrounding darkness, looked like
the fabled arch over which the Mahometans
believe the souls of the dead are destined to
skait into Paradise.</p>

<p>At length the army of Roderick found their
progress stopped by the deep and rapid waters
of the Guadalquiver; the black smoking remains
of the bridge which had once stretched across
the river, seeming to forbid their farther progress.
Magnificent palaces lay around them,
crumbling into ruins, whilst their half-burnt
roofs fell occasionally with a tremendous crash.
Fearful indeed was the spectacle that presented
itself, and the once superb suburb seemed
the very temple of Desolation. Vases and
statues lay overturned, and blackened by the
smoke. Majestic trees, scorched by the flames,
and their shrivelled leaves stripped from their
withered branches, stretched forth their bare
arms forlorn and desolate, like bereaved mothers
mourning over their murdered children.
A chill drizzling mist began to fall, and all
looked dreary and uncomfortable.</p>

<p>Roderick stood upon the banks of the river
and marked its dark rolling waters, in which
the fire that still crept amongst the ruins on the
other side reflected its red lurid glare. "We
must pass the river," said he; "these Andalusians
are too crafty to have destroyed this
fine suburb, in itself a town, had not some imperious
reason urged them to it. They want
to gain time; but we must show them that we
dare brave the combined terrors of flames and
water, when Glory gives the word."</p>

<p>"And what is this Glory you pursue so
madly?" asked Edric. "May not Prudence be
admitted to its councils? And will it not be
more certain if we wait till morning to seize it?
The night is dark and gloomy; I think it forbodes
a tempest; and at any rate it will be difficult
to ford this black rolling stream in the
obscurity. To-morrow with the dawn we will
effect a passage; our troops will be then refreshed
with rest, and we shall be ready to
encounter with vigour the dangers that may
oppose us."</p>

<p>Roderick smiled sadly. "To-morrow, Edric,"
said he, "it may be too late. To-morrow,
the army our enemies expect may advance
upon us, and either obtain possession of the
town, or cut off our retreat. We have traitors
amongst us; for even now, secret as our movements
have been, you see the enemy has had
notice of our approach."</p>

<p>"Why should we pause?" cried Lord Arthur
O'Neil, one of the Irish lords who had followed
his Sovereign to the field. "Your Majesty may
confide in your soldiers.&mdash;Tired! An Irishman
knows not the meaning of the word. Shall the
heroes of Burgos, Valladolid, and Salamanca,
complain of fatigue? Have you forgotten how
they fought and conquered? Have you forgotten
the proud day before Madrid, when a
handful of Irish fought and defeated a whole
legion of Spaniards? Can we think of these
things, and yet talk of fear? Oh no, surely
not! Surely if we did, every warm drop of
blood in our veins, every spark of enthusiasm
in our hearts, would give the lie to the assertion.
Lead us on, brave Roderick! Damp not the
spirit of your troops by unnecessary delays,
but lead us forward to victory."</p>

<p>"Lead us to victory!" shouted the officers
and troops; and Roderick, animated by their
cries, gave orders for the instant fording of the
river. The evening had now quite closed in;
not a star broke the thick dull grey of the
heavens, and the sky began to look dark and
threatening. The lowering clouds grew gradually
darker and darker; whilst a dusky veil
seemed to fall over the distant turrets of the
town, and to envelope them in gloom.</p>

<p>The fire that still raged in the suburbs, had
now seized an ancient castle, and a thick yellow
smoke burst from its embrasures: it seemed
like a huge giant vomiting forth flames. In the
mean time, heavy clouds that had gathered over
their heads, seemed big with destruction, and
a low moaning sound was heard at a distance
as though the winds were sighing over the fate
of the unhappy wretches, who were soon to
fall victims to their fury! The hollow murmuring
continued; it grew gradually louder
and louder; and at length, burst with tremendous
violence in fearful blasts over the heads
of the army. It was now as dark as night,
and the thunder rolled with awful grandeur;
the rain descended in torrents, and the flashes
of lightning showed by glimpses the pouring
vengeance of the clouds, and the still smoking
fragments of the ruined bridge.</p>

<p>It seemed madness to attempt the passage of
the river at such a moment; but the determined
spirit of Roderick, when once resolved,
was not easily to be shaken, and crying out,
"Glory and Roderick for ever!" he attempted
to plunge into the boiling flood. At this instant
the heavens seemed to open, and a vivid
ball of bright blue fire to dart from them. The
lightning had struck a tree, beneath which
a group of soldiers had taken shelter, splitting
it asunder and scattering the branches in all
directions; whilst the groans of the unhappy
wretches, crushed by its fall, mingled horribly
with the howling wind and crashing thunder.
Nothing, however, could intimidate the daring
spirit of Roderick, and calling upon his soldiers
to follow him, he struck his spurs into
Champion, his faithful barb, and the noble
animal plunged with him into the stream. The
river, swollen by the torrents of rain, now rushed
along in roaring waves like the sea. Champion,
and the horses of those who had followed
the example of their Sovereign, were soon
obliged to try to swim, and struggled in vain
to reach the opposite shore. The impetuous
current, however, swept them down the river,
and soon the cries of the drowning men, and
the plunging of the horses, added fresh horror
to the roar of the raging waters.</p>

<p>Fearful was the struggle, till, after a few
horrible moments of almost supernatural exertions,
the storm partly ceased; and though the
wind still continued to howl at intervals, and
the thunder to roll, its growl became fainter
and fainter; and soon nothing was heard but the
splashing of the waves, and the struggles of the
swimming animals who tried in vain to stem
the boiling current.</p>

<p>Champion had made most violent efforts to
save his master, but he strove in vain! he only
floated upon the waves. No longer could he
toss his head and proudly champ his bit; his
strength was fast leaving him: his long thick
mane and heavy armour weighed him down.
His feeble eyes, however, caught a glimpse of
the opposite shore; they had almost reached it,
and the noble animal, collecting all his strength
for one attempt, sprang forward: but, alas!
his heart broke in the effort; his strength failed;
the slippery clay slided from beneath his feet,
and the lifeless body of poor Champion fell
back into the river, dragging his illustrious
master with him. Roderick was too much exhausted
to swim; and, encumbered by the
dead body of the horse, he was fast sinking to
rise no more, when a powerful arm caught
hold of him:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Take this knife!" cried a voice that he
knew to be Edric's: "disentangle yourself from
the horse, and I can save you!"</p>

<p>His words recalled the fleeting spirit of
Roderick; he grasped the knife and hastily
cut asunder the cord that confined his cloak
round his neck. It was this cloak which had
become entangled in the saddle, and the moment
it was released from the neck of Roderick,
it floated down the stream with the body of
poor Champion, whilst the fainting Monarch
was dragged on shore by his friend Edric.
The storm had now entirely ceased; the water
began to get more tranquil, and the moon,
breaking from the clouds that drifted rapidly
across the skies, showed the opposite bank so
plainly that the rest of the army passed with
little difficulty. In the mean time, restoratives
had been applied to Roderick, and he opened
his eyes. A slight shudder, however, ran
through his frame, as he looked, around, and,
heaving a deep sigh, he hastily reclosed them,
as though he wished to shut out for ever the
recollection of what had just passed. 'Twas but
for an instant, however, that the manly mind
of the Irish hero indulged in this overwhelming
sorrow; the next, smiling though mournfully,
he took the hand of Edric, and looking at him
with affection, he said, "I owe my life to you.
God only knows whether the boon be worth
the meed of thanks, or whether you have not
been cruel to my people in saving me. They
have small reason to wish my life, if I am often
to be seized with such freaks as these. Good
God! I shudder when I consider that the lives
of several of my fellow-creatures have been sacrificed
to my misguided folly. Poor Champion
too," drawing his hand across his eyes to
wipe away his tears, and then again trying to
smile. "You will laugh at me, Edric, but
you don't know how much I feel the loss of
that horse. Poor fellow! how nobly he breasted
the tide, and struggled on. But he is gone,
and it's of no use thinking of him."</p>

<p>And as he spoke, he resolutely started from
the bed upon which he had been laid, and
again dashed the tears from his eyes. "I have
other things to think of that are of far more
importance than poor Champion; and yet, poor
fellow, I can't forget it was his obedience to
me that destroyed him! Poor fellow! You
would have been sorry for him, Edric, if you
had heard how deeply he sighed when we were
in the middle of the water, and I forced him
to go on. But I will think no more of him.
Summon my officers, and let us hold a council
as to our future proceedings."</p>

<p>The council was called, and it was soon ascertained
that the army had sustained no other
loss than poor Champion, a few other horses,
and about eight or ten of the King's bodyguard,
who had thrown themselves into the
river the moment they had seen their master
do so. Roderick felt keenly the folly that had
occasioned the loss of these brave men and useful
animals; but as he was aware that he was
now surrounded by his soldiers and the allied
Spaniards, and that it is always necessary for
a Monarch to seem great, whether he be so or
not, if he wish to be obeyed, he had too much
self-command to show any signs of weakness,
and gave orders for the commencement of the
siege of the town with as much coolness as
though he had merely quietly marched up to
its walls.</p>

<p>In the mean time, Dr. Entwerfen had safely
floated over the stream, riding astride upon
one of the ammunition waggons, which were
contrived of cork, and supported by bladders,
or rather balloons, filled with gas upon each
side; whilst the middle part, upon which the
doctor rode, being nearly in the form of a
barrel, the worthy gentleman had formed no
bad representation of Bacchus as he swam
merrily across; for the learned doctor, having
wisely considered how much the interests of
science would suffer if any accident befell his
precious person, had waited till the river was
as smooth as glass, before he would venture to
traverse it.</p>

<p>It was perhaps also well for Roderick, that
he now found himself upon the theatre of war:
that he had orders to give&mdash;decisions to make;
in short, that he had sufficient to occupy his
mind, and prevent its dwelling upon the unpleasant
circumstances that had just passed.
Occupation, indeed, is the only sure remedy for
grief. The consolations of friends and hopes of
religion may do much; but constant employment
is the most effectual medicine for woe that
the skill of man has yet been able to discover.</p>

<p>Roderick now enjoyed the benefit of this
invaluable panaçea in its fullest extent; for he
had much to do. Notwithstanding all their
affection for him, his army could not conceal
from themselves, that he had sacrificed several
valuable lives unnecessarily by his rashness,
and their confidence in his prudence was proportionably
diminished. Roderick saw, and
was mortified by this; the more so, as he felt
it was occasioned by his own folly; and he
struggled to do something to retrieve the confidence
he had lost. There is, perhaps, no situation
more painful to a noble, high-spirited
mind, than the consciousness of error; and the
feelings of Roderick upon this occasion were
an ample penance for his faults.</p>

<p>During the whole of the passage of the river,
and the encampment of the army upon the
opposite side, under the very walls of the city,
not a single soldier of the enemy had been
seen: but when that was completed, and the
harassed host of Irish had stretched their
weary limbs upon the earth, to seek a few
minutes' repose before the attack that was ordered
at daybreak, lights could be plainly
seen moving to and fro in the city, and the
heavy tramp of the soldiers heard as they
paraded the walls. All now was still; a calm
seemed to have succeeded a mighty tempest.</p>

<p>A tent had been erected for Roderick and his
chief officers; and there the Monarch now sate
gloomily musing, whilst his officers were scattered,
in various attitudes of repose and thought,
around him. Alexis, the Greek page, who had
with difficulty passed the river, lay at his feet.
At length, all slept but Edric and Roderick.
After a long pause, the Irish hero looked at
his friend, and seeing him gazing at him with
a look of the tenderest concern&mdash;"Edric," said
he; "I suffocate here; will you walk forth?"
Edric willingly consented, and they sallied
from the tent.</p>

<p>The moon now shone brightly, and the
night was calm and still. They walked together
towards the banks of the river. Those
waters, which so lately had raged like a roaring
lion seeking to devour, now rippled gently
along, dancing in the sunbeams, and seeming
almost to smile at the mischief they had done.</p>

<p>Roderick could not bear the sight; remorse
for his impatience struck like a barbed arrow
through his heart, and he turned hastily away.
He now looked at the scene that lay before
him towards the town. The moon shone
brightly upon the tents of his soldiers, which
contrasted strongly with the black and disfigured
ruins of the suburbs, amongst which
they had been hastily pitched; whilst the
lights in the city, seen only from the summit
of the walls, made it look almost like an eagle's
nest suspended between heaven and earth. Roderick
grasped Edric's hand. "How calm,"
cried he, "how peaceful seems the scene before
us! Alas! how different from that which so
lately&mdash;but ah! what's that?" exclaimed he,
suddenly interrupting himself; "surely I heard
a groan."</p>

<p>Edric listened, and distinctly heard the
feeble moaning of a human voice. Neither
Roderick nor himself uttered a syllable; but
both darted to the spot from whence the sounds
proceeded. Just at a bend in the river, surrounded
by lofty trees, now scorched and half
destroyed by the fire, had stood the <i>maison de
plaisance</i> of one of the Spanish nobles. It had
been built in the Italian style; hedges of myrtle
and pomegranates had bloomed in the garden,
and a raised terrace had surrounded the house,
ornamented by statues. Now, however, this
terrace was covered with fallen pillars and
broken vases&mdash;ruin and desolation spread
around. The trellis-work, against which, different
creeping shrubs had been trained, hung
in wild disorder, torn from the walls, and crushing
with its weight the shrubs to which it had
once served as a support.</p>

<p>Edric and Roderick entered the dwelling, for
the cry seemed to proceed from its ruins. With
hasty steps they traversed the deserted chambers,
in which magnificent tapestry hung in tatters
from the walls, whilst shattered remnants of
valuable pictures and shivered mirrors showed
the grandeur that had once been there. All
now, however, was desolation! the gilded walls
and ceilings looked black with the smoke, and
the splendid furniture lay half-burnt and half-destroyed
upon the ground. Roderick and
Edric, however, did not stop long to survey the
misery around them, for they hurried hastily
forward to the place from which the cries had
proceeded. As they approached, they found
they were the accents of a female voice that had
attracted them; and advancing a few steps farther,
they beheld a sight that filled them with
pity.</p>

<p>Beneath a fallen column, in the ruins of
which she was so entangled that she could not
move, lay, or rather stooped, a beautiful female,
bending over the apparently lifeless body of an
old man, whose fine features and venerable appearance
were sufficient of themselves to create
a deep interest in his behalf, but which interest
was trebly increased by the evident anxiety
painted upon the beautiful face of the female.</p>

<p>"Oh, Heavens!" cried she, as soon as they
approached; "if you have any mercy or Christian
charity in your disposition, succour this
poor old man. Those cruel wretches have left
him to perish miserably: though we are strangers,
we are human beings, and have committed
no crime."</p>

<p>By this time, Edric and Roderick had arrived
near enough to draw her from the column,
when they perceived, to their infinite horror, that
her arm was broken, and that she was otherwise
seriously hurt. "Oh, think not of me," cried
she, finding they wished to succour her before
they attended to the old man, who appeared to
be dead; "save my father, I am quite well&mdash;can
I help you?" and heedless of her own pain,
the heroic girl assisted in dragging her father
from his dangerous situation.</p>

<p>"I fear he is dead," whispered Roderick.</p>

<p>"Oh! say not so," shrieked Pauline, for that
was her name; "he must, he shall recover.
Give him air," continued she, endeavouring
with the one trembling hand, the use of which
remained to her, to unfasten his collar. Edric
gazed at her with admiration, and, struck with
her filial piety and generous self-forgetfulness,
he felt an interest for her that he had never
before experienced for woman. He assisted her
pious cares, and finding the old man still insensible,
he bore him in his arms to the banks
of the river, and sprinkled him with its waters.</p>

<p>Whilst he was thus engaged, the little
fat Dr. Entwerfen, quite out of breath with
his exertions, came puffing up, in something
between a run and a trot. "Oh! Edric dear!"
cried he, gasping for breath, "I've found you,
have I; but, heyday! what's the matter? You
haven't been killing any body, have you?"</p>

<p>"Doctor!" exclaimed Edric, "I am rejoiced
to see you; this gentleman has been hurt
by some falling ruins&mdash;will you bleed him?"</p>

<p>The doctor had studied surgery in his youth,
and had since practised frequently for charity;
and, being in all things in which his particular
foibles were not concerned, a man of sense and
feeling, he instantly comprehended the importance
of the case, and drawing forth his lancet,
after having first bared and bound up the arm
of his patient, he bled him. At first the blood
dropped slowly, drop by drop; but it soon began
to flow more freely, and then the patient,
heaving a deep sigh, opened his eyes.</p>

<p>Pauline had been bending over her father
with an intenseness of anxiety that repressed
every personal feeling; but the moment she
heard him sigh, the unnatural strength that had
supported her gave way; nature could bear no
more, and she fell senseless to the ground.</p>

<p>Every one flew to her assistance, and Dr.
Entwerfen, in particular, was quite in agony.
"Dear, pretty creature!" cried he, pushing his
wig on one side, in his hurry to raise her up&mdash;"Pretty
dear! I do declare her arm is broken,
and her shoulder dreadfully lacerated! Poor
thing! I wonder how she could contrive to hold
up so long."</p>

<p>"It is wonderful!" repeated Edric. "It is
the triumph of mental energy over bodily suffering."</p>

<p>"See! she opens her eyes! she survives!"
exclaimed Roderick. "Had I not better return
to my tent for assistance?"</p>

<p>"There are some soldiers just there," replied
the doctor, pointing to a group of men a
few paces distant; "they came with me to protect
me, but I outran them when I saw Edric."</p>

<p>The soldiers soon formed a litter, upon which
M. de Mallet, for that was the name of the
old man, and his daughter were conveyed to the
tent of Roderick, where proper surgical aid was
afforded them. And whilst they are recovering
from the injuries they had received, we will
take the opportunity of informing our readers
of the circumstances that had placed them in so
unpleasant a situation.</p>

<p>M. de Mallet was a Swiss noble; and upon
the usurpation of the then despot of Switzerland,
he had vehemently defended the liberty of his
country. The tyrant had imprisoned him, and
he had with difficulty made his escape, followed
by his only daughter, who was devotedly attached
to him, and who, in all his dangers, had
never quitted his side. She had lost her mother
in her earliest youth, and since that period,
all her thoughts and cares had been devoted to
her father.</p>

<p>To comfort him, had formed the sole occupation
of her life; and self was quite forgotten in
her anxiety for his welfare. After escaping
from Switzerland, they had taken refuge in
Spain, flattering themselves, that, as it was a
free country, they should there be safe and
happy. But, alas! they soon found the charms
of freedom were more ideal than real; and M.
de Mallet, though he had been an enthusiast
for liberty under the despotic government of
Switzerland, found the sweets of freedom not
quite so great as he had imagined amongst the
Republicans of Spain; the pride of the nobles,
and the conceited ignorance and insubordination
of the people, being, as he found by
sad experience, things much more agreeable to
talk about than endure. In Switzerland, he had
called the one, proud independence, and the
other manly daring; but he now discovered nobles
and democratic chiefs can be tyrants as well
as kings; and that the mob is a many-headed
monster most exceedingly difficult to manage.</p>

<p>At first, M. de Mallet and his daughter
were rapturously received in Spain. No human
beings could be more interesting: applauses
filled the air whenever they appeared;
addresses were presented to them from all quarters;
the people crowded to see them, and the
Spanish nobles vied with each other in offering
them an asylum. All this was very fine; but,
unfortunately, it was too charming to be lasting.
As M. de Mallet and his lovely daughter
had been often seen, congratulated, and
condoled with, there was nothing now to be
done, and the enthusiasm of the Spaniards began
rapidly to abate. In the first moment of
triumph, M. de Mallet had blindly believed
every thing the people had advanced, and had
fancied himself, really as they called him, a
hero and a martyr. He thus felt sensibly the
change of feeling they so soon evinced; he became
disgusted with a people so fickle; and,
being too candid to conceal his sentiments, he
suffered the Spaniards to perceive his disgust.
The total alienation of the remaining interest
they felt for him, was the natural consequence.</p>

<p>In the heat of enthusiasm, M. de Mallet had
accepted freely the offer of a Spanish nobleman
to make his house his home; but, with the
usual tenacity of a generous mind in a state of
dependence, as soon as he fancied he saw a coldness
on the part of his host, he left him instantly,
and hastened to the house of another,
who had been still more warm in his offers of
friendship. He, too, soon became cold; and
M. de Mallet, like the hare with many friends,
though overloaded with professions, found himself
completely desolate when he really wanted
protection.</p>

<p>M. de Mallet had provided no funds when
he left his native country, and his estates having
been confiscated, he was thus thrown entirely
upon the bounty of strangers. Too
high-minded to endure dependence, and too
proud to humble himself to labour, M. de
Mallet had solicited and obtained the promise
of a post in the Spanish army; and the directors
of the government having promised him
a place in the garrison of Seville, he had proceeded
a few weeks before to the house of the
Duke of Sidonia, the governor of that city, for
the purpose of taking possession. The duke,
however, received him coldly, amusing him
with procrastinating promises, till M. de Mallet
found too late he had been duped by the directors;
who, to rid themselves of his importunities,
had sent him to Seville, merely on account
of its distance from Madrid, and the difficulty
he would have in returning to torment
them, instead of having any real intention of
complying with his wishes.</p>

<p>Indignant at the treatment he had met
with, M. de Mallet expostulated warmly with
the duke; and the violence of his feelings
produced an apoplectic seizure. The duke,
though indifferent to the suit of M. de Mallet,
was not destitute of the common feelings of
humanity; he had him, therefore, carried to a
chamber, where proper surgical assistance was
afforded him. This scene took place at the
duke's country-seat, upon the banks of the
river; and M. de Mallet had remained there
till, aided by a strong constitution and the
vigilant attention of his daughter, he was fast
recovering. When, however, intelligence being
received of the rapid approach of the army of
Roderick, the duke ordered the suburbs to be
burnt, including his country-house; his unfortunate
guests had entirely escaped his recollection;
and the Spaniards appointed to destroy
the suburbs, having performed their task with
the utmost barbarity, tearing to pieces and destroying
what they could not burn; the servants
had flown at their approach, entirely forgetting
M. de Mallet and his daughter; who,
being in a distant quarter of the mansion,
knew nothing of what was passing, till they
were roused to a sense of their situation by
the flames attacking their apartment. With
piercing screams Pauline succeeded in rousing
her father, and forcing him from the chamber;
but they knew not where to fly. The crackling
flames seemed to pursue them wherever they
went, and the falling timbers threatened every
instant to destroy them. At last they reached
the hall, and Pauline's beautiful features beamed
with joy at their approaching deliverance,
when the tottering roof gave way, rocking a
few moments with a fearful cracking noise, and
then falling with a tremendous crash. Pauline
saw it coming; but there was not time to
escape; and uttering a faint cry, she threw herself
before her father, striving to shield him
with her delicate body from the coming danger.</p>

<p>Feeble, however, would have proved this slight
and fragile barrier to ward off the impending
peril, had not fortunately one of the descending
rafters struck against a projecting pillar, and
thus formed a kind of arch, which served to
protect them from farther injury; the falling
of the roof having also nearly extinguished
the fire. Pauline's arm had been broken with
the blow, and her shoulder dreadfully lacerated;
yet still the heroic girl supported herself; and,
sustaining with her remaining arm the apparently
lifeless body of her father, who, stunned
with so many misfortunes, lay insensible at her
feet, she endeavoured by her cries to draw the
attention of some one to the spot; as she found
her father and herself were so entangled in the
ruins, that it was impossible they could be extricated
without powerful assistance.</p>

<p>The keenest interest was excited by Pauline
and her father in the breasts of Edric and Roderick;
but, powerful as it was, it was destined
soon to give way to yet more painful sensations;
for scarcely had they been removed to the tent,
when Roderick, perceiving the first feeble tints
of day streak the horizon, gave orders for the
assault. The city was strongly fortified, and
even where the ancient bulwarks had decayed,
the governor had hastily supplied their place
with wood so skilfully painted to resemble stone,
as quite to deceive the eyes of his opponents.
Thirty towers were ranged at intervals along
this formidable-looking wall; and on one side
appeared a citadel strongly garrisoned, which
commanded that space between the river and
the city where the army of Roderick was now
encamped, and which was aided by a kind of
ditch which served occasionally as a covered
way.</p>

<p>The sun now rose in all its splendour, spreading
its rich tints of purple and gold over the
scene, and sweeping away before it the mists of
morning. Soon, however, was its brilliancy to
be obscured, and the savage rage of man to deface
the beauty of nature; soon did roaring
cannon and flashing weapons imitate a contention
of the elements; and soon did the gashed
and bleeding forms of the assailants strew the
ground, rendered slippery by their blood. The
besieged defended themselves vigorously; three
times did Roderick and his followers attempt to
scale the walls, and three times were they repulsed;
but at length a breach was made, and
Roderick, transported with joy, threw himself
into it, shouting to his soldiers to follow him.
They obeyed; and the siege would have been at
once terminated, had not a cloud of dust, rising
in long black columns in the distance, through
which the reflection of arms shone dazzling in
the sun, given new spirits to the besieged, and
discouraged the besiegers.</p>

<p>Deep masses, half hidden by this heavy cloud,
and appearing only more vast from the obscurity
thrown over them, advanced rapidly, seeming
to come on with the mighty force of the
raging sea when it rushes along with irresistible
violence and sweeps before it every thing that
dare oppose its fury.</p>

<p>The garrison of the town, animated at the
sight, rallied their half-exhausted forces, and
drove back the assailants with such carnage that
the line of their retreat was marked by a long
stream of blood and expiring bodies. Roderick,
for the first time in his life, refrained from renewing
the attack, for, as he feared being surrounded,
he determined to draw off his forces,
and give battle to the combined French and
Spanish army that was now fast approaching.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h3>


<p>Notwithstanding the danger of his situation,
Roderick was delighted at the sight of the
allied army. "Now we shall fight," cried he,
"and not be thrown down like dogs from the
walls to perish. I could not bear to see my
brave soldiers so sacrificed. But now that we
shall meet fairly upon the open field, and struggle
hand to hand, and man to man, we cannot
fail to conquer!"</p>

<p>"Heaven grant us victory!" said Edric,
sighing.</p>

<p>"Why, and so it will, man!" repeated Roderick
gaily. "Come, come! rouse, and cheer
thy spirits, for the moment of glory ought not
surely to be that of gloom!"</p>

<p>The force of the enemy had, in the mean
time, rapidly advanced, and the two armies
were now opposite to each other; the river
curving round that of Roderick like a silver
band. The situation of the Irish hero was, indeed,
now become hazardous in the extreme;
and, if defeated, he could neither retreat nor
advance without being exposed to imminent
peril, as the river lay before him, and his
rear was open to attacks from the town. But
neither Roderick nor his soldiers ever contemplated
the possibility of defeat; they breathed
nothing but victory; and, as the confidence of
success often ensures it, they had hitherto found
themselves invincible, principally from the firm
belief they entertained that they really were so.
Roderick divided his army into three parts, and,
determining to lead the van himself, he gave
the command of one of the other divisions to
Lord Arthur O'Neil, son of the Earl of Tyrone;
and confided the other, which consisted entirely
of Spaniards, to the conduct of the Spanish
general, Don Alvarez Ripparda, upon whose
prudence he knew he might confidently rely:
whilst he retained Edric, the doctor, and
Alexis, the Greek page of Zoe, immediately
about his own person.</p>

<p>The battle soon raged with terrific grandeur;
the shouts and cries of the combatants, mingling
horribly with the roar of the cannon, which
echoed from the walls of the town, seemed to
leap from hill to hill, and reverberate in the distance
like peals of rolling thunder. Roderick,
in the mean time, performed prodigies of
valour. Not satisfied with directing the movements
of his troops, he fought bravely, sword
in hand, like a common soldier, with all that
prodigious energy and unexampled good fortune,
which had previously induced the belief
amongst the lower classes of Spaniards, of his
being assisted by supernatural agency. A
square was attacked and seemed upon the
point of giving way; but when Roderick saw
its danger and threw himself into the centre,
the soldiers were inspired with unwonted
courage, and, fighting like lions about to be despoiled
of their prey, repulsed the enemy with
tremendous slaughter. In fact, nothing could
resist the valour of Roderick's arm; like
Homer's Achilles, he seemed ready to triumph
even over Fate herself.</p>

<p>An unexpected occurrence, however, notwithstanding
his prowess, was very near turning the
tide of the battle against him. Lord Arthur
O'Neil, whom he had placed at the head of one
of the divisions, though brave as an individual,
was nothing as a chief; and, unequal to the
responsibility of the task he had undertaken,
stood hesitating and uncertain what to do,
whilst the moment for action passed away.
His division had been sent round to attack the
enemy in the rear; and Roderick having advanced
farther than he would have done, had
he not depended upon their assistance, their inaction
seemed likely to produce the most fatal
consequences. Edric saw Lord Arthur's uncertainty;
and, comprehending in an instant both
the cause and its effects, he put himself at the
head of a few men and galloped to his relief.
Arthur, bewildered and overwhelmed, willingly
resigned his command; and Edric, leading his
division to the charge, changed instantly the
fortune of the day. The victory that followed
was decisive. Those combating in front against
Roderick, astonished at hearing the din of battle
in their rear, wavered and became irresolute;
whilst disorder being once thrown amongst
such a mass of men, horses, and ammunition-wagons,
its consequences were irreparable.
The rout soon became general. The French
and Spaniards fell over each other in dismay;
whilst, in some instances, their confusion
was so excessive, that they turned their arms
upon their own troops, mistaking them for
those of their opponents.</p>

<p>The pursuit of the flying foe being confided
to the Spanish division of Roderick's army,
that victorious monarch returned himself in
triumph to his camp before the city. Gloom
hung over the walls of Seville, as that proud
city expected to become instantly the prey of
the conqueror. Roderick, however, finding the
garrison were still determined to resist, and
that his own soldiers were exhausted by the
fatigue they had undergone, resolved to defer
the attack till the next day. Then retiring to
his tent, he ordered his officers and nobles to
be summoned to hold a council of war as to
their future proceedings. A crowd had, in consequence
of this summons, already collected
round the Monarch when Edric appeared
amongst them. Roderick saw him, and
hastily rushing forward, clasped him in his
arms. "My dearest friend!" cried he; "yesterday
you saved my life, but to-day you have
preserved my honour. I do not attempt to
thank you, for I feel the utter incompetency
of words to express my feelings. Do not, however,
look miserable, Arthur," continued he,
addressing the unfortunate general; "for I do
not blame you. It was my fault for putting
you in a situation you were not competent to
fill. For the future, you and Edric shall
change places; and then I trust, whilst I have
still the pleasure of employing my friends, the
interests of the state will not suffer."</p>

<p>A page now appeared, bearing a ribband,
attached to which, were fastened some glittering
crosses. "It is well," said Roderick,
taking the ribband in his hand. "Edric,"
continued he, "I hope you will oblige your
friend by accepting these splendid baubles
from his hand. They can confer no additional
honour upon you in his sight, but they may
aid in establishing your authority amongst the
soldiers you in future will command, who
regard these trinkets with respect."</p>

<p>Edric gracefully bowed assent, and kneeling
before the Monarch, received his new honours
with as much grace as Roderick bestowed them;
the assembled officers and nobles pressing
round, and offering their congratulations.
Whatever they might say, however, no one
present really felt a tenth part of the delight
experienced by Dr. Entwerfen upon the occasion.
His transport, indeed, quite defies description;
for he danced, sang, jumped, nay,
absolutely screamed with rapture; till at last,
quite unable otherwise to give vent to the violence
of his emotions, he sprang to the pillar of
the tent, and clinging round it, embraced it
with all his strength. All these antics had
been slyly watched and enjoyed by Roderick,
even through the circle that surrounded him:
he lost sight of the doctor, however, when he
darted away; and it was not till the officers and
nobles dispersed, that the King discovered his
learned friend, to his infinite amusement, still
hugging the post.</p>

<p>It has been already observed, that an unconquerable
love of mischief mingled with the
thousand good qualities that formed the composition
of Roderick, and that he was continually
getting into scrapes, and playing tricks
upon all the unhappy personages who happened
to fall in his way; though his invincible
good-humour, and a certain indescribable
degree of the <i>bon enfant</i> peculiar to his character,
rendered it quite impossible for any one
seriously to resent his pranks.</p>

<p>It was not, indeed, in nature, for any human
creature to be long angry with Roderick; and
thus being certain of not giving lasting offence,
whenever he was not positively engaged in war,
the restless activity of his disposition made him
frolic about, like a spoiled and petted child,
who, even at the very moment of his sins being
forgiven, is entirely occupied in plotting some
new exploit.</p>

<p>Under these circumstances, it may be easily
imagined what an infinite fund of amusement
the confiding simplicity of Dr. Entwerfen had
proved to Roderick, and innumerable had been
the tricks he had played off upon him during
their long and tedious sojourn in the Isle of
Leon. The important events that had since
occurred had, however, entirely occupied the
monarch's attention, and the poor doctor had
been suffered to enjoy a long respite, till this
sudden view of his unabated enthusiasm presented
an opportunity too tempting for the
laughter-loving Monarch to resist.</p>

<p>Accordingly that evening, one of Roderick's
pages, affecting an air of profound secrecy,
presented the doctor with a mysterious bag,
containing several small balls of dough, and a
billet from the King, in which he informed the
doctor, that these balls when boiled would be
converted into a gunpowder of such amazing
strength and efficacy, that ten grains of it
would be sufficient to blow up a whole city;
and that having become possessed by accident
of the invaluable secret of their composition,
he wished to use them for the destruction of
Seville; and not having in his whole camp so
skilful an experimental philosopher as the
doctor, he had determined to confide their preparation
exclusively to his care.</p>

<p>It is impossible for words to do justice to
the importance that swelled in the breast of
the doctor as he perused this epistle. He strutted,
puffed himself out, and did his very utmost
to look big&mdash;a feat he doubtless might have
contrived to accomplish, had not Nature perversely
determined to counteract his endeavours,
and confined his stature to about four
feet eleven. As it was, however, he certainly
did make the most of himself, and being firmly
resolved not to lose a single instant in putting
the designs of the King into execution, he
hastened to a vacant place between the camp
and the city, where some cauldrons had been
hastily erected for cooking the soldiers' food,
and there commenced his operations.</p>

<p>In the mean time, Roderick, who had no idea
the doctor would be so expeditious in his movements,
was busily engaged in superintending
the removal of the wounded, and in giving
orders of the assault which was to take place
upon the following day. He had indeed much
to do; for awfully heavy is the responsibility
of a general who is not entirely divested of
feeling for his men; and the heart of Roderick,
though a mistaken thirst for glory had made
him a conqueror, was kind and generous, nay
even tender in the extreme.</p>

<p>Urged by his compassion, he thus could not
rest satisfied, after the more arduous labours
of the day were over, without visiting himself
the hospitals of the sick. He saw their wounds
dressed, and tried to soften their pains, whilst
he spoke kindly to them, and praised their
valour. Thus employed, as he passed from
tent to tent, the eyes of his soldiers beamed
with rapture at his approach; and even in the
agonies of death, they raised their feeble voices
to call down blessings upon his head. Alexis
followed his master in this excursion, and his
fine eyes sparkled with pleasure as they followed
the god-like form of Roderick through the
crowd. The Monarch, indeed, himself, started
with amazement as, turning suddenly, he accidentally
met their gaze. "This page," said he
to Edric, who happened to be near, "possesses
a glance of fire&mdash;I really never saw more expressive
features."</p>

<p>"It is often the case," returned Edric
calmly, as he assisted one of the surgeons to
bind the arm of a wounded soldier. "The
dumb frequently employ gestures to make
themselves understood, and their features insensibly
become more expressive from the
muscles being more frequently brought into
play."</p>

<p>"You fought like a hero, my brave fellow!"
said Roderick to the poor man Edric had been
assisting. "I hope your hurt is not serious!"</p>

<p>"And if it were through my heart," said the
man, "it's no more than I'd be proud to bear
for your Majesty, any day of my life."</p>

<p>"Oh, these Irish!" sighed an old Andalusian
soldier, who lay near, and happened to
understand them. "They are brave as lions
in the field, but gentle as doves when they are
in a chamber."</p>

<p>"Have your wants also been attended to?"
asked Roderick.</p>

<p>"Yes, God bless your Majesty!" returned
the soldier. "If the devil does help you when
you are fighting, I am sure it is God's own
spirit makes you so good to your soldiers
afterwards."</p>

<p>"If the devil helped me to-day," said Roderick,
laughing, "I am sure I am very much
obliged to his Satanic Majesty, for I never was
in greater peril. Do not look so grave, Edric,
you know I am only joking; and that whatever
my tongue may say, my heart only feels gratitude
where it is really due:" and as he spoke,
he devoutly crossed himself.</p>

<p>"I know," said Edric gravely, "that your
heart is infinitely better than your head."</p>

<p>"The fault of my countrymen," cried Roderick,
again smiling, "or rather the fault of
nature, for they, poor souls, can't help it. Our
imaginations are so vivid that, like a restive
horse, they are apt to take the bit in their
teeth and gallop away at full speed, in spite of
all that the sage Dame Reason, who still keeps
uselessly pulling the rein, can do to prevent
them."</p>

<p>As soon as the more important duties of his
station were fulfilled, Roderick intended paying
a visit to Doctor Entwerfen, to discover what
effect had been produced upon the doctor's mind
by his treacherous letter; but Edric proposing
that they should see the fair Swiss, as common
politeness required they should inquire after
her arm, the poor doctor was driven entirely
from his thoughts.</p>

<p>A separate tent had been pitched for the reception
of M. de Mallet and his daughter; and
when our friends entered it, they found that
worthy gentleman quite recovered, and his
lovely daughter reclining upon a kind of couch,
and looking more beautiful than ever. Her
angelic features had, it is true, lost the animation
they before expressed, but their present
languor made them infinitely more interesting
than their former energy. Softness was indeed
the characteristic of Pauline's beauty. Her
figure, though slight and sylphic, was yet round
and full enough to please a voluptuary. Her
complexion was exquisitely fair, but a beautiful
rosy tint glowed on her cheeks, whilst her clear
blue eyes and golden hair gave her the look of
a seraph; and when she raised those bright
blue eyes in gratitude to Edric, her look sank
deep into his soul, and he thought he had never
before seen beauty.</p>

<p>Such was Pauline; and when she spoke,
Edric, as he listened in rapture to the soft melting
tones of her melodious voice, felt he could
no longer resist, but yielded up his heart a
willing captive to her charms. Yes; the calm,
the reasoning, the philosophic Edric was actually
in love. He, who had so despised and
ridiculed the passion, and who had affected to
doubt its very existence, was now become one
of its most devoted victims.</p>

<p>Roderick was almost as much charmed as
Edric with the beauty of Pauline, and as the
circumstance that had at first introduced her to
their notice formed so striking a contrast to the
softness and delicacy of her present appearance,
that it was scarcely possible to suppose
her the same person, a feeling of curiosity
mingled with the interest she excited. When
our friends entered the room, M. de Mallet
rose to receive them: "I know not how to
thank you," said he; his voice almost stifled
with emotion: "my own life was of little
value; but for that of this dear child&mdash;" he
could not proceed.</p>

<p>Roderick took his offered hand. "My dear
Sir," cried he, "talk not of thanks; Edric
and myself are but too well repaid in seeing
you thus recovered; and I am sure we shall
ever esteem the day when we were so fortunate
as to be of service to you, as the happiest of
our lives!"</p>

<p>"You are too good," exclaimed M. de
Mallet&mdash;"too good!" and he could no longer
restrain his tears.</p>

<p>Roderick was deeply affected; he could not
bear to see an old man weep; and he again
took M. de Mallet's hand, pressing it respectfully
to his lips: "My dear Sir," exclaimed
he, "what I have as yet been able to do for
you is nothing; but if you will return with
me to Ireland, I may be able&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hush! my good friend," replied M. de
Mallet; "I do not doubt your kindness nor
your power; but I have had too much of professions!"</p>

<p>"My father," said Pauline, interposing her
soft sweet voice, "has suffered much; forgive
him if he seem ungrateful for your kindness;
but repeated disappointments sour the spirit.
We have seen much trouble!" and her voice
trembled as she spoke.</p>

<p>"Alas! if <i>you</i> have not been exempt from
trouble, who shall dare complain?" exclaimed
Edric, in a voice as soft and tremulous as her
own.</p>

<p>Pauline turned her beautiful eyes upon him:
"Pardon me, Sir," said she, "that I have not
before thanked you! be assured it has not been
for want of feeling your kindness; but sometimes
the heart is too full for utterance."</p>

<p>"Thanks from your lips, madam," returned
Roderick, "would be a reward for any service."</p>

<p>Pauline blushed: "You too, Sir, were kindness
itself," rejoined she: "think not I am insensible
to your favours; but I am a bankrupt
even in thanks. Alas! fate destines us to
incur continually obligations which we can
never repay."</p>

<p>"A grateful heart is more than words," said
her father; "and in that, my child, I know,
you will never be deficient; but to whom are
we indebted for such kindness?"</p>

<p>"I am the King of Ireland," said Roderick,
smiling; "surnamed the devil's favourite here
in Spain."</p>

<p>"Is it possible?" cried M. de Mallet; "do
I, indeed, see the illustrious Roderick?"</p>

<p>"And this," continued Roderick, without
noticing his exclamation, "is my friend, Mr.
Montagu, an Englishman; who, like many of
his countrymen, not contented with enjoying
every luxury at home, rambles into foreign
climes, to grumble and find fault with every
thing he may chance to meet."</p>

<p>"Do not believe him, madam," cried Edric;
"my countrymen are fond of travelling, it is
true; and may find fault occasionally with
what they think deficient in a strange land;
but I assure you, we travel from a desire of
improving ourselves and acquiring knowledge,
whilst we only find fault in the charitable hope
that our censures may produce amendment."</p>

<p>"That is, supposing your censures are just,"
replied Roderic; "but that we sometimes take
the liberty to doubt."</p>

<p>"I think nothing more unreasonable than to
censure customs merely because we are not used
to them," said M. de Mallet; "for my part,
when I travel, I make up my mind to be satisfied
with every thing, as I think I have no right
to quarrel with inconveniences I have sought
myself."</p>

<p>"It would be well," rejoined Roderick, "if
all were of your opinion, and if those who cannot
be contented abroad would try to rest contented
at home. But you speak as though you
had travelled, and I think your daughter mentioned
yesterday that you were strangers in
Spain."</p>

<p>"We are Swiss," replied M. de Mallet; "my
name is de Mallet, a name which you may
have heard as belonging to a champion of liberty.
Powerless as my efforts have been, I
was that champion, and the reward of my labours
is poverty and disgrace in a foreign
land."</p>

<p>"But surely," said Roderick, "the Spaniards
as a nation of freemen would receive a martyr
for liberty with open arms, and would treat
him as a brother."</p>

<p>"Yes, yes," replied M. de Mallet bitterly;
"I have had a tolerable specimen of their fraternal
affection: they received me with protestations,
fed me with delusive promises, and then
left me to perish miserably."</p>

<p>"Not designedly, my dear father," said
Pauline; "I cannot suppose they left us to
perish designedly."</p>

<p>"Oh, no!" cried Roderick; "that must have
been impossible: tigers must have been moved
to pity by that voice. They never could have
intended to leave <i>you</i> to perish."</p>

<p>"Sire," replied M. de Mallet gravely, "you
forget my daughter and I are but plain simple
Swiss; we are unused to flattery and to the language
of Courts; do not then address expressions
to us above our comprehension, which may lead
us to forget the distance fortune has placed
between us."</p>

<p>"Speak not of the difference of rank," interrupted
Roderick impatiently; "beauty and
merit, like that of your daughter, place her
upon a level with a throne."</p>

<p>"Pardon me, Sire," replied Pauline, blushing,
and casting her eyes upon the ground; "I
am perfectly aware of the humility of my station.
I am aware that I was not born to be a
companion of kings and princes, nor have I
any wish to exalt myself above the situation in
which nature has placed me. My duty to my
father led me to follow him to the Spanish
Court. It was the first that I had seen; and,
forgive me, Sire, if I say I sincerely hope it
may be the last."</p>

<p>"But you must not judge of us by the Spaniards."</p>

<p>"I know it well, Sire; report has always
spoken of the Irish hero as noble, generous,
and kind: even his enemies have done justice
to his merits, and the fame of Roderick has
spread to every corner of the globe. I know
that he is incapable of treating my father as he
has been treated by the directors of Spain; but
I know also, that he is so far superior to myself
as to make his notice a condescension
which I dare not flatter myself will continue,
and of which I know myself perfectly undeserving."</p>

<p>Edric's eyes expressed his admiration, and
Pauline's glowing cheeks proved she saw and
understood their meaning. Roderick, however,
was not quite so well pleased; he felt himself
rebuked, and Roderick did not like to feel himself
in the wrong.</p>

<p>"You are too modest," said he; then turning to
Edric, "Edric," continued he, "have you any
idea what is become of Dr. Entwerfen?"&mdash;then
again addressing himself to Pauline, he added,
"Apropos&mdash;you will be very much amused with
the learned doctor, Mademoiselle de Mallet; but
I give you fair notice before you see him, that
you must not laugh at him before his face, for
Edric is as tenacious of the feelings of his tutor
as of his own."</p>

<p>Pauline's eyes expressed her approbation of
Edric's delicacy upon this point; and, as they
met his, they conveyed more pleasure to his
heart than language could express. From this
moment, Pauline and Edric seemed to understand
each other, for they felt there was a community
of feeling between them. The mute
intelligence of the eyes sometimes says more
than whole years of common-place intercourse;
and thus Pauline and Edric felt like old friends,
though they had scarcely exchanged half a
dozen sentences.</p>

<p>"Was not that the gentleman that relieved
me from my swoon?" asked M. de Mallet.</p>

<p>Before Roderick had time to answer, an officer
rushed into the room, looking the very
image of despair, and, approaching Roderick,
bent his knee before him.</p>

<p>"What is the matter?" cried the Monarch
sternly. "Speak! If you have committed a
fault, you have less to fear from my justice
than my mercy, for misplaced lenity only encourages
crime."</p>

<p>"Pardon, Sire!" exclaimed the officer, still
kneeling; "but&mdash;but&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Speak!&mdash;no evasion."</p>

<p>"Your Majesty commanded that we should
watch that no harm happened to Dr. Entwerfen,
and&mdash;and he has been taken by the
enemy."</p>

<p>"Fool! dolt, blockhead!" cried Roderick;
and, taking leave of M. de Mallet and his
daughter, he and Edric hastily quitted the
tent.</p>

<p>The balls the Irish King had given the doctor
were simply formed of dough, the same as
that used in the making of bread, with only the
addition of a little bit of quicksilver rolled up
in the centre of each. This, the merry Monarch
knew, as soon as it was exposed to the action of
heat, would make the dumplings dance about,
as though they were bewitched; and he anticipated
great amusement from seeing the doctor's
exertions to keep them in the pot, and his despair
at not being able to do so. To prevent the
possibility of mischief, however, he had desired
a select guard to keep watch over the unfortunate
philosopher, and never to lose sight of
him, taking care to prevent, if possible, his
being exposed to any danger. These fellows,
however, did not perform their duty, and it
was to their negligence that the unhappy fate
of the doctor was owing.</p>

<p>The moment the doctor had received the fatal
balls, he hastened to the cauldron, and, hastily
kindling a fire, began to try the experiment. The
balls more than answered Roderick's expectations,
for, as soon as they were affected by the
heat, they began to jump out of the pot, one after
the other, with the most determined perseverance.
The doctor was in a violent heat from being
exposed to the steam of the cauldron; and he
threw off his coat to cool himself; his wig also
slipped off, in his exertions to recover the provoking
balls, he being obliged to skip after
them with the utmost agility as they rolled
bounding along; and no sooner had he caught
one and put it back into the pot, than another
would jump out and begin a new set of vagaries.
The doctor, though tired and provoked,
did not however relax his labours even for
an instant, and he was running, panting and
out of breath, after one of these mercurial harlequins,
when he was stopped by a rough arm,
whilst a man in a gruff voice demanded what
he was doing there?</p>

<p>The doctor looked up, and finding with horror
that he was surrounded by eight or ten
armed Spaniards, answered, in trembling accents,
"that he was making gunpowder."</p>

<p>"Gunpowder!" exclaimed one of the men.
"But what were you doing with those balls?"</p>

<p>"I was boiling them," replied the doctor,
with great awe.</p>

<p>"You seemed to be playing with them, I
think," resumed the man. "Were you running
after them to make gunpowder?"</p>

<p>"Yes, they wouldn't stay in the pot; and
I was obliged to run after them, to catch
them."</p>

<p>The soldiers burst into a horse laugh at this
naïve reply, and their merriment offered a ridiculous
contrast to the doctor's woeful visage.
They now prepared to retire, dragging the doctor
with them, totally heedless of his supplications
for pardon and declarations of innocence.
They declared him to be a spy, and swore that
they would hang him as such as soon as they
should get within the town. The soldiers who
were appointed to guard the doctor, and who,
by indulging in a comfortable game at piquet,
had neglected their charge, now came up, and,
dismayed at seeing the doctor in custody of a
force too considerable for them to engage with,
fled to inform their Sovereign, trembling, however,
all the time at the consequences of their
disobedience.</p>

<p>When Roderick and Edric reached the
plain, the group of soldiers, with the poor
doctor in the midst of them, were just entering
one of the gates of the town through which
they had made their sally. The rays of the
setting sun fell full upon the poor doctor's
bald head and shining face; and these, and
his white shirt sleeves, as he raised his hands
in a supplicating manner towards Heaven, made
him a conspicuous object even at a distance, till
he was hidden from the sight of his friends by
the heavy gates closing upon him. Roderick
and Edric were in despair at the loss of their
favourite; and to see him dragged away so
barbarously, without having the power to assist
him, was enough to try the philosophy of a
stoic. It was no wonder, therefore, that it was
too much for the patience of the Irish hero, who
had rarely known disappointment or control: he
raved, stamped, and, unable to contain his rage,
ordered an instant attack of the place.</p>

<p>The enemy, imagining the Irish too much
fatigued with the battle they had just fought,
to assault the town that night, were far from
expecting an attack; but, encouraged by the
successful opposition they had before made,
they received the assault with firmness, and
repulsed it with vigour. The cannon roared
with tremendous fury on both sides, and whole
columns of men were swept away as grass falls
before the scythe. The impatience of Roderick
increased every moment, and the discharge from
a petard having set fire to the wooden bulwarks
of the town, he threw himself upon the blazing
breach, sword in hand, heedless of the crackling
timbers and fast spreading flames, whilst
Edric and some of his most devoted soldiers
followed him, and they were all soon warmly
engaged with the Spaniards who opposed their
entrance upon the walls. A loud shout
from below, however, soon engaged their
attention; the besieged had made a sortie by
means of the covered way; and Edric and his
royal friend, finding their retreat would be cut
off if they stayed, were reluctantly compelled to
retire with their followers. Roderick, indeed, was
struck down by a Spanish soldier, whilst in the
act of leaping from the walls. The soldier, seeing
the effect he had produced, was about to
repeat his blow, and the Irish hero must have
perished before he could have recovered himself,
if Edric had not interposed, and received the
gash instead of his friend; then instantly turning
round, he cut down the soldier. In the mean
time, Roderick had revived, and he and Edric
fought their way back to the rest of the army.
It was now getting quite dark, and the besieged
falling back within the town, the army of the
Irish Monarch returned once more to their
camp.</p>

<p>"How provoking!" cried Roderick, the moment
they entered his tent, taking off his helmet,
and giving it to Alexis the Greek page:
"I shall never be happy again, if they hurt the
doctor. Take my sword also, Alexis: but
what is the matter with the boy? methinks he
looks wondrous pale. Does he not, Edric?"
Then turning to Edric, he was excessively
shocked at the change in <i>his</i> appearance. It has
been before stated, that Edric received the blow
the Spanish soldier intended for Roderick. The
wound had bled profusely, but the blood having
congealed, the flow had stopped, and Edric,
aided by his own courage, presence of mind, and
firmness, had been enabled to sustain himself
till he had reached the tent. Now, however,
that the necessity for exertion had ceased, his
pallid looks and ghastly countenance bespoke
what he had suffered. He had received one
horrid gash upon the temple, and the coagulated
blood upon his face and hair contrasted
frightfully with the whiteness of the rest of his
face. In fact, he looked like the ghost of some
poor murdered wretch appearing to implore
vengeance upon his destroyer.</p>

<p>He had seated himself at a table, resting his
arms upon it, and supporting his head with his
hands. He attempted to smile in answer to
Roderick's inquiries; but the effort was too
much for his already exhausted strength, and
his head fell heavily upon the table. Roderick
flew to support him, and despatched Alexis for
a surgeon. "My dear! dear Edric!" cried
he, "speak to me! for God's sake, speak to
me! Do not let me think that I have destroyed
my friend. Oh, Edric! 'tis Roderick
calls. Speak! speak, for God's sake, speak!"</p>

<p>Edric was, however, incapable of speaking;
and the torture of the Irish King, when he
found his friend could not answer him, was
beyond description.</p>

<p>"My beloved Edric!" exclaimed he, wringing
his hands in an agony of grief, "I implore
you to answer me. Alas! he cannot: he
is no more. Curses on my folly! I might
have been blest and happy: but, in pursuit of
the phantom Glory, I have sacrificed all I ever
loved on earth. Oh! would to God that I
had never visited Spain!"</p>

<p>A heavy groan behind him startled Roderick
as he finished speaking; and turning
round he beheld Alexis, who had now returned
with the surgeon. The boy's appearance
was singular; his complexion was usually a
clear dark brown, with a rich glow of colour,
and remarkably full rosy lips; now the deep
colour on his cheeks remained unfaded; but
his lips had assumed a ghastly livid hue, his
limbs trembled with agitation, and a dark mysterious
expression seemed to sit upon his features.
Roderick looked at him with amazement
and almost horror, as strange suspicions
arose in his mind respecting him.</p>

<p>Before the Irish army had left Cadiz, it had
been whispered that the Duke of Medina Celina's
claim to the throne was at least equal to
that of the Prince whom Roderick was fighting
to establish. The duke, indeed, had many partizans,
but his age and blindness enfeebled their
efforts. An express from Cadiz had just
brought intelligence that the duke was dead;
and as Zoe was his sole heiress, this extraordinary
agitation in her page looked at least suspicious.</p>

<p>"I must beware of him," thought Roderick,
regarding him attentively; "for as Zoe knows
that, notwithstanding my obligations to her, I
shall never permit any monarch to reign in
Spain but Don Pedro whilst I live, my life
will be the first sacrifice required in her cause."</p>

<p>Thus mused Roderick, though it was but for
an instant, that even the dread of personal
danger could divert his thoughts from his
friend.</p>

<p>The surgeon, when he probed Edric's
wounds, however, declared to the great joy of
the King that they were not dangerous, and
that he had only fainted from loss of blood.
He was now placed upon a couch in the same
tent with that of the King; and Roderick,
soon after stretching his fur mantle under
him, threw himself upon his bed; if not to
sleep, at least to muse upon the eventful occurrences
of the day.</p>

<p>In the mean time, Dr. Entwerfen was forcibly
dragged by the Spanish soldiers towards a kind
of town-hall, in one of the principal squares of
Seville, where, on a platform or dais, raised
a little above the floor, sate the sapient magistrates
of the town. When the prisoner was
brought before them, they all put on their spectacles
and surveyed him attentively, examining
his bald head with the most scrupulous exactness.</p>

<p>"Here is the lump of a spy," said one.</p>

<p>"And here that of a rogue," rejoined another.</p>

<p>"Yes, the organs of observation and self-appropriation,"
resumed the first, "are strongly developed.
That head is enough to hang an angel!"</p>

<p>"Alas! alas!" cried the poor doctor; "would
to Heaven that I had not lost my wig!"</p>

<p>"It would have been of no avail, if you had
retained it," said one of the judges gravely,
"as it would have been forcibly removed; and
even if you had worn your own hair, you must
have had your head shaved; for, knowing the
general corruption and inaccuracy of witnesses,
the judges of this enlightened court reject
verbal testimony altogether, and form their
correct and infallible judgments upon the sure
and undeviating basis of that most profound
and useful of all sciences&mdash;craniology."</p>

<p>"And happy are the prisoners judged by so
wise a rule," said another.</p>

<p>"Yes," rejoined a third; "for, though the
minds of men are weak, and their judgments
liable to err, the broad and general principles of
science must ever remain unchangeably the
same."</p>

<p>In this manner they went on, whilst the poor
doctor, looking ruefully from one to another, as
they severally pronounced their opinions, stood
the very image of despair.</p>

<p>"Let us question him," resumed the first
magistrate: "what were you doing when you
were taken?"</p>

<p>"I was making gunpowder," sighed Dr.
Entwerfen.</p>

<p>"The wretch!" exclaimed all his judges together;
"he acknowledges he was manufacturing
weapons for our destruction."</p>

<p>"And how were you making this gunpowder,"
resumed the judge.</p>

<p>"I was boiling it," moaned the doctor.</p>

<p>"Boiling it!" exclaimed the judges; "what
a villain!" and they all shook their wise heads
in concert. The poor doctor could not bear
this; and throwing himself upon his knees
begged stoutly for mercy.</p>

<p>"In my opinion," said one, "we should be
guilty of a crime in letting him escape."</p>

<p>"I think so too," cried another.</p>

<p>"I would not have such a sin upon my conscience
for the world," exclaimed a third.</p>

<p>Whilst the unfortunate doctor, reading his
condemnation in their countenances, groaned
aloud in the agony of his spirit.</p>

<p>At this moment, the deep awful roar of a
cannon was heard, and Dr. Entwerfen leaped
from his knees. "Thank God! thank God!"
cried he, strutting up and down, and wiping
his forehead with his pocket handkerchief, as
the continued roar of the cannon rolled awfully
along, rebounding from house to house, and
shaking the very court in which they stood.
The magistrates looked aghast, whilst their pallid
lips and trembling limbs told that, however
great they might be in the council, their courage
was not particularly conspicuous in the field.</p>

<p>The doctor, in the mean time, kept ejaculating,
"I'm safe! I'm safe! See what a thing
it is to have a friend for a sovereign: no, no!
what did I say? a sovereign for a friend, I
mean. Ay, ay! that's it! that's it!"</p>

<p>Thus did the doctor exult, whilst the citizens
crowded round their chiefs, begging for directions,
and not knowing whither to fly for
safety. In this dilemma, the exclamations of
the doctor attracted their attention; and, enraged
to see him rejoice at their misery, the
magistrates ordered him to prison, whilst they
consulted as to what steps it was most advisable
to take.</p>

<p>The poor doctor's joy was thus quickly
changed to grief; and he lamented loudly his
foolish transports of delight, without which, he
might perhaps have passed unnoticed in the
crowd. It was too late, however, for repentance;
the command had gone forth, and the
unfortunate doctor was dragged away to a
loathsome dungeon. The assault was, as we
have seen, repulsed, and it being too late, when
it was over, to think of hanging Dr. Entwerfen
that night, the magistrates retired to their
beds, determined to have him executed the
first thing in the morning.</p>

<p>All was now still; the plain between the
camp and the city, which had so lately echoed
with the heavy tramp of horses and human
beings, now slept tranquilly in the moonlight;
undisturbed, save by the groans of some expiring
wretch, or by the busy labours of those
employed to remove the dead and relieve the
wounded. Roderick had thrown himself upon
his couch, and dozed, but in a disturbed slumber;
whilst Alexis, placed at a table, was
writing dispatches from the dictation of Don
Alvarez de Ripparda, who had returned from
the pursuit, and sate opposite to him; whilst
Lord Arthur O'Neil nodded at his side, and
Edric lay reclined on another couch, at a little
distance, near the opening of the tent.</p>

<p>All was silent, save the whispered voice of
the Spanish general, the heavy breathing of
Lord Arthur, and the measured steps of the
sentinel, as he paced his weary round. Edric
listened till he grew tired of the same sounds
falling uninterruptedly upon his ear, and turning
on his couch, tried to divert his attention
by gazing upon the objects before him. The
strong light from the lamp placed upon the
table, fell upon the fine features of Alexis, as
he looked up to the Spaniard; and Edric
thought, as he gazed upon them, that he had
certainly seen those features before, though
where he could not remember; and fatigued
with the effort of trying to recollect, he turned
to survey the noble Roderick, as he lay gracefully
stretched upon his couch. One arm
was raised above his pillow, and the other fell
carelessly by his side, whilst the fine contour of
his head and neck was fully displayed, the
rich, thick, glossy curls that generally hid his
forehead being thrown back. His coral lips were
half open, and his long black eyelashes fringed
his closed eyelids; whilst his dark whiskers
and mustachios, with the rich brown tint that
glowed upon his cheek, contrasted finely with
the whiteness of his throat. "God bless him!"
thought Edric, "and send him all the happiness
he deserves!" And then seeming fearful
to disturb him, he looked again towards the
town. The curtain of the tent was partly
looped up, and Edric watched, with interest,
the lights of those still employed in their several
duties of burying the dead, and relieving the
wounded. The figures of the persons engaged
in these painful duties were frequently imperceptible;
and the lights gliding to and fro, apparently
without any human means, looked like
ignes fatui, or an assemblage of ghosts at their
infernal revels.</p>

<p>Edric sighed as he surveyed them, and: his
thoughts flew back, he knew not by what connection
of ideas, to his native land. He thought
of his father, his brother&mdash;of the good old Duke
of Cornwall&mdash;of Rosabella and Elvira, till, one
by one, the lights appeared to die away; the
images that floated before his fancy became gradually
fainter and fainter; his thoughts more
confused: the scene before him faded rapidly
from his sight, and, in short, he was fast sinking
into repose, when he was roused by a slight
sound, and looking up, saw the Spanish general
and the Greek page standing by his bed-side.</p>

<p>Edric roused himself immediately, though he
still pretended to slumber. The recollection of
all he had heard respecting the Duke of Medina,
Pedro, and the Princess Zoe, mingled
with the suspicions that had been breathed of
the mysterious page, flashed across his mind,
and effectually destroyed all inclination to sleeping:
indeed, a cold shudder ran through his
frame, as he remembered, with horror, that if
any thing were designed against Roderick, the
first step of the conspirators would be to destroy
him, from his known devotion to the Irish
monarch, and that, in his present enfeebled
state, he was quite incapable of resistance.
His blood seemed to run more feebly through
his veins, and he panted for breath, whilst he
listened attentively, and heard the Spanish general
whisper, "He sleeps, but not soundly
enough for our purpose."</p>

<p>An icy thrill seemed to chill Edric's heart,
and involuntarily he heaved a deep sigh. The
supposed conspirators started, and retired.
Edric, now completely roused from his slumber,
gazed after them, as, with creeping, stealthy
steps, they glided across the plain. Astonished
at what he had seen and heard, Edric lay lost
in bewildering speculations; but soon a new object
caught his attention. Thick, black, pointed
columns of smoke arose from the town through
which, first a red glow, and afterwards sparks,
appeared at intervals. At first, Edric could not
imagine what it was; he rubbed his eyes, and
almost fancied it was a display of fireworks;
but, presently, long spiral columns of flame
burst through the smoke, and, uniting in one
immense body of fire, rose up to heaven, and
seemed to swallow up the devoted city.</p>

<p>The moment the flames broke forth, Alexis
and the Spanish general hurried back to the
tent, and Roderick sprang from his couch,
when he heard their hurried footsteps. "What
is the matter?" cried he, rubbing his eyes, and
half blinded by the sudden glare of light.</p>

<p>"The city is on fire!" exclaimed a thousand
voices at once, and Roderick rushed forth upon
the plain. The air felt hot and scorching: "Save
them! save the inhabitants!" cried Roderick;
"promise them quarter&mdash;peace! any thing to
save them! Let all the soldiers fetch water
from the river! I will have no plunder. He
dies who touches an article belonging to the
town, or injures a single creature escaping
from it. Let us fight like men! It is beneath
us to take advantage of misfortune!"</p>

<p>The orders of Roderick were as promptly
obeyed as given; the monarch himself leading
the way to the town, and assisting in endeavouring
to quench the flames. The gates were thrown
open, and men, women, and children rushed
forth half naked, and were received and supplied
with food and shelter by the army of the
Irish hero. The Irish adored their sovereign;
his valour, his rashness, and his romantic generosity,
won their hearts; and even his most
discontented soldiers loved whilst they blamed
him: thus his will was law&mdash;nay, there was
something so noble in his orders, that his soldiers
were proud of implicitly obeying them,
and not the meanest slave of the camp would
have presumed to violate them in the slightest
instance. The flames had now caught some
cotton-mills on the river, which had been spared
in the previous conflagration, and they burst
forth in fresh volumes of fire, as the light materials
they contained added fuel to the flames.
The buildings in the town were mostly old,
many of them wood, and some were large warehouses
filled with the most combustible substances,
which burnt with added fury as the
long pointed flames lapped them into their devouring
vortex; curling round them, and
wrapping them in columns of fire as they, one
by one, fell victims to their rage. The town
was now half destroyed, and the flames were
fast approaching the citadel; the governors of
the city had been roused from their beds, and
had taken refuge, half naked, in the camp of
Roderick; but the prisoners yet remained in
the citadel, shut up, however, in dungeons below
the surface of the earth. Roderick had
anxiously inquired of every one for Dr. Entwerfen,
and at last, to his infinite horror, he
learnt he was in this fated citadel; he rushed
forward in agony to save him, for he knew that
the powder was kept there. He was aware too,
that the flames had already seized the fortress:
long ere he could reach it, indeed, a tremendous
explosion took place&mdash;a vast burst of fire rushed
forth, scattering red flaming furniture, bricks,
pillars, and every kind of rubbish in all directions,
and then all sank to comparative darkness.
The fire seemed to have spent its fury
in that last effort, and, though it still feebly
crept along in a half-smothered flame, its violence
was passed. Dreadful, however, was the
scene that now presented itself, for Seville was
levelled with the dust. Black disfigured smoky
ruins supplied the place of what had once been
lofty towers and sumptuous palaces; the splendid
cathedral, that had withstood the rage of
centuries, was now no more; and human bodies
lay in the streets, thrown in fearful heaps, some
half burnt, and others blackened and dried by
the scorching fury of the flames.</p>

<p>Roderick, however, stayed not to examine the
effects of the fire; he rushed over heaps of yet
hot ashes, and threw himself amongst the still
smoking ruins of the citadel. A Spanish soldier,
whom he had saved from destruction a few
minutes before, was his guide, and, under his
directions, Roderick hastened to the dungeons:
he hurried from one to the other, releasing the
unhappy wretches confined there, searching
everywhere for the doctor, but in vain: at last
he heard his well-known voice&mdash;the dungeon
door was thick, but it could not resist the impatience
of Roderick&mdash;he could not wait for the
soldier to assist him to open it&mdash;he burst the
fastenings asunder, and in an instant the poor
doctor, sobbing with joy, was locked in the
monarch's arms. Some of the soldiers of Roderick
had followed him to the citadel, and he
left it to them and the Spaniard to release the
other prisoners, whilst he returned with his dear
doctor in triumph back to the camp.</p>


<h5>END OF VOL. II.</h5>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/cover03.jpg" width="500" alt="" />
</div>

<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a></h3>


<p>When Roderick and Dr. Entwerfen returned
to the camp, they found Edric most impatiently
awaiting their arrival. He was too much agitated
to speak; and the worthy doctor found
all his troubles amply repaid by the interest
his friends took in his welfare.</p>

<p>Whilst Dr. Entwerfen was employed in relating
his adventures to Edric, Roderick was
occupied by a task far more difficult and important
than any he had yet undertaken, viz.
that of organizing and of providing for the
disorderly multitude that had thronged into
his camp from the city: their number was
immense; men, women, and children, crowded
round their deliverer, falling upon their knees,
blessing him and kissing the edge of his garments.
Roderick was affected even to tears:
"For Heaven's sake, my good friends," said he,
"spare me; I have done but my duty; I have
been but an humble instrument in the hands
of Providence; address your thanks to him:
there they are due."</p>

<p>Roderick, however, was quite aware it was
not enough to have saved these people: he
knew he must do something to provide them
with food and lodging; and that if he did not,
when the first moment of enthusiasm should be
passed, unpleasant scenes must inevitably take
place. He accordingly made dispositions to
this effect, with a prudence and sagacity that
would have done credit to far more advanced
years. Temporary huts were erected, till the
streets of Seville could be cleared of the ruins
that encumbered them, and the houses in some
measure repaired. Shelter for the inhabitants
being thus provided, Roderick harangued the
magistrates, directing them to take the people
under their direction. These sapient ministers
of justice gladly gave him possession of the
town, which Roderick was too generous to assume
without their permission, and acknowledged
themselves and the garrison prisoners
of war. The peasants, when they found the
kindness with which the citizens had been
treated, flocked in with provisions, and the
camp of the Irish monarch soon resembled an
immense fair.</p>

<p>Alexis had followed his master during the
whole of these arrangements, and had frequently
sighed deeply as they proceeded.
"What is the matter with the boy?" said
Roderick in one of these moments: "I cannot
imagine why he looks so melancholy!"</p>

<p>The boy enthusiastically clasped his hands
together, looking up to Heaven, as though murmuring
an inward prayer.</p>

<p>"What can this mean?" exclaimed Roderick
with astonishment.</p>

<p>The boy took his master's hand, pressing
it first to his lips, and then vehemently to his
heart, and knelt before him, reverentially bending
his forehead to the earth. The next moment,
however, officers entering for directions,
the attention of Roderick was diverted and
Alexis forgotten.</p>

<p>In the mean time, M. de Mallet and his
daughter, who had been exceedingly agitated
by the events of the day, thought not of repose,
but sat in the tent prepared for them, conversing
upon the merits of their deliverers.</p>

<p>"I never saw a finer countenance," said M.
de Mallet, "so noble, so animated, and yet
so good."</p>

<p>"Good indeed," ejaculated his daughter;
"surely if we could believe a superior spirit
would ever descend upon earth, such would be
the form he would assume!"</p>

<p>"How kindly he spoke, and how considerately!"
exclaimed the father.</p>

<p>"How attentive he seemed, and how delicate!"
rejoined the daughter.</p>

<p>"Such a majestic figure!"</p>

<p>"Such a graceful manner!"</p>

<p>"It is so rare to find such condescension in
so great a monarch."</p>

<p>"Monarch!" cried Pauline: "were you speaking
of Roderick, father?"</p>

<p>"And of whom were you speaking, child?"
returned her father, turning quickly round, and
fixing his eyes upon her.</p>

<p>"Of&mdash;of&mdash;Mr. Montagu, father," replied
Pauline, casting down her eyes and deeply
blushing.</p>

<p>"Pauline!" said M. de Mallet. She started
at the sound of her father's voice, and looked
timidly up in his face. "Pauline," repeated
he, "my dear child, beware!"</p>

<p>At this moment a roar of cannon shook the
tent; the sound echoed by the walls of the
town, and leaping from hill to hill in lengthened
peals, Pauline sunk upon her knees, hiding
her face in her father's lap. "My child! my
beloved child!" cried M. de Mallet, bending
over her as though to shield her from danger,
"Heaven defend thee!"</p>

<p>In this painful situation, the father and
daughter continued till the cannonading ceased.
All was now still; and awful was the calm that
succeeded such a tumult. Pauline raised her
head, and looked fearfully around. "Come,
my child," said her father, "let us endeavour
to ascertain who are victors."</p>

<p>Pauline rose from her knees, and, leaning
upon her father's arm, accompanied him to the
opening of the tent; but she shrunk back,
shuddering at the horrid scene that presented
itself. Their tent was situated at the extreme
edge of the camp, and commanded a view of
the whole field of battle where the combat of
the morning had taken place. The plain that
stretched to their left, lay covered with the
bodies of the dying and the dead, whilst a multitude
of horses broken loose, galloped over the
field, plunging, snorting, and crushing beneath
their hoofs, the bodies of their fallen riders.</p>

<p>In some places, the branches of half broken
trees strewed the ground, whilst their mutilated
trunks, perforated with shot, remained as
melancholy relics of their former beauty.
Swords and helmets, mingled with overturned
waggons and military utensils of all kinds, were
scattered in wild disorder around. The earth,
ploughed up by the cannon balls in deep furrows,
save where the ridges had been beaten
flat by the feet of the combatants, looked wild
and uneven as the waves of the mighty ocean
arrested in the moment of tempest. Blood lay
in pools upon the ground; and clotted gore,
mingled horribly with remnants of human bones
and brains, hung to the still standing bushes,
disfiguring the fair face of nature.</p>

<p>Pauline shuddered, and turned eagerly to the
other side of the landscape, which commanded
a view of the town. Here still, however, she
found nothing but death and war. It was the
moment when the explosion of the petard set
fire to the wooden bulwark; and Roderick and
Edric leaped through the flames upon the
beach. The bright glare of the blazing bulwarks
relieved strongly their dark figures, and
Pauline distinctly saw and recognized them for
a moment, though the next they were lost in a
cloud of smoke. She screamed, and grasped
her father's arm in convulsive agony. M. de
Mallet was scarcely less agitated than herself;
and, as the smoke cleared away, they saw distinctly
through its flaming volumes, Roderick
and Edric upon the breach, opposed by a crowd
of Spaniards, and fighting with inveterate fury.
"Roderick is on his knees," cried M. de Mallet.
"But see! he rises suddenly, and plunges
the Spaniard, who had raised his sword to cut
him down, into the flames." Pauline did not
speak; but she gasped for breath, and held her
father's arm yet more tightly than before.
Edric was now seen grappling hand to hand
with a Spaniard, when the fire and smoke
closed upon him and hid him from their view.
The next instant, a tremendous crash was heard,
and loud shouts, followed by a rush of men;
it was the sortie of the besieged.</p>

<p>"Oh, heavens!" cried Pauline, turning pale,
and resting her head upon her father's shoulder,
"war is a dreadful thing."</p>

<p>"You are faint, my child," replied M. de
Mallet; "this is no fitting scene for you. Shall
we go in?"</p>

<p>"Oh, no, no!" cried Pauline feebly; "I cannot
leave the spot." Here shouts of "Roderick!
Roderick for ever! Roderick and glory!" rung
in their ears. Pauline shuddered; a faint sickness
crept over her; the scene seemed to swim
before her eyes; and she would have fallen, but
for the supporting arm of her father. At this
moment, some soldiers, carrying a bier, passed
at a little distance from the tent. Upon it lay
the body of an officer; his head hung back, his
long thick hair was matted with gore, and a
ghastly wound gaped on his uncovered breast.
Pauline could bear no more&mdash;she thought it was
Edric, and she fell fainting into her father's arms.</p>

<p>M. de Mallet bore her back into the tent,
and as soon as she was sufficiently recovered to
enable him to think of any thing but herself, he
dispatched one of the soldiers, appointed to attend
them, to ascertain if the Irish monarch
had escaped. The soldier did not return; and
M. de Mallet, too impatient to remain in his
tent, sallied forth to learn the news himself.
Scarcely was he gone, however, when the soldier's
wife, whom he had called to the assistance
of Pauline, perceived the town was on fire.
Pauline's agitation now became excessive; she
trembled in every limb, and listened till the
sense of hearing seemed agony. She could not
comprehend the cause of the noise and bustle
made by the citizens, as they came crowding
into the camp; she looked forth, but the throng
of half naked men, women, and children, that
came hurrying along, seemed inexplicable; she
stopped a woman, who, half dressed, had her
clothes tucked up in one hand, whilst with the
other she led two half naked children&mdash;"What
is the matter?" asked she. "Roderick," cried
the woman bewildered in her grief, "God
bless the noble Roderick!"</p>

<p>"Where are you going?" demanded Pauline
of two young men, bearing between them a bed
containing their sick father.</p>

<p>"Roderick!" shouted the pious Spaniards.
"Heaven, in its mercy, bless Roderick!"
Pauline was proceeding in her inquiries,
though without the smallest hope of receiving a
direct reply, the hearts and minds of Spaniards
being so full of Roderick, that no other name
could find utterance from their lips, when she
perceived her father.</p>

<p>"My dearest father!" cried she, running to
him; "now I shall know all! What is the
matter?"</p>

<p>"Roderick, the noble Roderick is safe!" repeated
M. de Mallet. Pauline was chagrined&mdash;she
longed to hear of Edric, and she envied,
for his sake, the renown of the Irish hero.
"Can you, too, speak of nothing but Roderick?"
said she, somewhat reproachfully.</p>

<p>"And of whom else should I speak?" replied
her father. "Who else deserves to be spoken of?
for surely he is the bravest! the noblest of men!"</p>

<p>"I do not doubt it," observed Pauline coldly.
"Every tongue utters his praise&mdash;every breast
swells with gratitude at his goodness&mdash;and
every hand is raised to Heaven in prayers on
his behalf.</p>

<p>"Have there been many persons killed?"
asked Pauline.</p>

<p>"How can you ask so foolish a question?"
replied her father. "Do you not see the
ground heaped with slain?"</p>

<p>"But persons of note, I mean?"</p>

<p>"Let me see; I think they said there were
the Generals H&mdash;&mdash; and M&mdash;&mdash;, and Counts L&mdash;&mdash;,
P&mdash;&mdash; and T&mdash;&mdash;."</p>

<p>"Oh!" groaned Pauline, impatiently.</p>

<p>"And besides, I think they say Mr. Montagu
is seriously wounded."</p>

<p>"I feared so!" sighed Pauline, "he is so
brave."</p>

<p>"Yes&mdash;every one says he is brave, and implores
blessings upon his name&mdash;for he saved
the life of Roderick!"</p>

<p>Pauline's countenance had beamed with triumph
at the commencement of this sentence;
but it rather fell at the conclusion. She did
not quite like her hero to owe his glory to any
one but himself.</p>

<p>M. de Mallet continued: "His bravery and
nobleness of spirit were unequalled. Every
one praises him. There is certainly something
very extraordinary in the character of the English.
Their daring tempers and love of adventure
lead them to quit peace and riches in their
native country, to seek glory and distinction
elsewhere. This Mr. Montagu is really an
exalted young man."</p>

<p>Pauline's eyes flashed joy&mdash;she felt she loved
her father better than ever&mdash;she could have
embraced him as he spoke, for the praise of
Edric sounded as the sweetest music in her
ears. Strange that so slight an acquaintance
should have produced so strong a passion! but
such and so inexplicable is love.</p>

<p>Pauline had now patience to hear the explanation
of her father respecting Roderick.
She even felt pleasure in the repetition of his
exploits, for he was the friend of Edric; and
she retired to rest&mdash;happy in herself, and contented
with all the world; having been first
assured by her father that the surgeon confidently
expected Edric would soon recover.
Pauline, however, would have been very much
puzzled to explain the cause of the excessive contentment
that she felt. The situation of herself
and father was as hopeless as ever. They were
still prisoners in a strange land, without fortune,
without friends; but so little does happiness
depend upon external circumstances, that the
breast of Pauline seemed to have been a stranger
to it till now.</p>

<p>After arranging every thing for the comfort
of the refugees and his own soldiers,
Roderick took a few hours of hurried repose.
When he rose in the morning, he sent
his compliments to M. de Mallet and his
daughter to demand permission to wait upon
them. This was instantly and gladly accorded,
and in a few minutes the Irish hero was
in their tent.</p>

<p>"I condole with your Majesty upon the
situation of your friend," said M. de Mallet,
the moment he saw him: "I hope he is
better."</p>

<p>The monarch smiled; he forgave the abruptness
of the question, in favour of the excellence
of the motive, and he replied that Mr.
Montagu was fast recovering. "He regrets
exceedingly," added he, "that it is not in his
power to pay his devoirs here"&mdash;bowing to
Pauline, "and well can I sympathize with
him, as I know what he loses."</p>

<p>Pauline inquired modestly the particulars
of the combat. "Upon my word, Madam,"
replied Roderick, "I know very little about it."</p>

<p>"I thought your Majesty had been engaged."</p>

<p>"That is the very reason. If I had not,
the case might have been different; but as it
was, I only just saw a great many people
that tried to kill me, and a great many that
I tried to kill, and the smoke hid all the rest."</p>

<p>"A very satisfactory account of a battle,
upon my word," cried M. de Mallet, smiling;
"but other people saw more of your Majesty's
acts than you did yourself; and they say, you
performed prodigies of valour."</p>

<p>"It is very kind of them to say so," said
Roderick, "for I am sure it is more than they
know."</p>

<p>"Your Majesty's modesty wishes to throw
a veil over your valour," observed Pauline,
"but luckily it cannot be concealed."</p>

<p>"Your praises, Madam, would make any man
a coxcomb," returned the Monarch: "I own
I have not the courage to refuse commendations
from your lips."</p>

<p>Pauline blushed&mdash;she fancied she had said
too much, and now remained silent.</p>

<p>"I cannot describe how much I admire your
Majesty's leniency to the inhabitants of the
city," said M. de Mallet: "it proves your
benevolence is equal to your valour, though
indeed it was sound policy to act as you have
done; for by this you have conciliated the
hearts of the Spaniards; whereas, if you had
exercised any cruelty, they would have risen
against you <i>en masse</i>; but this, I dare say, your
Majesty considered."</p>

<p>"Indeed," replied Roderick smiling, "my
Majesty considered no such thing; I only
thought as a man: I did not like to see my fellow-creatures
burnt to death, or poniarded if
they attempted to escape; I should not have
liked it at all, if I had been in a similar situation,
and so I did all in my power to save them&mdash;that
is all I know about the matter. But
to change the subject, I have a great favour to
beg of you, Mademoiselle de Mallet."</p>

<p>"What is it?" asked Pauline: "your
Majesty has only to speak to be obeyed."</p>

<p>"Oh! for Heaven's sake do not talk of
obedience&mdash;it is I who should obey&mdash;I only
ask a favour, and that is, that you will permit
me to bring Dr. Entwerfen to kneel at your
feet and kiss your fair hand, in token of his
homage."</p>

<p>"I would not advise Pauline to let him
kneel," said M. de Mallet laughing, "as
I fear, if she does, there will be some difficulty
in getting him up again."</p>

<p>"Your Majesty's commands,&mdash;" said Pauline.</p>

<p>"Do not talk of commands," interrupted
Roderick; "I hate the word."</p>

<p>"Your Majesty's wishes, then," continued
Pauline smiling, "shall be complied with."</p>

<p>"This evening, then," cried the gay monarch,
"the doctor shall make his appearance.
Till then, adieu!"</p>

<p>"Will your Majesty have the kindness to
present my best wishes to Mr. Montagu for
his recovery," requested M. de Mallet.</p>

<p>"Certainly," replied Roderick; "but am
I to tell Edric that Mademoiselle de Mallet
has no wishes for his welfare?"</p>

<p>"I wish&mdash;I hope&mdash;that is, I think&mdash;&mdash;"
stammered Pauline.</p>

<p>"My daughter means her sentiments are
exactly similar to my own upon the subject,"
said M. de Mallet gravely; for he was not at
all pleased with the interpretation he thought
the King might put upon the embarrassment
of his daughter.</p>

<p>"Very well!" repeated Roderick provokingly:
"I shall tell Edric, that M. de Mallet
and his daughter think exactly alike of
him.&mdash;That is it, is it not?"</p>

<p>M. de Mallet was about to reply, when the
King, nodding and waving his hand, bade them
adieu, and hurried away. "I don't know what
to make of the Irish hero," said M. de Mallet,
the moment he had left them. "With all his
good qualities, there is something very strange
about him: I don't know what to make of him!"</p>

<p>Pauline sighed assent; though she did know
what to make of him very well, for she fancied
he saw, and ridiculed her partiality
for Edric. This idea roused every spark of
pride in her nature; she could not bear the
thought of being supposed to give her love
unsought, and she determined when she next
saw Roderick to show by her coldness and
indifference, when Edric was mentioned, how
completely he had been deceived.</p>

<p>When Roderick left the tent of M. de Mallet,
he returned to Edric, whom he found
pale and feeble.</p>

<p>"You are the happiest fellow in existence,
Edric!" said he: "I would willingly give all
my glory, and even my demoniacal renown, that
the Spaniards talk so much about, to be able
to call up such blushes to the cheek of beauty
as your name can raise. Oh! if you had seen
Pauline. By Heaven! she is the loveliest
creature I ever beheld in my life!"</p>

<p>As he spoke, Alexis, the Greek page, who had
been crouching rather than sitting at the foot
of Edric's couch, resting his head upon his
hands, and looking absorbed in grief, uttered
a faint cry, and rushed out of the tent.</p>

<p>"There is something very extraordinary
about that boy," said Roderick, looking after
him.</p>

<p>"There is, indeed," replied Edric, "and I
have something that I wish to communicate
to you respecting him:" and in a few words
he related what had passed the preceding
night in the tent.</p>

<p>"Impossible!" cried Roderick, "you must
have been dreaming, Edric! What communication
would the boy hold with Alvarez?
You know he is dumb. Besides, even if Alvarez
were inclined to plot against me, he is too
prudent and reserved to make a confidant of a
beardless boy!"</p>

<p>"I simply relate the facts as they occurred,"
said Edric; "I do not pretend to explain
them. But I can assure you, I was neither
dreaming nor delirious."</p>

<p>"It is very strange!" repeated Roderick
musing, "and it corresponds remarkably with
what I have observed myself." For some
moments he remained lost in thought; but it
was not in his gay and joyous nature to suffer
anything to depress him long; and the next
instant, Alexis was forgotten.</p>

<p>The fall of Seville, and the destruction of
the army sent to defend it, produced a powerful
effect upon the destinies of Spain. The
Cortes again sent ambassadors to negotiate
with the Irish hero; but, taught by experience,
he now received them haughtily, refusing to
treat with them but as a conqueror; and to
put his threats in execution he determined to
advance immediately upon Madrid.</p>

<p>"We must follow up our victory," said he
to Edric, after he had somewhat contemptuously
dismissed the deputies from the shattered
remnant of their allied army, who came
to sue humbly at his feet for peace. "These
people are treacherous beyond description. They
do not understand leniency, and they must be
treated with sword in hand. I am thoroughly
tired of them; their fickleness and uncertainty
have quite disgusted me; I will therefore
march to Madrid, establish Don Pedro as their
sovereign, and take my leave of them for
ever."</p>

<p>"I am rejoiced to hear it!" exclaimed
Edric. "You will then return to Ireland,
and devote your time to your own subjects."</p>

<p>"I will try to satisfy them as well
as I can; but as perfection cannot be expected
all at once, you must not be surprised
if some day I should fly off in a tangent,
and take it into my head to colonize the
moon."</p>

<p>Edric laughed: "If you promise to wait till
then," said he, "I shall be satisfied."</p>

<p>"You may not find my project so wild as
it appears," rejoined Roderick. "The moon
is a very pretty, mild, modest-looking planet,
and I must own I should like amazingly to see
what kind of inhabitants she contains; and if
I should determine to go there, here is a gentleman
who I am sure will be quite ready
to accompany me."</p>

<p>Dr. Entwerfen entered the tent as he spoke.
"Of what was your Majesty speaking?"
asked he.</p>

<p>"Of a voyage to the moon," said Roderick.
"Will you go with me?"</p>

<p>"With all my heart," cried the little doctor,
rubbing his hands and looking all glee at the
thought.</p>

<p>"There, I told you so," said Roderick,
laughing.</p>

<p>"I should have thought the many adventures
you have met with had cured your
passion for travelling," rejoined Edric.</p>

<p>"Cured him! Given him a zest for it, you
mean," replied Roderick. "The appetite for
travelling always grows with what it feeds upon;
and though the doctor may boast</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'That he <i>has</i> fair Seville seen.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So <i>is</i> a traveller, I ween,'</span><br />
</p>

<p>yet I do not doubt but that he is just as eager
to explore new places as ever."</p>

<p>"Yes," returned the doctor, "I certainly
did see Seville."</p>

<p>"Every part of it, my dear fellow, from its
palaces to its dungeons," resumed Roderick;
"nay, I believe you were very near being indulged
with a view of its ropes."</p>

<p>The doctor did not quite relish this raillery.
"I can assure your Majesty&mdash;"</p>

<p>"<i>Apropos de bottes</i>," cried Roderick, interrupting
him, "I had entirely forgotten I promised
to introduce you to Mademoiselle de
Mallet. We will go now. Will you accompany
us, Edric? I am sorry to ask you to do
any thing so disagreeable; but I think it will
be but decent to kiss hands, take leave, and all
that sort of thing, before we set out for Madrid:
besides, it may be as well to make some
kind of provision as to what is to become of
them in our absence."</p>

<p>"Then you will not take them with you?"
said Edric, despondingly.</p>

<p>"Who ever heard of such a thing?" cried
Roderick; "How could I possibly ask the
lovely Pauline to endure the inconveniences of
travelling with a camp? I really have not the
assurance to attempt it."</p>

<p>Edric sighed deeply; and his countenance
assumed an expression of so much melancholy
that Roderick laughed immoderately: "I could
not have believed it possible," cried he, "that
you could ever become such a sighing Strephon;
the thing's incredible!"</p>

<p>"The pain of my wounds," said Edric,
blushing; for even philosophers don't like to
be laughed at.</p>

<p>"The pain in your heart!" repeated Roderick,
mimicking him. "But, come! come!
I can pity you. I have been in love at least
fifty times myself&mdash;so I know what it is."</p>

<p>"But I am not in love," remonstrated Edric.</p>

<p>"Denial is one of the most dangerous symptoms,"
resumed Roderick, gravely. "Experienced
physicians rarely think their patients
really ill, till they are not conscious of it themselves.
Let me feel your pulse."</p>

<p>"Psha," said Edric, impatiently.</p>

<p>"Will you go then!" asked Roderick,
laughing; and to avoid being farther tormented
by his raillery, Edric hastily rose from his
couch, and declared himself ready to attend
him. The injuries he had received, having been
only flesh wounds inflicted with a sabre, had
now nearly healed; and the only change they
had produced in his appearance, had been to
make him look more pale and interesting, one
arm being supported by a sling, and a bandeau
bound round his forehead. Pauline's eyes
sparkled when she saw him, in spite of her intended
indifference; and she could not command
her voice so entirely, but that its tremulous
tone betrayed her inward agitation.</p>

<p>Edric's eyes also involuntarily expressed his
pleasure; whilst the gay laugh and arch look
of Roderick told that he was perfectly aware
of what was passing in the mind of each. Doctor
Entwerfen, however, saw nothing of the
kind, his mind being quite absorbed in the delightful
contemplation of his own glory. He
had been presented to M. de Mallet by Roderick,
as "his friend and counsellor, the learned
and justly celebrated Dr. Entwerfen;" and
that moment seemed a sufficient reward for
a whole life of misery, the doctor's ecstasy
upon the occasion being so unbounded, that he
neither knew what he did nor what he said.
Whilst Roderick had been speaking, indeed,
he had been in perfect agony; stretching himself
out on tiptoe, opening his hands and closing
them again with every sentence, as though
bursting with impatience to speak, that he might
by his eloquence confirm the monarch's eulogium,
yet trembling every instant lest he should interrupt
it.</p>

<p>M. de Mallet had been a dabbler in scientific
experiments in his youth, and, pleased to
find a person who could talk to him, and understand
his ideas upon the subject, he soon
drew the doctor on one side, leaving his
younger friends to be entertained by his
daughter.</p>

<p>"I am glad, very glad, to see you so soon
recovered," said Pauline, addressing Edric in a
gentle tone; "I feared, that is, my father feared,
your wounds were more serious."</p>

<p>"You see, Edric," cried Roderick archly,
"it is as I said&mdash;Mademoiselle de Mallet feels
for you exactly the same interest as her father
does."</p>

<p>"I should be flattered by exciting any interest
in so gentle a bosom," sighed Edric, looking
at her tenderly.</p>

<p>Pauline sighed too&mdash;involuntarily, but remained
silent.</p>

<p>"Do you then feel no interest in my behalf?"
continued Edric; "not even the cold, chilling
feeling sanctioned by your father?"</p>

<p>"Oh! call not the interest my father feels
for you cold or chilling!" exclaimed Pauline
with energy, "I am sure&mdash;that is, I think&mdash;"
and here, fearing she had said too much, she
stopped abruptly, totally unable to proceed.</p>

<p>"Oh, go on!" exclaimed Edric, gazing earnestly
upon her blushing face&mdash;"go on, I
could listen to you for ever!"</p>

<p>Pauline trembled, blushed, and hesitated.
"I&mdash;I&mdash;I think I had better go to my father,"
stammered she after a short pause.</p>

<p>Roderick smiled: "By all means!" said he.
"Don't you think so, Edric?"</p>

<p>Edric did not reply; for in fact he did not
hear the question; whilst poor Pauline's agitation
increased, and her colour changed rapidly every
moment: she dreaded Roderick's raillery, and
trembled so violently that she could scarcely
stand.</p>

<p>At this moment her father returned; he looked
at his daughter with some surprise, and
then, turning to his guests, he apologized for
her abstraction. "My daughter is unused to
camps," said he, "and the scenes she has lately
gone through have been too much for her
nerves."</p>

<p>"She will now have an opportunity of recovering
herself," replied Roderick; "my army
will move forward to-morrow, and if you will
accept the post, I will leave you governor of
this city, with a sufficient garrison to keep it
on my behalf."</p>

<p>Pauline turned deathly pale as he spoke, and
every hope of happiness seemed to fly from her
breast for ever.</p>

<p>M. de Mallet, however, was not at all aware
of his daughter's anguish; and, thanking the
king gratefully for the high honour conferred
upon him, his fancy began to revel by anticipation
in the delights of governorship; and in
ten minutes he had arranged in his mind as
many improvements and alterations as it would
take fifty years to accomplish.</p>

<p>"Farewell," continued Roderick, "I trust
we shall meet again, if not here, at least in
another and a better world. Permit me, lady!"
continued he, slightly touching with his lips
the pallid cheek of Pauline. "To-morrow with
the dawn we advance, and we have so much to
do ere then, that we must deny ourselves the
pleasure of again enjoying your society. Farewell,
Governor, you will find the necessary
papers to install you here," (giving him a
packet) "and the soldiers have orders to obey
you as myself. Come, Edric."</p>

<p>Edric advanced, and bowing, took the hand
of Pauline and pressed it respectfully to his
lips;&mdash;his heart was too full to speak. Pauline
could scarcely restrain her tears, and shaking
hands with the doctor, she hastily retired to a
part of the tent enclosed for her use.</p>

<p>"My daughter is not well," said M. de Mallet,
"these scenes of blood and war are too
much for her nerves; but she will soon recover
when you have left us."</p>

<p>"I doubt that," murmured Roderick in
a half whisper; and soon after the friends
retired. Edric was not insensible to Pauline's
emotion; and as he more than suspected the
cause, a pleasure, unknown before, throbbed
in his bosom. His eyes sparkled, and his
whole appearance presented so complete a contrast
to his usual depression, that Roderick
could not resist the temptation of again rallying
him most unmercifully upon it. "Talk of
medicine," cried he, "there is no elixir like
the magic of a pair of bright eyes. All the
physicians in my camp can effect nothing like
it. Nay, you need not blush so, Edric! I did
not imagine you were so far gone as that."</p>

<p>"I do not blush, that I am aware of," returned
Edric, somewhat peevishly; for he did
not relish being teased; "at least, I am sure I
have no occasion for blushing."</p>

<p>"Well, then, don't look so like a bashful
maiden, disavowing her first attachment, with
a 'La, Pa! how can you think so!'&mdash;I did not
suppose you were capable of such affectation."</p>

<p>"I am not aware that I have been guilty of
any."</p>

<p>"Come, then, own the truth candidly&mdash;you
love Mademoiselle de Mallet?"</p>

<p>"How can you think so?" replied Edric,
blushing deeply in spite of his efforts to look
composed.</p>

<p>"You are indifferent to her, then? Dear me,
I had no idea of it, I never was more completely
deceived in my life! Well, if that's the case, I
will resume my first design of trying my own
fortune."</p>

<p>"How can you be so provoking?"</p>

<p>"Why it is very hard, if you are not in
love with her yourself, that you should wish to
prevent every one else from being so."</p>

<p>"Your Majesty's rank, I should think, would
prevent your even thinking of Mademoiselle
de Mallet."</p>

<p>"Why should my rank prevent the possibility
of my being happy?"</p>

<p>"Your Majesty's rank prevents the possibility
of your marrying Pauline; and I should
hope you would not dare to entertain dishonourable
views respecting her."</p>

<p>"Dare! dishonour! Do you remember
whom you are speaking to, Edric?"</p>

<p>"Perfectly; for I have not forgotten Roderick,
though he appears to have forgotten himself."</p>

<p>"Edric! But I won't be angry with you.
When people are in love, they never mean
what they say; in fact, they very seldom
know what they are talking about. I remember
once when I was in love myself&mdash;"</p>

<p>Alexis, who had waited at the entrance of
the tent during the visit his master had paid
to M. de Mallet, and was now following them,
sighed heavily at this remark. Roderick heard
him;&mdash;"What is the matter with the boy?"
said he: "Were you ever in love, Alexis?"
The page sighed yet more deeply than
before, and, crossing his arms upon his breast,
bent his head in token of assent.</p>

<p>"It is to be much lamented you cannot tell
us all about it," continued Roderick; "for you
could never choose a more fitting moment for
such a tale; as you may depend upon the sympathy
of Mr. Montagu, even if I should be
so barbarous as to refuse you mine:&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'We pity faults to which we feel inclined,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And to our proper failings can be kind;'</span><br />
</p>

<p>as one of your own poets says. Eh, Edric!
Don't you think he's right?"</p>

<p>"I think you are very provoking."</p>

<p>"That is because I am touching upon a
string that happens to be not quite in tune; so
no wonder it jars a little. Do you not remember
the old proverb?</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Touch a man whose skin is sound,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He will stand, and fear no wound:</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Touch a man when he is sore,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He will start, and bear no more.'"</span><br />
</p>

<p>"How can you condescend to repeat such
nonsense?" cried Edric, indignantly. "It is
unworthy the poorest beggar in your dominions!"</p>

<p>"And how can you condescend to be moved
at such nonsense, Edric?" replied Roderick,
laughing. "Come, come! own the truth, for
it is useless to attempt any longer to deny it.
Say, candidly, that you are in love with Mademoiselle
de Mallet, and I will tease you no
longer."</p>

<p>"In love is too strong a term. I admire,
esteem, and respect Mademoiselle de Mallet. I
even think her possessed of a thousand charms
and a thousand virtues; but as to being in
love&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Well, well! we will not quarrel about
words. I do not think you will ever make a
romantic lover. You Englishmen are too reasoning
and prudent ever to fall violently in
love. Your blood is as cold as your climate.
Now we take the thing quite differently; with
us love is a devouring flame! a fire that absorbs
our whole being&mdash;a stream that sweeps every
thing before it&mdash;a madness&mdash;a delirium! In
short, I don't know what it is!"</p>

<p>"I think not," said Edric, dryly.</p>

<p>"Psha, psha!" continued Roderick; "if it
could be described, it would not be worth feeling.
It is all spirit! all soul! if you tie it
down to rules, it evaporates. Don't you think
so in Greece, Alexis?"</p>

<p>The page bowed, and shaking his head,
pressed his finger upon his lips.</p>

<p>"True," returned his master; "I had forgotten:
but if you cannot speak, you can write.
Take these tablets, I should like to know your
opinion."</p>

<p>The page took the tablets, and wrote with
astonishing rapidity&mdash;"Since your Majesty
condescends to ask my opinion, I think that the
love which can stay to reason, or hesitates to
sacrifice every thing to the beloved object, does
not deserve the name."</p>

<p>"Bravo, my little hero!" cried Roderick,
tapping him upon the shoulder; "spoken like a
true Greek. An Irishman, however, would
have said nearly the same."</p>

<p>The boy's slender figure trembled in every
nerve at his master's touch, and his cheeks were
flushed with unwonted passion, though his eyes
remained fixed upon the ground, from which
indeed he rarely raised them. Roderick gazed
upon him a few minutes in silence, as though he
wished to read his inmost soul. Then turning
abruptly to Dr. Entwerfen, who had taken no
part in the last conversation, he demanded gaily
what he was thinking of.</p>

<p>"I was thinking, your Majesty," said the
doctor, gravely, "that it is a long way from
hence to Madrid, and that it will be very fatiguing
for your men to march so far."</p>

<p>"Upon my word, doctor," said Roderick,
laughing, "you have really made a most sublime
discovery, and I perfectly agree with you
in the justice of your conclusions."</p>

<p>"That being granted," continued the doctor,
"if any means could be devised by which
your army could be transported to the gates of
the city without the trouble of walking there,
it would be a good thing."</p>

<p>"Certainly," said the King; "the fact does
not admit of a dispute."</p>

<p>"The only difficulty is to contrive how it is
to be done," resumed the doctor, musing.</p>

<p>"Ay, there's the rub," cried Roderick,
laughing immoderately; "however, if any one
can do it, I'm sure you can, my dear doctor.
So rally your energies and consider the best
means of commencing operations: I am sure, if
you exert yourself, you cannot fail of success."</p>

<p>"Your Majesty does me honour, and I will
endeavour to prove I am not undeserving of
the confidence you repose in me," said the
little doctor, drawing up himself to his full
height, and puffing out his cheeks as he
walked on absorbed in meditation. "I have
it," cried he, suddenly stopping short; "what
does your Majesty think of an immense
raft?"</p>

<p>"Excellent, my dear doctor! I see but
three objections to making one large enough
to convey the whole army:&mdash;First, that we
have no timber to make it of;&mdash;secondly, we
have no horses to draw it;&mdash;and thirdly,
the roads are not wide enough to admit it."</p>

<p>"Balloons would do, but we have them not,"
resumed the doctor, still profoundly cogitating,
with his eyes fixed upon the ground, and
his hands in his breeches-pockets.</p>

<p>"What think you of packing the soldiers
up in bombs, and shooting them out of mortars?"
asked Roderick.</p>

<p>"Your Majesty is pleased to jest," observed
the doctor, gravely; "but ridicule is not
argument."</p>

<p>"Certainly not," replied the King; "and
you mistake me greatly if you thought I meant
to ridicule your plan. I only wished to remark
that I feared it would be rather difficult to put
it in execution."</p>

<p>"That which can be accomplished without
difficulty," said the doctor, solemnly, "is
scarcely worth the trouble of undertaking, and
quite below the consideration of a man of
genius. Difficulties to a man of science are but
incentives to action."</p>

<p>"Most sensibly observed, my dear doctor,"
cried Roderick; "however, as we have now
reached our tent, I must leave you to contrive
some plan to bring us back from Madrid,
as I am afraid we cannot wait now to put your
designs in practice to enable us to get there:
we must march with the dawn. Of course you
will accompany us."</p>

<p>"Certainly!" returned the doctor, still musing;
then muttering to himself&mdash;"I don't
much like the plan of shooting off the soldiers,
it would take such large mortars and so much
gunpowder:&mdash;however, there is no knowing
what might be done: I will think of it:"&mdash;he
retired to his tent, though no sleep visited his
eyes that night, so completely had the idea
of packing up the soldiers in bombs taken
possession of his imagination.</p>

<p>Roderick's arrangements were soon made,
for Nature had certainly intended him for a
general. His intelligent mind foresaw every
thing, and provided against every contingency.
Brave in the field, and prudent in council,
the only fault of Roderick as a soldier was
that he sometimes suffered himself to be carried
away by his ardour when it would have been
wiser to delay. But this very impetuosity
had its charms in the eyes of his soldiers, as he
never hesitated to expose himself to the same
dangers or to undergo the same privations
as themselves, and they would all have followed
him willingly into the very jaws of
destruction.</p>

<p>After arranging every thing for the morning's
march, the Irish hero snatched a few hours
of repose. With the dawn, however, the drums
beat the reveillée, and the Irish army left
Andalusia to advance by rapid marches upon
Madrid.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></h3>


<p>Whilst these scenes were taking place in
Spain, Elvira was beginning to discover, in
England, that it was not quite so delightful to
be a Queen as she had previously imagined.
The contending parties in the state had been
roused into action by the late struggle, and
party spirit is of all others the most difficult to
conquer. Besides this, the choice of Elvira
having been rather a matter of feeling than of
judgment, men felt dissatisfied at having suffered
themselves to be hurried away by their
passions, and, as is usual in such cases, they
were disposed to vent the ill-humour they felt
at their own conduct upon every thing which
chanced to fall in their way. Thus, even the
best measures of Elvira's government were
warmly criticised; and as she unfortunately
altered some of her laws in consequence of
these objections, the critics were encouraged
to proceed; and fancying her plans to be the
result of weakness, when they were in fact
only produced by her natural candour and
love of justice, the people became more outrageous
and troublesome with every concession
that was made to them.</p>

<p>Elvira's intentions were excellent, but by unfortunately
wishing to please every one, she destroyed
their effect. This made her councils
vacillating, and her measures uncertain: nothing
indeed but the strength of mind and commanding
genius of Edmund, joined to his complete
devotion to her cause, could have prevented
the ruin of her government almost in
the moment of its formation. From a mistaken
motive of generosity, she had retained in
her council those lords who had most vehemently
opposed her, though, in compliance
with the wishes of Edmund, they were shorn
of their beams. This was a fatal error; half
measures are always dangerous: the lords in
question should have been discarded altogether,
or retained in their former seats; as it was,
Elvira had made them enemies, and yet left
them the power to sting her.</p>

<p>The emissaries of Rosabella were also very
active, and the ferment of the public mind excessive.
The taste the people had just enjoyed
of power, had only been enough to make them
long for more. They had only just began to
relish its sweets, when the dish was snatched
away from them, with which, if it had been left
them to devour, they would have soon been
cloyed. Discontents became general, disturbances
arose, which were no sooner quelled in
one quarter than they broke out in another,
and these petty insurrections, though almost
too trivial to mention, were excessively annoying.
For trifling inconveniences, like a host of
flies buzzing round a nervous man on a sultry
day, are often more irritating to the temper,
than serious grievances; and the noble mind of
Edmund was wearied by subduing such paltry
enemies.</p>

<p>"They want employment," said he one day
to the Queen, after reading a dispatch containing
an account of one of the most vexatious of
these tumults; "you must build bridges and
cut canals to amuse them."</p>

<p>The active mind of Elvira caught eagerly at
the idea, and she vainly fancied her name would
be handed down to posterity as one of the greatest
of Queens, who, though in the bloom of
youth and pride of beauty, did not hesitate to
sacrifice herself for the good of her people, and
to devote that time to their welfare and the
improvement of her kingdom, which others of
her age and rank wasted in mere amusements.</p>

<p>Delighted with the thought, Elvira did not
delay a moment before she prepared to put it
in practice; and she was found for several days
together constantly surrounded by her counsellors,
and seated at a table absolutely loaded
with papers, which she was busily employed
in inspecting and arranging.</p>

<p>Plans for the erection of public buildings,
for hospitals, bridges, museums, and churches,
schemes for new manufactories, hints for new
establishments conducive to the public good,
and sketches of new discoveries, lay in heaps
before her; mixed with addresses of compliments,
votes of thanks, complaints of grievances,
petitions, secret informations; and in
short all that multifarious collection of paper,
with which a monarch is sure to be surrounded
who is said to be anxious to ameliorate the
condition of his people, or who is unhappily
reported to possess a genius for improvement.</p>

<p>Unfortunate is the man possessed of power,
of whom such reports are current. He is
directly surrounded by projectors, each presenting
a scheme more futile than that of his
predecessor; and discontented dependants, each
bringing a long list of grievances, half of
which are imaginary, but which have been
conjured up by the complainants that they
may not lose the precious right they enjoy of
complaining.</p>

<p>Unhappy he whose fate obliges him to decide
between the rival claimants! certain
alike to be blamed, if he give or refuse; if
he accept, or if he reject!</p>

<p>Elvira had not yet found the evils of power;
but she now tasted of its sweets, and was enchanted.
It seemed to her the most delightful
thing in the world to hold in her hands the
destinies of thousands of her fellow-creatures;
and she thought not of the heavy responsibility
it entailed, nor how often her path would be
followed by curses instead of blessings. Some
one has said that every time a sovereign
confers a favour, he makes one ungrateful subject
and nine discontented ones; but Elvira
and Edmund as yet had not discovered the truth
of this maxim. Since their present plan had been
suggested, every thing with them had been the
<i>couleur de rose</i>. I say, them, for Edmund was
associated with Elvira in all these gigantic
schemes of improvement; and as he had conceived
the first idea of them, so it was he only
who could carry them into execution. His active
mind required something to employ it; and the
same strong feelings which had formerly been devoted
to love and glory, were now turned into
another channel.</p>

<p>The energies of Elvira's mind had also been
awakened by the struggle for the crown, and
the passion awakened in her breast by the
youthful stranger; and she now felt that she
could not quietly return again to the commonplace
stillness of every-day life. The passions
when once roused from their dormant state,
must have something to occupy them, or they
will prey upon themselves. Thus we generally
see great warriors, or statesmen, or in fact any
class of men who have passed their lives in
activity, wither away when forced to the dullness
of an obscure retirement: their minds
and bodies decay alike from want of stimulants
to call them into action.</p>

<p>The improvement of her people supplied
this stimulus to the mind of Elvira,&mdash;but alas!
she entered upon it rather with passion than
judgment, and had not patience to wait to
see her plans gradually carried into effect:
No&mdash;no&mdash;she could not endure any thing slow:
with her every thing must be done by a <i>coup
de main</i>; and as the people and the buildings
were so stupid as not to be made perfect by the
first attempt, she was continually disappointed
and discouraged. In fact, by attempting to do
too much, she did nothing.</p>

<p>When Elvira ascended the throne, she determined
no public act should take place without
the approbation of her council; and these noble
lords were one day debating upon the propriety
of a new road, that was proposed to
intersect the entire kingdom at right angles,
when Lord Gustavus de Montfort rose to
oppose it, upon the ground of the injury it
would do to private property if carried into
effect.</p>

<p>Elvira could not endure Lord Gustavus: his
cold, prudent, calculating manner, without a
single spark of imagination, disgusted her beyond
description; and the only good quality he
possessed, that of being indefatigable in following
up his point, completed her abhorrence.
Wit and eloquence were quite thrown away
upon him, for he understood neither the one
nor the other; and when any new or brilliant
scheme crossed Elvira's imagination, and she described
it to her council with all the fire of
genius and animation, there he sate with his
calm, cold unvarying countenance, ready to
damp it with a doubt. Lord Maysworth also
was her aversion; his narrow mind, which
could only take in such trifles as escape the
observation of men of genius; his mean and
paltry spirit, and his grovelling ambition, were
all her detestation; whilst Lord Noodle and
Lord Doodle, who, though ciphers in themselves,
yet, like their prototypes, prodigiously
increased the weight of the figures placed before
them, completed the group.</p>

<p>Much, however, as Elvira disliked these members
of her council, she felt unequal to resist
their combined influence; and she was just upon
the point of being teased into their opinions
contrary to her own judgment, when Lord Edmund
entered the room. Indescribable was the
effect produced by his presence; for indeed his
commanding talents swayed all before them;
and Elvira could not help smiling when she
saw her counsellors of state shake their wise
heads, and imagine they were assisting the
debate with their wisdom, whilst, in fact, they
were mere tools in his powerful hands. It is
true they were the agents that produced the intended
effect; but his was the master spirit that
set them in motion, and taught them where to
go. His powerful intellect caught in an instant
the comparative merits and disadvantages of
the plan now in discussion, and his nod decided
its fate.</p>

<p>The council, however, though they implicitly
obeyed his will, had not the least
idea that they were doing so; as he had the
address so to form his opinions as to let each
person imagine them the suggestions of his own
breast.</p>

<p>Whilst the principal personages in the cabinet,
fancying they were leading, were thus
blindly led, the nonentities of course followed
in their train, and our old friends the lords of
ancient family were perfectly astonished when
they heard the magnificent plans and sagacious
councils attributed to them, and sate
quite lost in admiration of their own wisdom,
whilst their little heads and enormous periwigs
kept bobbing with at least threefold their accustomed
rapidity.</p>

<p>Elvira's accession to the throne had induced
both her father and Sir Ambrose to leave the
country; the duke inhabiting his former
palace, and Sir Ambrose taking possession of
a moveable house in one of the streets upon the
banks of the Thames. Here the worthy Baronet
found himself perfectly happy in the society of
his niece Clara, (whom her parents permitted
to keep his house,) and that of his old friend
the duke.</p>

<p>"I begin to repent that my daughter is a
Queen," said the duke to Sir Ambrose, one
night after supper, when the whole party were
sitting cosily round the fire in Sir Ambrose's
library. "I have not half the enjoyments I
used to have when I could have more of her
society. Now when I see her, it is but for an
instant, and she can scarcely stay to ask me
how I do, before she flies off to some of her new
plans of improvement."</p>

<p>"The face of the country will be quite
changed in a few years, if all the plans of the
Queen prosper," said Father Morris in his
usual smooth hypocritical manner.</p>

<p>"I hope not!" cried Sir Ambrose; "I hope
it's no treason, duke&mdash;but I must confess I wish
your daughter had never been Queen, if she
can't leave things as they are."</p>

<p>"They are such wildgoose schemes too
that she takes into her head," said the duke
piteously. "Only imagine, Sir Ambrose, she
showed me this morning a plan for making
aërial bridges to convey heavy weights from
one steeple to another; a machine for stamping
shoes and boots at one blow out of a solid
piece of leather; a steam-engine for milking
cows; and an elastic summer-house that might
be folded up so as to be put into a man's
pocket!"</p>

<p>"It is really provoking; and Edward is quite
as scheming and visionary. I absolutely think,
if we were both to die, they would not feel
more than a temporary uneasiness at our loss,
their minds are so completely occupied in these
gigantic projects."</p>

<p>Whilst these two old men were sitting comfortably
over the fire, commenting on the
glorious days when they were young, and when
all went right, or, what was nearly the same
thing, when all appeared to them to do so
(quite forgetting that age has other eyes than
youth, and that the change was in themselves,
not the times), Clara was at a splendid party
given by Elvira, and Father Morris soon left
the duke's library to join her.</p>

<p>It was a ball; and the splendid court of
Claudia seemed yet more brilliant under the
reign of her successor. It was the first time
Clara had ever been at court, and the effect the
gorgeous magnificence of the scene had upon
her was powerful in the extreme. She forgot
her cares, her sadness, and her love&mdash;all seemed
enchantment; and the old lady, who acted
as her chaperon, was quite horrorized at her
<i>gaucherie</i>.</p>

<p>Brilliant as all was, however, the lovely
goddess of the temple far exceeded even the
splendour of the shrine; and the beholders
gazed upon her with indescribable rapture.
Beautiful as the fairy image of a dream; kind,
affable, and condescending to all, Elvira glided
through the crowd, followed by her suite to the
concert-room. Here, all that the imagination
of man could devise of harmony, enchanted the
ears. But harsh was every other sound to that
which stole upon the senses when Elvira was
induced to forget her rank and mingle her voice
with the music.</p>

<p>Elvira's singing was perfection: "clear as
a trumpet with a silver sound;" the round full
notes now swelled upon the ear in liquid
melody, and then died away, soft and sweet,
yet distinct even in their faintest strains.
Prince Ferdinand was at her side, and his
ardent gaze bespoke the intenseness of his
admiration. Elvira had not before seen
him since the night when her conversation
with him had so powerfully excited the jealousy
of Edmund; and as she now observed
his manner had again attracted Edmund's
attention, she blushed yet more deeply than
before.</p>

<p>Edmund saw her blushes; and, stung almost
to madness by the sight, rushed violently
out of the room.</p>

<p>The night was cold and damp, a drizzling
mist fell fast, and that peculiar chill that marks
the first approaches of winter, hung in the air;
but Lord Edmund thought not of the weather,
and he strode bareheaded through the palace-gardens
with hurried steps and the actions of
a maniac; whilst the thick gloom that pervaded
the sky, contrasted fearfully with the brilliantly
illuminated apartment he had just
quitted. The gloominess of the scene, however,
harmonized well with Edmund's feelings;
he felt soothed insensibly; and though
he still stalked moodily backwards and forwards,
he became gradually more calm.</p>

<p>"Ungrateful woman," thought he, "to treat
me thus! Does she not owe every thing to me?
I could bear her coldness; I could resign her
to a throne; but the idea of her loving another
drives me to distraction!&mdash;Curses on that fiend!
It must be by his infernal arts that Ferdinand
has triumphed. The cold, the chaste Elvira
could never give her love thus&mdash;thus almost
unsolicited, and at first sight if it were not the
work of magic. By Heaven, I would risk my
soul for vengeance on that demon!"</p>

<p>As he spoke, his eyes fell upon a thicket near
him, and he fancied he saw the figure of a man,
half obscured however by the mist, emerge
from its gloomy recesses. He gazed intently,
and the figure glided slowly on with catlike,
creeping steps. The mind of Edmund was
worked up to frenzy&mdash;he almost fancied a
demon had appeared obedient to his wish, to
receive his pledge, and work his bidding.
"Speak!" cried he, in a voice that sounded
fearfully amidst the surrounding stillness&mdash;"Speak!
art thou a demon, or a mortal?"</p>

<p>All was silent: the figure glided on; and
Lord Edmund, oppressed by supernatural terrors,
and shuddering at the sound of his own
voice, could bear no more; he darted upon the
figure, and grasping it roughly, he exclaimed,
"Man or devil, I fear thee not, and thus will I
grapple with thee."</p>

<p>"Gently, my son," replied the well-known
voice of Father Morris; "in what have I offended
you?"</p>

<p>"Pardon, holy father," returned Edmund
"I knew you not&mdash;I knew not what I did&mdash;my
passion blinded me."</p>

<p>"And what has caused this passion? The
mind of Edmund is too noble to be lightly
moved."</p>

<p>"Oh! talk not of the nobleness of my mind,
father; I feel I am but a poor weak worm.
Nobleness belongs to God alone; 'tis blasphemy
to apply the term to man."</p>

<p>"Tell me your grievances. They must, I am
sure, be great, or they would not thus affect
you. It is my holy office to console affliction.
Speak then, my son; for, remember, that
though joy is doubled by being partaken, grief
is lessened by being shared&mdash;and woe robbed of
half its bitterness."</p>

<p>"I have little to confess, father. I was weak
and foolish; but Elvira&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And are you astonished at a woman's fickleness?
Light as the eider down, and unstable as
the changing wind, inconstancy is natural to
the sex&mdash;they crave incessantly for novelty;&mdash;and
as vanity is their only real passion, if that
be gratified they ask no more."</p>

<p>"And has not Elvira's vanity been gratified
even to satiety? Have I not idolized, worshipped
her? Was it not my power that made
her what she is? And is this my reward?
To be scorned, deserted, laughed at, and for
what? A stranger!&mdash;a boy!&mdash;my prisoner!"</p>

<p>"Whom do you mean?" asked the friar.</p>

<p>"Prince Ferdinand," returned Edmund.</p>

<p>"Impossible!" cried Father Morris, starting
with well-feigned astonishment. "Elvira
cannot, surely, love Prince Ferdinand! And
yet, now I recollect, I saw her talking to
him, even now, with an appearance of deep interest,
when I passed through her splendid
chambers."</p>

<p>"Damnation!" exclaimed Lord Edmund vehemently,
driven to distraction by this speech;
for, strange to tell, though we may be certain of
the reality of our own sufferings, they always
seem to come with double poignancy when we
hear them related by another.</p>

<p>"Calm yourself, my son," said Father Morris
in his silky tones, eyeing him with about
as much compassion as an angler feels for the
writhing of a worm upon his hook. "These
bursts of passion are unworthy of you."</p>

<p>"Oh, father!" cried Edmund, softened almost
into tears, "you know not how I loved that woman.
Your grave, serious feelings, disciplined
by the restraint of a cloister, mortified by your
renunciation of all earthly pleasures, can form no
idea of the depth and fierceness of mine. Your
passions, father, are dead within you; subdued
by holy penitence to calmness; but mine rage
with the fury of a volcano, and destroy me! O
that my fond attachment, my long devoted services,
my adoration, should be thus rewarded.
Yes&mdash;my adoration, for I have adored her,
father! I worshipped her like a goddess; and
though I doted on her charms, and would have
endured unheard-of torments to have been blest
with their possession, yet, did I not sacrifice
my hopes?&mdash;did I not relinquish the treasure
when just within my grasp, because her happiness
was dearer to me than my own? And
now to see her lavish her favours on that boy!
She smiled upon him, father, and he dared to
take her hand and press it to his lips. I saw
him kiss it, not with the calm respect of a
kneeling subject, but with the fervour, the impassioned
ardour of a lover; and then he looked
at her&mdash;curses on the thought!&mdash;and she did
not reprove; but, casting down her eyes, softly
blushed consent. Damnation! I cannot endure
it."</p>

<p>"Passion, my son, entails its own punishment.
You see every thing with a jaundiced eye.
Elvira's nature is gentle and yielding; she
feared to hurt his feelings by her harshness.
'Tis but the natural consequence of that very
softness you so often have admired. Why
should you quarrel with it now? 'tis still the
same that charmed you, save that now it is extended
to another, and will be soon, no doubt,
to all the world. Elvira has been educated in
retirement, and, seeing only yourself and Edric,
you thought her conduct was the effect of partiality
for you, when it was in fact but her natural
manner. She is now upon a larger theatre;
and you must expect to see myriads of kneeling
victims worship her beauty, and pay homage at
her feet! And do you suppose she will be displeased
at their attention? No; she is far too
gentle; she has no firmness; and the same submission
she now pays to you, she will, if you
offend her, easily transfer to another. She is
not formed to govern; she would obey and be
happy; but the weight of government would
overwhelm her if she were left alone to sustain
it. Shake off, then, these selfish feelings, and be
again yourself. You have often said, you only
wished her happiness; and if that be the case,
even if she should really love Prince Ferdinand,
you ought to rejoice to see her in his arms."</p>

<p>"Sooner would I perish, sooner would I
involve all in one universal ruin! But it is impossible;
she scarcely knows him."</p>

<p>"And if it were so, still you would be wrong
to blame Elvira for what, in fact, she cannot
help. Her yielding softness is the defect of her
character."</p>

<p>"Fool that I was, that very softness caught
me, and my fond heart fell captive to its chains.
But it was folly, infatuation! I see my error;
Rosabella has more character. She <i>can</i> love."</p>

<p>Lord Edmund crossed his arms upon his
breast and was soon lost in a <i>reverie</i>, which
Father Morris was careful not to interrupt, but
which was broken by the approach of Trevors,
his lordship's aide-de-camp and secretary.</p>

<p>"What do you want?" asked Lord Edmund
sternly.</p>

<p>"I came to seek your Lordship. I feared
you were unwell, as I missed your Lordship
from the party."</p>

<p>"You missed me!" repeated Lord Edmund
bitterly. "<i>You</i> missed me! and did no one else
discover my absence? Was it so marked that my
servant could observe it, and yet no one else?"</p>

<p>"Did not the Queen inquire for Lord Edmund?"
asked Father Morris.</p>

<p>"I did not hear her Majesty," replied Trevors.</p>

<p>"How was she engaged? what was she doing?"
demanded Lord Edmund.</p>

<p>"She was sitting, talking to Prince Ferdinand,
my Lord."</p>

<p>Lord Edmund gnashed his teeth together,
grinding them with fury, and rushed back to
the house without speaking, whilst Trevors followed
at an humble distance.</p>

<p>"He has it," cried Father Morris triumphantly&mdash;"he
has it, and he is mine for ever."</p>

<p>Several days elapsed from this period before
Elvira again saw Lord Edmund. She was surprised
at his absence; as indeed he was so interwoven
in her schemes and plans, that nothing
went on well without him.</p>

<p>"Will your Majesty have the goodness to
affix the royal seal to this ordinance?" asked
Lord Gustavus one morning.</p>

<p>"I don't know," replied Elvira. "I can't
tell what to do. I wish Lord Edmund were
here."</p>

<p>"He may soon be sent for," said Lord Gustavus
pompously. "Though, with all due deference
to your Majesty's better judgment, it
does not appear to me that his presence is exactly
requisite."</p>

<p>Lord Edmund, however, was summoned,
and he came. But oh! how changed since
Elvira had seen him last! His face looked pale
and thin, his cheeks were sunken, and his eyes
hollow and heavy, whilst his deep voice sounded
hoarse and unnatural. Passion had passed
through his soul, and withered as it went.
Elvira's heart smote her as she gazed upon
him.</p>

<p>"You have been ill, Edmund!" said she, in
tones of melting softness. "Why was I not
informed? Surely you could not think I would
willingly neglect you? Could you judge so
harshly of me?"</p>

<p>The firm breast of Edmund softened as she
spoke, and tears swam in his eyes as he struggled
to reply with calmness&mdash;yes, tears; the
brave, the warlike Edmund, whose strength of
mind and firmness had resisted unequalled dangers,
now trembled before a woman.</p>

<p>"You must have some advice," continued
Elvira. "Dr. Coleman, Dr. Hardman, can you
not prescribe for your patient?"</p>

<p>"His Lordship appears feverish," said Dr.
Coleman. "No doubt he has rested ill."</p>

<p>"Yes&mdash;yes," rejoined Dr. Hardman, with a
malignant smile. "His Lordship's eyes betray
his want of rest."</p>

<p>"I have been slightly indisposed," said
Lord Edmund, rallying his spirits to speak:
"but I am better. Is there any thing in
which my services can be useful to your Majesty?"</p>

<p>"Her Majesty wishes you to inspect this
bill," replied Lord Gustavus solemnly, "before
she gives it her royal assent."</p>

<p>Lord Edmund's eyes sparkled. "Then she
still thinks my opinion of importance," thought
he.</p>

<p>"Lord Edmund's illness, I hope, is passed,"
said Dr. Hardman maliciously; "for he certainly
looks better even since he came into the
room."</p>

<p>Lord Edmund was better; a sudden revulsion
of feeling had taken place within him, and
hope was again illumined in his bosom. Passion
again rushed through his soul. "She
must, she shall, be mine," thought he, whilst
fire flashed from his eyes. "The hated law
shall be repealed. Difficulties only increase the
value of the prize, and they vanish before a
determined spirit. What! shall I, before
whose arm whole nations have fallen vanquished,
shrink like a coward from the first trouble
that assails me! Oh, no! I will not be so
weak; opposition shall only animate my courage.
Treasures would be scarcely worth acceptance
if they lay beneath one's feet&mdash;a
brave man spurns an easy victory! I will
exert my powers, and Elvira shall be mine."</p>

<p>Father Morris was at the levee, and he
watched with anxious eyes the fluctuations in
Edmund's expressive countenance. "Perdition
seize her beauty!" muttered he; "with
one look she undoes whole months of labour.
But he shall yet be mine&mdash;Cheops has sworn
he shall,&mdash;and Rosabella shall be Queen.
Be the Mummy mortal or fiend, he is resistless;
he has unbounded power over the human
heart, and what he wills must be accomplished."</p>

<p>Some weeks elapsed, during which Lord
Edmund, restored to his former influence in the
government, laboured assiduously to prepare
the minds of the people for abolishing the law
that prevented the marriage of the Queen.
With the greatest care he endeavoured to make
Elvira popular. For this purpose he persuaded
her to remit those burthens that weighed most
heavily upon the people, replacing them by
taxes levied in a more indirect way; for the
mass of a population seldom grumbles at
taxation, unless it see the trifles for which it
pays: men do not regard the giving double the
real value of a commodity, a tenth part so
much, as paying even a small direct sum for
the use of any of the common necessaries
of life.</p>

<p>By judiciously acting upon this principle,
Edmund made himself adored; and whispers
even were buzzed about, lamenting that he was
not King. This was the point to which Edmund
had wished to bring the people; and
he pursued his plan by supporting the poor
against the rich, and rigorously punishing the
magistrates or officers of justice who attempted
to oppress the people. The multitude generally
hate those entrusted with the execution of
the laws, perhaps upon the same principle
as the bleeding culprit abhors the sight of the
whip that has flogged him; and their natural
conceit and presumption were flattered by the
attention paid to their complaints; till, by his
judicious management, Lord Edmund found
that he had obtained the entire devotion of the
mob, and could wield them at his pleasure.</p>

<p>Time rolled on, and winter had already
wrapped its frozen mantle round the world,
when one day Father Morris abruptly entered
the apartment of Rosabella. "It is all over,"
cried he, as he threw himself in despair upon a
couch. "Edmund has obtained the consent
of the people for the Queen to marry, and no
doubt in a few weeks he will be the husband
of Elvira!"</p>

<p>"The husband of Elvira!" cried Rosabella,
her eyes flashing fire, and her cheeks glowing,
whilst every fibre quivered with agitation, and
her fine features bespoke the tremendous passions
of a demon. "Then may everlasting
misery attend the fiend that has deceived us;
that has led us on step by step to our destruction,
and is perhaps even now mocking our
despair! Yes, yes," continued she, as the
fiendish laugh of Cheops rang in her ears, and
his detested form stood again before her,&mdash;"I
expected this; you come to enjoy your
triumph and mock our credulity; but know,
this arm is yet powerful enough to revenge
my wrongs; it shall annihilate my rival; and
thou, wretch! detested hideous wretch! thou
too shalt feel its vengeance!"</p>

<p>"This to your friend!" said Cheops with a
bitter smile: "fie! fie! How blind is human
reason when the passions intervene!&mdash;all is for
the best&mdash;have patience; wait a little, and my
promises will yet be accomplished."</p>

<p>"If Elvira had died," murmured Father
Morris, a dark frown gathering upon his
brow.</p>

<p>"You would not be now alive," said the
Mummy. "But fear not, all is as you can
wish."</p>

<p>"As we can wish?" cried Rosabella indignantly.</p>

<p>"Yes, as you can wish," returned Cheops
firmly. "Edmund has obtained permission
for Elvira to marry any natural born subject
of the realm; but she will not wed him, for she
loves another, and that other is a foreigner.
He will be enraged at her refusal, and jealousy
will alienate him from her cause. He will then
naturally espouse that of her rival from ambition
and revenge. Rosabella will be Queen,
and the law which prevented the marriage of
the Sovereign being abolished, Edmund will
become her husband&mdash;if not from love, at least
from ambition."</p>

<p>"O Cheops! 'tis useless to resist&mdash;we are thy
slaves,&mdash;do with us as thou wilt."</p>

<p>"Say rather you are slaves of your own
passions," murmured the Mummy; and they
parted.</p>

<p>It was a clear frosty day in November, when
Elvira, scarcely knowing why, wandered into
the garden belonging to her splendid palace of
Somerset House; and, entering a pavilion, reclined
upon a couch placed opposite to a window
that commanded a view of the river. The
pavilion was decorated with the utmost taste.
Its windows, opening to the ground, were
shaded with curtains of gossamer net, lined
with pink; the walls were beautifully painted,
and divided into panels by highly ornamented
columns; books, drawings, and musical instruments,
were scattered around; whilst tripods,
supporting vases filled with the rarest exotic
flowers, shed sweet fragrance through the air;
and the carpet was so soft and thick, that it
felt like moss beneath the feet.</p>

<p>Even in this temple of luxury, however, its
fair possessor was not happy. She sighed as
she surveyed the gorgeous refinement around
her, and felt forcibly the insufficiency of greatness.
Listlessly she turned her eyes upon the
figures painted upon the walls: they represented
the loves of Mars and Venus: they
were exquisitely painted: the artist had given
to the life the tender modesty of the goddess,
and the ardent passion of her lover. Elvira
gazed upon his glowing countenance and sparkling
eyes; and then, looking down, sighed yet
more heavily than before.</p>

<p>She dismissed her attendants, retaining only
Emma; and long her eyes were fixed on vacancy,
and her mind absorbed in mournful contemplations;
when suddenly she was startled
by the entrance of a page, and the appearance
of Lord Edmund Montagu, who followed almost
at the moment of the page's repeating
his name: his countenance beaming joy, and
hope dancing in his eyes.</p>

<p>"Oh, Elvira!" he cried, "you are now mine&mdash;mine
for ever! The people permit you to
marry. The lords in council have signed the
law; the people have proclaimed it with acclamations.
You are free! you are no longer
debarred from the inestimable pleasures of
domestic life&mdash;you are independent&mdash;you may
marry any natural born subject of the realm,
and will you now be mine?"</p>

<p>"And so relinquish my independence the
moment I obtain it," said Elvira, smiling.</p>

<p>"Oh, my loved! my adored Elvira! consent
to make me happy! Believe me you shall be
free, and still as much a Queen as at this
moment."</p>

<p>"Edmund!" said Elvira seriously, "you
deserve more than I can give you; for I will
not insult you by supposing you would be satisfied
with the possession of my crown without
my heart;&mdash;and that it is not in my power to
bestow."</p>

<p>"My dearest Elvira, you but fancy this. I
know your feelings are warm, your sensibility
acute, and your generosity unbounded&mdash;can
you then want a heart?"</p>

<p>"Alas, no! but I have discovered I possess
one, only in time to know also that I have
given it to another."</p>

<p>"And is that other a youth and a stranger?"
asked her lover, gasping for breath.</p>

<p>"He is," replied Elvira, blushing, and looking
down.</p>

<p>"Then, indeed, I am wretched!" cried Lord
Edmund; and, striking his clenched hand vehemently
against his forehead, he darted out of
the room.</p>

<p>Elvira gazed after him with a feeling almost
amounting to horror. Terrified at the strength
of the passions she had awakened, she appeared
stupefied, and stood looking like a child who
had accidentally cut the string which confined
the wheels of some powerful machinery, on hearing
its fearful clatter above its head.</p>

<p>"Oh, madam, madam!" cried Emma, wringing
her hands, "what will become of us? Your
Majesty has offended Lord Edmund for ever,
and for that wretch, who, I am certain, is a
fiend incarnate!"</p>

<p>"Peace, Emma!" said Elvira, "you forget
my rank&mdash;I will not be dictated to."</p>

<p>"Pardon me, dear madam, you know I love
you, and&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I know, also, that you presume upon my
love. Begone!"</p>

<p>Emma obeyed, and Elvira was left alone.</p>

<p>Dreadfully agitated, and quite unable to
compose herself or arrange the chaos of her
thoughts, she walked to the windows of the
pavilion, and, opening one of them, looked out
upon the gardens. It is already said that these
delightful grounds were thrown open to the
public; but, in consequence of the ease with
which they might be enjoyed, a few half-pay
officers, attorneys without clients, physicians
without patients, clergymen looking out for
livings, hissed players, disappointed authors and
discarded servants, alone strolled through their
romantic walks, and paused occasionally to gaze
upon the beautiful works of art with which
they were decorated. The English were now
decidedly the first sculptors in the world. Chemical
preparations alone being used to supply
light and heat, smoke was unknown, and the
atmosphere being no longer thick and cloudy,
marble bore exposure to it without material
injury. Besides this, perhaps no nation in the
world produced more beautiful models of male
and female beauty than England; and now that
the women had long thrown off those deformers
of the human shape ycleped stays, their forms
developed themselves into perfect symmetry.
Elvira, however, thought not of the gardens,
nor of the works of art they contained; yet as
she stood at the window, though absorbed in
her own reflections, her eyes rested upon the
exquisite statues before her. The inanimate
marble seemed endowed with soul and spirit,
whilst the graceful forms it represented seemed
to pause only for a moment, and to be ready
to start again into life and action after a short
repose&mdash;in short, they appeared to breathe;
and the spectator felt almost surprised, when
his eye had turned from them, to find them
still in the same attitude when he looked
again.</p>

<p>The river was frozen, and persons glided
along it in glittering <i>traineaux</i>, or skated
gracefully with infinite variety of movement;
whilst, every now and then, a steam-percussion-moveable
bridge shot across the stream, loaded
with goods and passengers, collapsing again the
instant its burthen was safely landed on the
other side.</p>

<p>Pleased with the busy scene around her,
Elvira stood and gazed, till half her troubles
seemed to vanish, and a pleasing train of
thought crept over her mind. "What have I
done?" thought she,&mdash;"and yet I do not repent.&mdash;No,
no! I could not act otherwise.
The noble and devoted love of Edmund deserved
my warmest gratitude, and I have done
right to own the truth to him, painful as it
has been to me to do so, rather than torture
his generous bosom by exciting hopes I never
meant to realize. Yes, I have done right," repeated
she aloud; "and I am perfectly satisfied
with my conduct."</p>

<p>"Then you have reason to be contented,"
said the deep voice of Cheops, immediately
behind her; "for few indeed are the mortals
that can say so with justice!"</p>

<p>The solemn tones of the Mummy sank
like a foreboding of evil upon the heart of
Elvira, and she shuddered involuntarily.</p>

<p>"You think I have done wrong then?"
said she.</p>

<p>"I did not say that," returned he calmly.&mdash;"But
had I not known the sex, I might perchance
have felt surprised that you should
avow, unasked for, a secret to Lord Edmund,
which you have sedulously endeavoured to keep
concealed even from me."</p>

<p>"Alas," cried Elvira, "my motives&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Were those of a woman," interrupted
Cheops; "a being fated to work mischief. I
do not blame you; for you have only acted
according to your natural instinct."</p>

<p>"What do you mean?" asked Elvira, turning
pale and trembling, for the words of the
Mummy created an undefinable dread upon
her mind.</p>

<p>"Listen!" said Cheops, "and I will tell
you.&mdash;If you had confided your secret to me, it
would have produced good, for I should have
aided your passions, and I cannot give assistance
unless it be required;&mdash;but by telling it
to Lord Edmund you have produced evil, for
he mistakes your lover for another, and the
consequences may be fatal. Thus, it is clear
that you could not have done otherwise than
as you have; for when was a woman known to
hesitate between good and evil, and not choose
the latter?"</p>

<p>"Mistakes my lover for another!" exclaimed
Elvira. "For God's sake, explain
yourself!"</p>

<p>"He thinks you meant Prince Ferdinand,"
said the Mummy coldly, "and he is now seeking
him in order to destroy him."</p>

<p>"Oh, God!&mdash;Oh, God!" cried Elvira in the
bitterest agony: "what will become of me?
where is Edmund! Let me fly to implore him
to spare the prince!"</p>

<p>"It does not appear to me," said Cheops
still more calmly, "that your endeavours to
preserve him are at all likely to produce the
effect you wish; for, as Lord Edmund already
believes you love the prince, and as that belief
is the reason of his hatred, your showing
a violent anxiety for his welfare does not appear
to me exactly the mode most calculated to
destroy his suspicions."</p>

<p>"True! true!" cried Elvira, wringing her
hands. "Alas! alas! what will become of
me?" whilst, as she spoke, a piercing cry rang
in her ears, and a sudden rush of all the persons
in the gardens took place towards one
particular spot. Scarcely knowing what she did,
Elvira followed the crowd, and shrieked with
indescribable terror as she heard the clashing
of swords. Pale and trembling, she hurried
forward, and arrived just as Prince Ferdinand,
uttering a deep groan, fell beneath the sword of
Lord Edmund. Elvira screamed, and throwing
herself upon the body, endeavoured in vain
to revive it, quite forgetting in the excess of
her agitation the crowd that surrounded her,
and the interpretation that might be put upon
her behaviour. One sole idea occupied her
mind, and chilled it with horror: it was, that
her imprudence had most probably deprived a
fellow-creature of existence.</p>

<p>Lord Edmund in the mean time stood in
statue-like insensibility, gazing upon her with
feelings of unutterable anguish. Her grief,
her violent emotion, seemed to confirm the passion
she had avowed; and if she loved, his
exertions had only paved the way for the success
of his rival. The thought was madness.
Lord Edmund gnashed his teeth, his countenance
changed, blood gushed in torrents from
his side, for he too was wounded, and he leant
fainting against a tree.</p>

<p>The confusion that now prevailed was indescribable.
It was high treason to draw a sword
in the precincts of the royal palace; and the
guards, who were instantly assembled, took the
offenders into custody. They were both incapable
of offering any resistance, and they were
hurried away to prison amidst the exclamations
of the mob. Elvira had fainted, and she was
carried back to the palace; whilst the whispered
speculations of the crowd, upon the strangeness
of the scene, arose in half-stifled murmurs like
the distant roar of ocean. The attention of
the spectators, however, was soon fixed upon
the poor old Duke of Cornwall. He had stood
bending forwards&mdash;his hands clasped, and his
eyes riveted upon his daughter during the
whole of her ineffectual attempts to revive
the prince. The old man seemed turned to
stone: he neither moved, nor spoke; his glassy
eyes were set, and his livid lips slightly quivered;
at last he uttered a faint groan, and fell
senseless into the arms of his attendants in a
fit of apoplexy. The spectators thought him
dead, and fancied his heart had broken, on discovering
this unexpected weakness on the part
of his adored daughter.</p>

<p>Every one was powerfully affected, and
every one seemed bursting to speak; though no
one knew exactly what he might venture to
say. Lord Gustavus looked stern, Lord Maysworth
important, and Dr. Hardman sly; whilst
the Lords Noodle and Doodle shook their
little heads, till they seemed in imminent danger
of becoming separated from their bodies.
Rosabella's heart alone swelled with rapture,
and her eyes beamed with ill-concealed triumph.</p>

<p>"The Mummy was right," thought she;&mdash;"Elvira
must fall, and Edmund will be mine."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></h3>


<p>The evening of the day on which Prince
Ferdinand and Lord Edmund were committed
to prison, Sir Ambrose, as he was writing in his
study, was startled by a loud scream; and flying
to the spot from whence it proceeded, he found
Clara lying upon the ground insensible, whilst
Abelard was stooping over her, and endeavouring
to render her some assistance.</p>

<p>"Good God!" cried Sir Ambrose, "what
is the matter?"</p>

<p>"It is all owing to the carelessness of the
domestic assistants at the next door," replied
Abelard. "No. 7, is just come back from
Brighton; and one of the assistants being occupied
in making observations on the sky, instead
of minding what he was doing, pushed the house
a little on one side as it was slipping into the
sockets; and poking their horizontal spout
through our library window, they have knocked
down this shelf of books, and frightened poor
Miss Clara out of her wits."</p>

<p>"Stupid idiots," said the baronet; "they
might have killed her if the books had fallen
upon her."</p>

<p>"I beg your pardon, Sir Ambrose," said the
culprit, putting his head through the window;
"I do not conceive Miss Montagu would
have been injured even if the books had fallen
upon her. The weight of her body, I should
apprehend, must be nearly equivalent to that
of the books; consequently, the resistance she
was capable of opposing, being fully equal to
the blow she would have received, the effect
must have been neutralized."</p>

<p>"Confound your explanations!" said Sir
Ambrose, whose anger was increased tenfold
by this speech; "you've killed my niece, and
now you want to drive me distracted. Clara,
my dear Clara! open your eyes, my love;
are you hurt?"</p>

<p>"Oh, my dear uncle!" sighed Clara, "Edmund
is in prison, and he certainly will be
beheaded."</p>

<p>"In prison, child! you must be dreaming."</p>

<p>"Indeed I am not, uncle: I heard the men
who are placing the adjoining house say so.
He has fought with Prince Ferdinand in the
palace garden."</p>

<p>"My boy, my darling boy!" cried Sir Ambrose,
and rushed out of the room in despair.</p>

<p>"Follow him, for Heaven's sake, follow him,
Abelard," said Clara. The worthy butler
obeyed, wringing his hands, and lifting his
eyes up to heaven; whilst Clara remained perfectly
motionless, and apparently absorbed in
thought.</p>

<p>"I will save him," said she after a short
pause, "or perish in the attempt."</p>

<p>In the bitterest anguish of mind, Sir Ambrose
hastened to the palace; but he was refused
admittance, as he was informed the
Queen was in a high fever. He inquired for
his friend the duke: he too was invisible, his
late attack having placed his life in imminent
danger. Dr. Coleman was in attendance on
the Queen; and the lords of the council, though
they affected to sympathize with the unfortunate
father, evidently, though covertly, rejoiced
at the disgrace of their most powerful
rival. Repulsed on every side, Sir Ambrose
now proceeded to the prison; but here also
he was refused admittance, and sadly and
slowly he returned home in despair, resting
his sole remaining hopes upon the advice and
assistance of Father Morris, upon whose gigantic
strength of mind he was accustomed implicitly
to rely in all the impotency of age and
misery.</p>

<p>The prison to which Ferdinand and Lord
Edmund had been conveyed was situated in
a close disagreeable part of the city of London,
called Kensington. It had been formerly a
palace, and had been surrounded by a noble
park miscalled a garden. The devastating
hand of improvement had however, as usual,
waged war against all the sublimer charms of
nature, and the majestic beauties of Kensington
fell victims to its fury. Narrow, unwholesome
streets now rose where spreading oaks had
once stretched forth their venerable arms, and
verdant lawns had become dirty causeways;
whilst ponds were turned to water pipes, and
Jacob's well kept clean a common sewer. As
Ferdinand and Edmund, however, had never
seen Kensington in its pristine glories, they
could not now regret the change: and it was
to them neither more nor less than a place of
confinement, a spot very few people show any
manifest relish for.</p>

<p>Immediately upon their arrival, Prince Ferdinand
and Lord Edmund had their wounds
dressed by the automaton steam surgeon belonging
to the prison, which, being properly
arranged and wound up, staunched the blood,
spread the plasters, and affixed the bandages
with as much skill as though it had done nothing
but walk a hospital all its life. As soon
as these operations were performed, the prisoners
were locked up in separate cells, and left
to meditate upon their situations.</p>

<p>"Good Heavens!" cried Ferdinand, looking
round with astonishment at the elegant apartment
he was shown into, adorned with a painted
velvet carpet, silk curtains, and chairs and
tables inlaid with brass and ivory; whilst a
sumptuous canopy hung over a bed of down
on one side, and divers little Cupids supported
lights, held back curtains, and performed numerous
other useful offices in different corners.
"Can this be a prison? Neither Paris nor
Vienna possess palaces half so splendid!"</p>

<p>The surprise of Ferdinand was natural, as he
was still almost a stranger in England, and did
not know that our happy island had been long
blest with a race of people who thought prisons
should be made agreeable residences, and had
gone on improving them till they had ended in
making them temples of luxury. In spite of
all the conveniences of his prison, however,
Ferdinand was perfectly wretched. He could
not imagine what reason Lord Edmund had
had for fastening a quarrel upon him; for, as
his passion for Elvira, though violent, had been
quite as evanescent as that he had formerly
entertained for Rosabella, he had not the least
idea of having excited Lord Edmund's jealousy.
Fatigued at length with forming fruitless conjectures,
he threw himself upon his bed of
down, and soon lost the remembrance of his
cares in a refreshing slumber.</p>

<p>In the mean time, Clara was revolving in her
mind the best method of putting in practice
a wild scheme that she had formed, of visiting
Prince Ferdinand in prison. She did
not dare confide her plan to any one, for she
feared that anybody she might consult would
either laugh at her folly or betray her secret.
Besides, to obtain any assistance, she must give
some motive for her conduct; and as Clara did
not exactly know her own reasons for thus
acting, it was quite impossible she could make
out a case to satisfy another. To go, however,
she was determined; and when the family of
her uncle were all retired, she wrapped herself
in a large mantle, and with some difficulty contrived
to reach the street. The night was cold
and dark; a thick mist fell, and Clara seemed
chilled to the heart; yet a feeling she could not
account for, urged her on. Clara was young
and romantic; she loved Prince Ferdinand,
and she fancied him in danger. How she was
to save him she knew not, and yet it was solely
the hope of saving him that urged her forward.</p>

<p>She had discovered he was confined at Kensington,
and thither she bent her steps:&mdash;but
as she passed the palace, she found a crowd of
balloons floating around it, laden with persons
whose anxiety respecting the Queen had kept
them waiting, and induced them to besiege her
door personally with their inquiries; whilst the
lighted flambeaux, belonging to these aërial vehicles,
flashed brightly in the air, and looked
like a multitude of dancing stars, as they rapidly
crossed and recrossed each other above
her head.</p>

<p>This little incident completed poor Clara's
bewilderment; and, terrified lest she should be
seen and recognized, she hurried on without
exactly knowing where she was going, till, perplexed
by the different appearance the streets
seemed to assume in the darkness, and her own
fears, she found to her unspeakable dismay
that she had lost her road. In the greatest agitation
and distress, she now wandered to and
fro, whilst her embarrassment was increased
every moment by the ill-timed raillery of the
passers by. At last, she became quite surrounded
by a group of people, who assailed
her with so many questions and jokes, that the
poor girl, quite overpowered, stopped short,
and burst into tears.</p>

<p>"Och! and what are ye about to be after
disturbing a poor young cratur like that,"
cried the well-known voice of Father Murphy,
as the friar's portly figure was seen bustling
through the mob. "What are ye after there?
Don't you see the poor thing has lost her way
in the darkness; and if ye bother her so, how
d'ye think she'll ever be able to find it?"</p>

<p>Never did any music sound so harmoniously
in Clara's ears, as the father's rich deep brogue;
and darting forwards she threw herself at his
feet, and, clasping her arms round his knees,
she exclaimed&mdash;"Oh! save me! I am Clara!
Clara Montagu!"</p>

<p>"Clara!" cried Father Murphy, in the utmost
astonishment. "Clara! why, what in
the name of Heaven brings you out, child, at
this hour of the night?"</p>

<p>"Oh! don't ask me, father," returned Clara,
gasping for breath; "that is, I will tell you
presently. But take me away; for the love
of the blessed Virgin, save me from these
men!"</p>

<p>"Come here, my child," said the Father,
drawing her arm within his own, and walking
away with her; "let us lave these people. And
now," continued he, when they were already at
some distance from the crowd, "you must tell
me, child, what brings ye here?"</p>

<p>This question, though it was a very natural
one for the friar to ask, was beyond Clara's
power to answer. In fact, she trembled so
dreadfully that she could scarcely stand; and
when she attempted to speak, her teeth chattered
in her head so violently, that she could
not articulate a syllable. "Poor thing," muttered
the compassionate priest, after waiting a
few minutes in vain for an answer, "she'll be
better presently."</p>

<p>All now was dark, and they walked slowly
on some paces without speaking, when four
bright flashes from a neighbouring clock announced
the completion of some hour, and the
next instant the solemn deep-toned bell distinctly
pronounced the word "one," and then
all again was silent.</p>

<p>"I had no fancy it was so late," said the
father, whose disposition was naturally too
cheerful to let him ever remain long silent.</p>

<p>"Did you think it was one o'clock, Clara?
I little thought I should ever be wandering
with you, dear, in the streets at such a time of
night. I can't help fancying it's all a dream,
any how: so speak, darling, if you can, and tell
me all about it."</p>

<p>Clara felt still more faint, and only replied
by clinging yet more firmly to the friar's arm.
Father Murphy was frightened and thought
she was going to die.&mdash;"Oh murther!" cried
he, "what will I do? she brathing her last,
sweet cratur, and nobody by to help her, and
I not knowing how to comfort her."</p>

<p>The delicate form of Clara seemed every
instant to become more heavy, as she still clung
almost unconsciously to the friar's arm, and
gasped feebly for breath.</p>

<p>"Oh! what will I do? what will I do?" repeated
the poor father, looking eagerly around
for aid: all however was dark, and gloomy
and silent as the grave. Suddenly, however,
a bright meteor-like substance appeared at the
edge of the horizon, and the friar, to his unspeakable
transport, discovered it to be a patent
night fire-stage balloon. He hailed it, and in a
few moments it was hovering over their heads;
the accommodation ladder was let down, and
Clara and her companion having ascended to
the car, the balloon again rapidly sailed along.</p>

<p>"Where are we going?" asked Clara faintly.</p>

<p>"Och!" returned the friar, "and that's
what I never thought of asking, darling; but
Heaven be praised that ye are so much better
as to be able to bother yourself about it."</p>

<p>"We are going to Kensington, miss," said
the balloon conductor.</p>

<p>"Kensington!" repeated Clara, clapping her
hands together in transport&mdash;"thank God!"</p>

<p>"It's a very good thing to be thankful
any how," said the father; "but I own I
don't see why you should cry out in such rapture,
when you find we are going the wrong
road."</p>

<p>"Oh! no, no, father," returned Clara, "not
the wrong road; for Kensington is the goal
of all my wishes."</p>

<p>"Poor thing! she is certainly distracted,"
thought Father Murphy. "The loss of her
cousin has deprived her of her senses; but I
will let her take her own way; perhaps she'll
be better presently."</p>

<p>"Where will you like to be set down?"
asked the man.</p>

<p>"Near the prison," cried Clara eagerly.</p>

<p>"Near the prison!" repeated Father Murphy,
shrugging his shoulders. "Ay, ay, I was
right."</p>

<p>Not another word was spoken till the balloon
stopped and the passengers were set down: all
still was dark, save a land-light that gleamed
from the battlements of the prison, and showed
a tall, clumsy-looking figure that marched with
heavy, measured steps to and fro before the
gates, whilst at a little distance lay a party of
soldiers bivouacking. Clara shuddered as she
looked at them, and hastily turning away,
timidly approached the figure, and begged it
to let her into the prison. It continued its
march, but as it did not speak, she attempted
to pass by it.</p>

<p>"No admittance," said the figure, as she
touched it, in trying to reach the door.</p>

<p>"I implore you," cried Clara, wringing her
hands in agony.</p>

<p>The figure did not reply, but continued its
solemn tramp unmoved; its hollow steps falling
heavily upon the ear at regular intervals. Driven
to despair, Clara again endeavoured to
rush past it; but she was again repulsed as
the figure reiterated its monotonous "No
admittance!" Clara threw herself upon her
knees before it in agony.</p>

<p>"Clara! Clara dear!" cried Father Murphy,
attempting to raise her, "you are certainly
quite beside yourself; don't you see it is an
automaton? nothing can stop it but the proper
check-string, and that is in that little guard
house, round which you see the soldiers lying."</p>

<p>"Then <i>they</i> can admit me," cried Clara
wildly, "they <i>are men</i>, and will surely listen
to me:" then before the father could stop her,
she flew towards them, and throwing herself at
the feet of the commanding officer, implored
his pity. The officer was a man of feeling,
and, touched with compassion at her evident anguish,
had promised to grant her petition ere
Father Murphy, who was too fat to move with
much agility, could reach them. "Thank you!
thank you!" cried Clara, kissing the officer's
hand. "God bless you!"</p>

<p>The officer smiled at her warmth. "Wait
here a little," said he: "I will soon return and
admit you, if I obtain permission; but State
Prisoners are ordered to be guarded so closely,
that I dare not take any step respecting them,
without consulting the governor."</p>

<p>"So then you'll get in after all," said Father
Murphy, who had approached near enough to
hear this last speech. "Well, well, what a
world this is we live in! Here have been
dukes and princes begging for admission unsuccessfully,
and yet a little saucy girl, only
because she happens to be half distracted, is
let in at the very first word."</p>

<p>Clara did not reply; but wrapping herself in
her cloak, sate down on a large stone near the
gates to wait the officer's return. The solemn
automaton had been stopped for a moment to
allow him to pass, but it had now resumed its
slow measured step, and Clara's heart sickened
at the sound. The mist cleared away, and
the night became fine, though cold, whilst the
moon having struggled through the clouds that
rapidly scudded across the sky, shed her pale
feeble light upon the scene. Clara shuddered
as she looked at the dark heavy building behind
her, and, wrapping her cloak tighter round
her, fixed her eyes anxiously upon the sky,
watching the varied shapes assumed by the
clouds as they drifted along, and sighing heavily
as they passed.</p>

<p>"Now tell me, dear," said Father Murphy,
seating himself beside her, "what ye mane to
say to yere cousin when ye get in to see him.
Spake freely, for the devil a word the spalpeens
yonder shall hear of what ye're going to say, by
rason of their being all fast asleep."</p>

<p>"My cousin!" exclaimed Clara. "Who?
what?"</p>

<p>"Your cousin Edmund, that ye're come so
far to see," resumed the father.</p>

<p>"My cousin!" replied Clara; "Oh! ay,
true. It was my cousin that fought with him,
you know. But I don't want to see my cousin."</p>

<p>"Not want to see your cousin!" reiterated
Father Murphy, his eyes almost starting from
his head in the excess of his astonishment.
"Why did you come here then?"</p>

<p>"To&mdash;to see Prince Ferdinand," said Clara
in a faltering voice, looking down, and blushing.</p>

<p>Father Murphy's astonishment was now far
too great for words, and he could only look at
her in speechless horror as he revolved some
plan in his mind for getting her quietly back to
her friends.</p>

<p>"How wild she looks!" thought he: "she
must be put in confinement; there is no saying
to what lengths, so strange a delusion may carry
her."</p>

<p>Whilst the poor father was thus cogitating
and repeating to himself divers coaxing forms
of words, by the help of which he hoped to
persuade her to return, the automaton again
stopped, and, the prison door flying open, the
officer beckoned Clara to advance. She flew
towards him. "Clara! Clara dear!" said
Father Murphy, "had you not better go
home?" But Clara heard him not; she was
already in the prison; the doors had closed,
and the automaton sentinel had again resumed
his measured, beaten track.</p>

<p>"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried the unhappy
Father Murphy, "what will I do? How will
I get her out? Poor Sir Ambrose&mdash;he will
break his heart. I dare say he knows nothing
about it. These kind of fits always come on
suddenly."</p>

<p>Thus lamenting, the worthy father walked
up and down before the prison in a state of
pitiable distress, till a bright thought flashed
across his mind, and he set off as fast as his
trembling limbs could carry him to put it in
execution.</p>

<p>In the mean time Clara had followed the
officer into the prison, and her heart beat faster
as she advanced, for her undertaking now appeared
to her in a new light, and she trembled
as she thought of the interpretation the Prince
might put upon her boldness. It was, however,
too late to repent; she had not even time
for hesitation. The officer is already at the
door, the bolts are withdrawn, and Clara finds
herself in the presence of Ferdinand. Confused
and horror-struck at what she had done,
she, however, scarcely knew where she was,
every thing seemed to swim before her eyes,
and, gasping for breath, she caught firm hold of
the door-way for support.</p>

<p>For some moments, Ferdinand was not aware
of her presence, as he sat gloomily resting his
head upon his hand, his elbow supported by
a table, upon which lay a variety of papers,
whilst Hans, a favourite servant, who had followed
him from Germany, stood beside him.</p>

<p>Awed by his abstraction, and abashed by the
presumption she had been guilty of, in intruding,
unsolicited, upon his presence, Clara still
stood irresolute, fearing alike to advance or to
recede, till the officer, impatient at her delay,
cried, in a loud voice&mdash;</p>

<p>"Walk in, if you please, Ma'am, that I may
re-lock the door. I shall return to let you out
in an hour."</p>

<p>The sound of the officer's voice caught the
attention of Ferdinand, and he looked towards
the door-way, from the shade of which the
trembling Clara was now forced to advance.</p>

<p>"Miss Montagu," cried Prince Ferdinand,
who had seen her at one of Elvira's parties, and
had thought her so pretty as to inquire her
name,&mdash;"this is an unhoped-for pleasure; I
did not expect this."</p>

<p>"I came&mdash;I came&mdash;" stammered Clara: and
here she stopped short, for upon recollection she
really could not tell why she did come.</p>

<p>"I am delighted to see you," said the prince,
smiling, and taking her hand, "whatever
may be the cause that has procured me this
honour."</p>

<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;had&mdash;rather&mdash;sit&mdash;down," stammered
Clara, without having the least idea what
she was talking about.</p>

<p>"Well then, we will sit down," said Ferdinand:
and, gently placing her upon a chair, he
drew one to her side, and again took her hand.
His touch thrilled through Clara's whole
frame. She felt his ardent gaze upon her face,
and dreadfully agitated, fearing she knew not
what, she turned away from him, and tried to
withdraw her hand.</p>

<p>"I&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;believe&mdash;I must go," said
she.</p>

<p>"So soon," cried Ferdinand, again smiling,
for it was impossible to mistake the cause of
her confusion. "I thought the gaoler said he
should not come again for you in less than an
hour."</p>

<p>"Did he!" repeated Clara, quite unconscious
of what she said, and without daring to
look at him.</p>

<p>"My dear Miss Montagu, will you not bestow
one look upon me?" cried Ferdinand, in
his most insinuating tone, sinking upon one
knee before her, and gently encircling her slender
waist with his arm, as he turned her towards
him. Clara could not resist his imploring
eyes; her heart beat, she blushed, she trembled,
she looked upon the ground; when suddenly
Ferdinand uttered a faint cry, and started upon
his feet. Clara gazed at him with wonder, for
that countenance, so lately beaming with love
and tenderness, now seemed aghast with horror.
She followed the direction of his eyes, and beheld
in the door-way the giant form of Cheops;
whilst the Mummy's appalling laugh resounded
in his ears. Involuntarily Clara shuddered,
and hid her face in her hands.</p>

<p>"By the silver bow of Isis!" cried Cheops
tauntingly, "I admire your charity, Miss Montagu.
Why do you hide your face? But so
it is, true merit is always bashful, and the beneficent
spirit that prompted Clara Montagu to
visit the distressed, and even prefer a stranger
to her own cousin, makes her blush to avow her
goodness."</p>

<p>"Mercy! mercy!" cried Clara, falling at
his feet. "You know my heart, and I implore
your assistance."</p>

<p>"And you shall have it," returned Cheops.
"As for you," continued he, addressing the
prince; "what is your wish?"</p>

<p>"Deliver me from this prison, and make
Clara mine, and I will be your slave."</p>

<p>"It is well," said the Mummy. "Clara, you
must retire with me; this is no place for you.
As for you, prince, Lord Maysworth and Father
Murphy will be admitted to your presence
in the course of a few hours, to consult with
you respecting your defence. Follow their
advice, and fear nothing. Rely upon me, and
you shall be safe. Come, Clara! you must
return to the house of your uncle. He is
prepared to receive you, and will forgive your
absence, as Father Murphy will, ere we reach
him, have fully explained its cause: and Sir
Ambrose will overlook your folly, in consideration
of your youth. Adieu, Prince! we shall
meet again!"</p>

<p>The Mummy and Clara now withdrew, leaving
the prince's mind much relieved, as his
confidence in his new friend was unbounded;
whilst the discovery he had made of the devoted
love of Clara soothed his troubled spirit, and
robbed his confinement of half its bitterness.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></h3>


<p>In the mean time, Lord Edmund's mind had
been tortured by the bitterest anguish, and his
agitation, added to the pain of his wounds, had
produced a considerable degree of fever. The
conduct of Elvira, and the anxiety she had
evinced respecting the prince, seemed to confirm
his worst suspicions. "O God! O God!"
cried he, as he paced his prison in agony; "I
could have borne any thing but this&mdash;it is too,
too much. By Heaven! I could sell myself to
everlasting perdition to be revenged."</p>

<p>As he spoke, he heard the key of his dungeon
door grate in the lock, and he shuddered, for
he almost fancied some hideous spectre would
appear in answer to his call, and he felt indescribably
relieved when he heard the gentle,
insinuating tones of Father Morris. Sweet is
the voice of friendship to the disappointed spirit,
and soft falls the balm of consolation from
those we love, upon the wounded heart. Edmund's
bosom thus throbbed with transport
when he saw the reverend father, and, throwing
his arms round his neck, he sobbed like a child.</p>

<p>"My dear Edmund," said the priest, also
excessively affected, for he really loved Edmund,
"it breaks my heart to see you thus&mdash;cruel
Elvira!"</p>

<p>"Oh, blame her not, father!" exclaimed Edmund;
"I cannot bear that even you should
blame her. She is deceived&mdash;she is under the
influence of infatuation. We cannot control
our hearts, you know, father."</p>

<p>"But that she should be capable of loving
another, when your services, your devoted affection&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Alas! alas! father, love is not to be bought
by services. All she could give she has given;
I possess her friendship and esteem."</p>

<p>"And are you satisfied with those?"</p>

<p>"Satisfied! Oh heavens!"</p>

<p>"At any rate, I suppose you could bear to
see her married to Prince Ferdinand, if you
thought it would contribute to her happiness."</p>

<p>"Married to him!" cried Edmund, gnashing
his teeth in agony&mdash;"married to him!
Oh any thing but that: but I will never live to
see it."</p>

<p>"You are not likely," calmly returned the
priest; "for, as the state requires a victim, and
Elvira will certainly not resign her Endymion,
you will doubtless be sacrificed to save him."</p>

<p>"Hold, hold!" cried Edmund, driven to madness
by the thought; "do not dare to repeat
those cursed words; I could die to serve
her, but I will not be sacrificed. What! am I
to be made a tool, a child, an idiot?&mdash;destined
to labour for my rival, and denied even the
poor satisfaction of showing the extent of my
devotion? But I will not die so calmly; Elvira
shall not forget me&mdash;I will see her&mdash;she shall
at least know my sentiments; and if she treats
me with scorn, I will die, it is true, but it shall
be by my own hand, and at her feet. I will
not be sacrificed&mdash;I will not steal out of life
like a common criminal.&mdash;No; the world shall
know my wrongs&mdash;I will be heard, I will not
fall unnoticed and unknown. Take this chain,
Father Morris; give it to her, and tell her I
implore, by the recollection of the moment when
she bestowed it upon me, that she will grant
me an interview. If she refuse me&mdash;but no, no,
she cannot."</p>

<p>Father Morris took the chain, and, promising
to see the Queen, withdrew, leaving Lord
Edmund in a state of indescribable agitation.
He was not left long, however, to his solitary
reflections, for, as he paced with hasty strides
his prison, and turned as he reached the wall,
the Mummy, Cheops, stood before him.</p>

<p>"Ah, wretch!" cried Edmund, "what brings
you here? Came you to torment your victims?"</p>

<p>"I came to help and comfort the unfortunate,"
said the Mummy.</p>

<p>"Begone!" cried Lord Edmund, "I do
not want your pity, and your proffered help I
scorn."</p>

<p>"Spare your scorn, proud Lord," returned
Cheops, "<i>it</i> will not aid you, though I
might."</p>

<p>"I want no aid!" exclaimed Lord Edmund,
"and, least of all, such help as <i>you</i> can give me.
I despise alike your pity and your vengeance.
Come what will, I rely upon myself. Conscious
of my own integrity, I do not fear to fall,
though demons should assail me. Avaunt then,
fiend, for over me thou hast no power!"</p>

<p>Cheops burst into one of his fiendish laughs,
and exclaiming, "That time will show," disappeared.</p>

<p>Edmund felt relieved by his absence, though,
in spite of his boasted firmness, and the sovereign
contempt he expressed for the Mummy,
he could not prevent his mind from dwelling
upon the circumstance. The appearance of
Cheops, indeed, never failed to excite a deep
and powerful interest in the minds of all who
conversed with him, whilst his appalling laugh
struck terror to the firmest breast, and even
those who affected to despise his menaces could
not prevent their minds from dwelling upon
his words. This irresistible power had its full
effect upon the mind of Edmund, and, though
he endeavoured in vain to shake it off and
rouse his mind to think of other things, still
the gigantic Mummy seemed to stalk before
him. In vain did he strive to picture to himself
his interview with the Queen; the hideous
features of the Mummy rose in his imagination
instead of the lovely form of Elvira, till at
length, fatigued and exhausted, he threw himself
upon his couch: yet even in his dreams
the same image haunted him, and the same
words rang in his ears.</p>

<p>Whilst these scenes were taking place in the
prison, Elvira was suffering all the torments
of a burning fever; she was, indeed, seriously
ill: the excessive agitation of her mind, and
the horror she felt at the idea of being the
murderer of Ferdinand, had overpowered her
reason; and by the time Dr. Coleman arrived,
(he having been sent for on the first alarm,) she
was quite delirious. The thought that she
alone had caused the danger of Ferdinand, occupied
her mind; and, not being able to bear
the idea that her folly might occasion the destruction
of a human being, she raved of him
incessantly, and repeatedly offered to sacrifice
her life to preserve his.</p>

<p>Her ravings were heard by her domestics,
and being neither exactly understood, nor correctly
repeated, their reports, aided by the artful
insinuations of Father Morris, soon produced
rumours throughout the city, that the
Queen was violently in love with Prince Ferdinand,
and had gone mad because the law did
not permit her to marry him. The effect this
idea produced was prodigious; it was implicitly
believed, for the lower classes are naturally
fond of the marvellous, and, when there are
two sides to a question, are very seldom disposed
to err by judging too favourably; whilst
the indignation it excited was unbounded. In
some cases, men are more tenacious of their
prejudices than of their rights. Thus, then,
though the English, by consenting to the marriage
of their Queen, had deprived themselves
of the important right of electing their own Sovereign;
they considered what they had done as
trifling, when compared with the horror they felt
at the thought of submitting to a foreign King:
whilst the emissaries of Rosabella, taking advantage
of this feeling, by alternately playing
upon their fears, and magnifying their terrors,
worked them up almost to a state of desperation.</p>

<p>The party of Elvira, in the mean time, was
quite unable to stem the torrent opposed to it.
The Queen and her father were both too ill to
leave their beds, and Lord Edmund was in
prison.</p>

<p>"What will become of us?" whispered
Emma to Dr. Coleman, one day in the chamber
of Elvira, when she fancied the Queen to be
asleep. "To-morrow Prince Ferdinand and
Lord Edmund are to be tried, and, they say, not
even the Queen has power to pardon them if
they are convicted."</p>

<p>"It is but too true," returned Dr. Coleman;
"they must die, and the punishment is horrid.
The criminal is doomed to be burned by a slow
fire."</p>

<p>"Horrible!" cried Emma; "and this only
for drawing a sword in the vicinity of a royal
palace."</p>

<p>"Alas! that is not all! Ferdinand is accused
of wishing to marry the Queen; and
the laws that devote to a horrid death the man
who shall presume to address her in the language
of love, yet hold good against foreigners."</p>

<p>"I cannot believe Prince Ferdinand ever
dared even think of the Queen," said Emma.</p>

<p>"God only can judge the heart," observed
Dr. Coleman; "but, I am sorry to say, the
proofs are very strong against him: I have
heard, from undoubted authority, that persons
will swear they heard him absolutely make
love to the Queen; and that she promised to
marry him if she could obtain the consent of
her people."</p>

<p>"It is false!" cried Elvira, starting from
her bed, and standing suddenly between them&mdash;"false
as hell! Prince Ferdinand never addressed
a single syllable breathing of love to
me in his existence. He is the victim of a
mistake, or rather of my folly; but he shall
not die&mdash;I will save him, or perish in the attempt!"</p>

<p>The calm, decided tone in which Elvira
spoke, and her spectral appearance, produced
an almost magical effect upon her auditors,
and they stood awestruck and aghast, whilst
Elvira continued:&mdash;</p>

<p>"Dress me, Emma; I will see my people;
I will appeal to them myself. It is the day
for receiving petitions in Blackheath Square:
there will be a multitude assembled. I will
go there in person, and address them."</p>

<p>"It is the raving of delirium," whispered
Emma to Dr. Coleman; "what shall I do?"</p>

<p>"Do you dare to hesitate?" said Elvira,
whose sense of hearing, sharpened by her recent
illness, enabled her to catch distinctly the words
of her favourite.</p>

<p>"Humour her," returned Dr. Coleman; "in
her present state, opposition would be fatal."</p>

<p>"It would indeed be fatal," said Elvira,
seating herself in a large arm-chair, whilst the
temporary colour her previous exertion had
given her, faded from her cheeks, and she
looked the image of death.</p>

<p>"She will faint!" cried Emma, flying for
aid.</p>

<p>"It is impossible for her to go in this state!"
said the doctor.</p>

<p>"Impossible!" cried Elvira, starting up
wildly, and her cheeks again glowing with the
deepest crimson, whilst her eyes sparkled with
superhuman fire; "what is impossible to a determined
spirit? Haste! haste! Emma, and
let me go, whilst I have yet strength; for go I
will, though death await me there. My rashness
has endangered the life of Prince Ferdinand,
and I will die to save him!"</p>

<p>Farther opposition was useless, and the doctor
retiring, Emma hastily attired her mistress.
The people were expected to assemble
as usual in the Square, though, from the illness
of the Queen, a deputation of nobles had been
appointed to receive the petitions. The feelings
of Elvira were wrought up to an unnatural
energy: every limb trembled with agitation,
and every nerve thrilled with impatience,
whilst she was dressing; and when she was
ready, she descended the staircase, leaning
upon the arm of Emma, her cheeks flushed
with a hectic glow, her lips quivering, and her
eyes shining with unusual brightness.</p>

<p>At the foot of the staircase they met Cheops.
He stedfastly regarded the Queen, and smiled
at her agitated appearance with his usual calm
scorn.</p>

<p>"Oh!" cried Elvira, the moment she beheld
him, "my pride is humbled. I own I love Seymour.
Aid me to save Ferdinand, and I am
thy slave."</p>

<p>"Appeal to your people," said Cheops, his
eyes flashing with proud triumph; "your feelings
will give you eloquence. But do not
confine yourself to obtaining the power to pardon
Ferdinand. Demand to be free; the people
will refuse you nothing. Tell them, first,
that they have insulted you by giving you permission
to marry, and then dictating whom you
shall choose. Require perfect freedom. They
will comply, and bow their necks beneath your
footstool. But rest not satisfied with any thing
short of actual submission. Endure no conditions.
This is the moment to decide your
future destiny. Act with energy, and you will
be happy. But if you falter, destruction is
your portion."</p>

<p>"I will obey you to the letter," said Elvira,
as she walked with a firm step past him, and
sprang into her balloon, followed by Emma.</p>

<p>"Oh, my dear, dear mistress!" said that
faithful confidant, "do not listen to that
wretch; he is a serpent sent to wile you to
destruction. Do be advised; do return and
relinquish this mad enterprize."</p>

<p>Elvira did not reply. Her feelings were too
highly wrought to permit her to speak, and
bending eagerly forward, she watched, with an
impatient eye, the streets and houses they flitted
over, scarcely able to bear the agony of
suspense during the time necessarily lost in the
transit, and seeming every instant to long to
precipitate herself forward to the goal of her
wishes.</p>

<p>The balloon now rose unusually high,
whilst masses of fleecy clouds hid the town
from their view, and looked like flocks of sheep
beneath their feet.</p>

<p>"We are going wrong!" cried Elvira, in
agony; "we shall be too late."</p>

<p>"No, no," said Emma, "I feel we descend
again&mdash;we are arrived."</p>

<p>And as she spoke, the balloon sank rapidly,
whilst the clouds opening, discovered the immense
Square below them, apparently paved
with human heads.</p>

<p>"Thank God! we are not too late!" cried
Elvira, clasping her hands together, and sinking
back upon her seat; whilst the balloon-conductor
directed the machine to the palace
usually appointed for the reception of the
Queen. Elvira did not wait to arrange her
dress; she did not wait to take refreshment,
or even to rest a single moment from her fatigue,
but she rushed upon the terrace the instant
she quitted the balloon, and presented
herself before her astonished people, every limb
quivering from the violence of her agitation.</p>

<p>The crowd was immense. The extensive
space looked one compact mass of human heads;
but Elvira's courage did not fail her. Though
she had now no Lord Edmund to support her,
and no father or applauding friends to listen as
she spoke, yet the enthusiasm of the moment
gave her strength. She forgot every thing but
the cause that brought her there; and her mind,
thrown back upon its own resources, rallied its
energies, and seemed to gather courage from the
thought; whilst her sylphic figure appeared to
dilate in size, and assume an almost awful dignity
from the grandeur of the spirit that animated
it, as she thus stood before her subjects,
her life or death hanging upon their will.</p>

<p>Her arrival had been hailed by the loudest
shouts of wonder and of joy; but when the multitude
saw she wished to address them, the tumult
was hushed, and they waited in breathless
silence for her speech. The deep stillness that
prevailed amongst this so lately bustling crowd
of human beings, and the thought that every
ear and every eye were turned towards her,
slightly affected the nerves of Elvira, and her
lips trembled as she began to speak; but as she
became warmed with her subject, her voice gradually
assumed its natural depth, melody, and
sweetness; whilst its full tones sank deep into
the hearts of her auditors, and carried conviction
as she went on.</p>

<p>She first appealed to their gratitude; and,
after alluding to all she had done to secure
peace and plenty to their domestic firesides, she
reverted to the misery of her own situation,
before the laws had been revoked that had condemned
her to celibacy. She powerfully painted
the harshness of the destiny that debarred her
from the blessings she had so lavishly bestowed
upon others. She alone, of all her subjects, had
been destined to the wretchedness of a solitary
life, unsoothed by the tender cares of a husband,
uncheered by the affection of children. She
alone had been doomed to wither away her
youth in cheerless widowhood. Their fiat had
changed her destiny; but was it the part of a
noble and generous people, whilst they conferred
a benefit to encumber it with restrictions?
No; she was confident the liberal spirit of the
English would spurn the sordid thought, and
shrink from such a manner of obliging. "Make
me free!" said she, "really, absolutely free,
and I promise solemnly you shall never have
occasion to blush for your Queen."</p>

<p>As she spoke, her cheeks glowed, and her eyes
sparkled with unwonted fire; whilst the people,
struck by the suddenness of her appearance,
and her enthusiasm, and carried away by the
force of the sentiment that could metamorphose
the tender, gentle Elvira into the exalted
being before them, shouted applause; whilst
cries rang loudly through the air of "Long
live Elvira!" "Marry whom you list, we shall
still be your slaves! Still be our Queen, and
let your children and children's children reign
over us, when you shall be no more."</p>

<p>Delight danced in the bright eyes of Elvira,
and a blush of pleasure mantled on her cheek,
as she gracefully thanked them. "And yet,
my friends," continued she, in a fainter voice,
"there is another privilege I would demand at
your hands. I am called free and absolute,
yet I am chained by the laws. Unloose these
bands; give me at least the power to pardon.
I know, that if I wished it, I might reverse these
laws at my will, as the power of the Queen that
made them was not greater than that which
you have bestowed upon me. But I wish not
to do so: I would rather accept that from
your hands as a favour which I might exact as
a right. Give me then, my people, the most
blessed attribute of royalty. Let me pardon.
Can you refuse me this?"</p>

<p>"No, no!" shouted the people with enthusiasm;
"we are your slaves! Do with us as
you list. The laws are yours; and though you
change them at your pleasure, we will obey!
Long live Elvira! Elvira for ever! From
henceforth we own no law but her will!"</p>

<p>Elvira's rapture was unbounded; she forgot
the unstable nature of the vox populi, and
triumphed in the devotion of her people; whilst
they, in return, shouted forth her praise, as she
warmly expressed her gratitude, in tumultuous
transports. The air rang with acclamations;
and Elvira, looking proudly round upon her
obsequious subjects, felt herself indeed a Queen.
There is perhaps no sensation in the world more
delightful than thus to feel oneself the idol of
the multitude, to see every eye beaming with admiration,
to hear every voice resounding praise,
and to know every heart is devoted to one
object. The human mind cannot enjoy a
higher gratification than in the consciousness of
power; whilst the man thus exalted, seems
raised to the level of a divinity, and triumphs
in the worship of his fellow-creatures: but, alas!
such glory is too much for mortals, and nothing
can be more evanescent, or rather, nothing a
more certain prelude to disgrace.</p>

<p>Elvira, however, knew not that her popularity
was too great to be lasting. She implicitly
believed her people would continue to feel
what they now expressed, and, catching the
spirit of the moment, she persuaded them to
sign an abolition of the laws, and a confirmation
of her absolute power. The people obeyed
with rapture; the enthusiasm that animated
them had not yet abated; and even if Elvira
had desired their lives, they would have obeyed.
They considered her inspired, and it seemed
sacrilege even to hesitate to comply with her
commands.</p>

<p>So powerful was the energy of a woman's
will, and so sure it is that a determined spirit
may overcome any difficulties when once
roused resolutely to exert itself. Such also is
the influence of beauty and eloquence upon
the human mind, and so weak is judgment
when attacked through the medium of the
senses.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the council of Elvira had
met in their usual apartment, and were holding
a solemn consultation, previous to going
to receive the petitions, on the propriety of
addressing the people whom they might find
assembled in the Square, respecting the illness
and consequent incapacity for reigning of the
Queen.</p>

<p>"Thinking as I think, and as I am confident
every one here must think," said Lord
Gustavus de Montfort, "there is no middle
course to be pursued: a regency must be appointed,
or the government will be overturned."</p>

<p>"Oh! there is no doubt, we cannot exist
without a regency," said Lord Noodle.</p>

<p>"Yes, yes! we must have a regency!" cried
Lord Doodle.</p>

<p>"It appears to me, to say the least of it,
premature," observed the Duke of Essex, a
highly respectable nobleman, who had hitherto
observed a cautious neutrality; "I think, before
deciding upon so important a question, we
should at least examine her Majesty's physicians,
and be guided by their report."</p>

<p>"His Grace is quite right," said Lord
Noodle.</p>

<p>"We ought to examine the physicians," said
Lord Doodle.</p>

<p>"One of them has just entered the council-chamber,"
observed Lord Gustavus; "I presume
he brings the usual daily bulletin of her
Majesty's health: is it your pleasure, my lords,
that he be examined?"</p>

<p>"By all means!" cried all the noble lords
simultaneously, and Dr. Hardman advanced.</p>

<p>"How is her most gracious Majesty?" asked
Lord Gustavus, with his usual solemnity.</p>

<p>"Alas! my lord," said Dr. Hardman, "her
Majesty has slept badly, and is much worse
this morning."</p>

<p>"Is she still delirious?" asked the Duke of
Essex.</p>

<p>"Quite, your Grace," returned the doctor,
shaking his head.</p>

<p>"Then I fear there is no hope?" said the
duke.</p>

<p>"None!" said Lord Noodle, shaking his
head.</p>

<p>"None!" echoed Lord Doodle, shaking his.</p>

<p>"Thinking as I think, and as I am sure
every one here must think," said Lord Gustavus,
"we must not suffer the interests of
the people to be invaded with impunity. The
constitution requires watching over, and I
consider this a matter that ought to be inquired
into."</p>

<p>"Then you think the senses of the Queen
irrecoverable?" asked the Duke of Essex, addressing
Dr. Hardman.</p>

<p>"Not irrecoverable, I hope, my lord duke,"
replied the doctor; "though I own her delirium
is alarming."</p>

<p>"What does she rave about," asked Lord
Doodle; curiosity being the only mark he ever
gave of his being a rational animal.</p>

<p>"It is a delicate subject," returned the doctor;
"and if your lordships will excuse me&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh, no! you must tell us," said Lord
Doodle.</p>

<p>"Thinking as I think, and as I am sure
every one else ought to think," said Lord
Gustavus; "concealment in this case would be
a crime."</p>

<p>"Since your lordships command me," replied
the doctor, "however reluctant I may be to
betray her Majesty's secrets, it is my duty to
obey. The Queen raves incessantly of Prince
Ferdinand."</p>

<p>"I feared as much," said the Duke of Essex.</p>

<p>"And do you think if she recovers she'll want
to marry him?" asked Lord Doodle.</p>

<p>"I fear it cannot be doubted, my Lord:"
returned the doctor.</p>

<p>"Then, thinking as I think, and as every
free-born Englishman ought to think," said
Lord Gustavus, "she will forfeit her crown."</p>

<p>A deep silence followed this daring speech,
yet, though no one assented to it, no one attempted
to contradict it. In fact, every man
seemed afraid of committing himself; for, though
every one thought Lord Gustavus would not
have ventured so far, had he not felt assured
the party against the Queen was strong, yet no
one liked to be the first to declare himself her
opponent. This awkward pause was broken by
the entrance of Sir Ambrose and Father Morris,
who came with a message from the Duke of
Cornwall, imploring them not to decide upon
any measure hastily, and informing them that
on the following day his physicians assured him
he would be able to assist their deliberations in
person.</p>

<p>"We all esteem and respect the duke," said
Lord Gustavus. "But, thinking as I think,
and as I am confident every one who hears me
must think, not even our respect for him ought
to induce us to consent that the Queen should
marry a foreigner! No, no, we must not let
private feelings make us risk the interests of
the people."</p>

<p>"I dare say they will not be in any danger,"
murmured the soft, insinuating voice of Father
Morris&mdash;"I dare say they will run no risk.
Foreigners have sometimes been known to respect
the interests of a people, and reign as gloriously
as native-born monarchs."</p>

<p>"Not often, I believe, father," said Sir Ambrose.
"At any rate, I am sure it would break
the duke's heart to see his daughter married to
Prince Ferdinand, and I am sure it would break
mine to see him King of England. Weak,
silly Elvira! I cannot account for her infatuation;
and I have no patience with her, for
causing all this misery solely by her folly."</p>

<p>"You use strong language, Sir Ambrose,"
said the Duke of Essex.</p>

<p>"Not stronger than the occasion requires,
my lord duke," returned the worthy baronet.
"I have known the Queen from her childhood,
and loved her as a daughter; but now&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The matter must certainly be inquired
into," said Lord Gustavus. "It is the duty of
every well-disposed patriotic Englishman not to
suffer the slightest invasion of the constitution.
Our laws are our bulwarks; we ought to die to
defend our laws; and if the Queen be no longer
in a fit state to administer them, or if she
even contemplate the design of putting the administration
of them into hands in which their
purity will be contaminated, then, thinking as
I think, and as I feel confident every individual
who hears me must think, or, at least,
ought to think, there can remain only one course
for us to pursue."</p>

<p>"Perhaps," said Father Morris, "we may
be deceived, and the delirium of the Queen
may be transient, or, at least, her mentioning
the name of Prince Ferdinand in her ravings
quite accidental. It is not well to be too
rash&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh, no, reverend father," replied Lord
Gustavus; "you deceive yourself. Your abstraction
from the world, and the goodness of
your heart, lead you to judge too favourably of
others. But we, who know the world, see deeper.
You, holy father, can form no idea of the folly
of human passions; you are above their weaknesses,
and cannot suspect that in another which
you are incapable of feeling yourself: but, as I
said before, we, that know the world, see deeper.
Elvira is in love with Prince Ferdinand, and is
quite capable of sacrificing her throne and people
to the caprices of a romantic passion."</p>

<p>"Impossible!" cried Father Morris, with well-acted
astonishment.</p>

<p>"Is is very true, notwithstanding," said Lord
Gustavus, shaking his head sagaciously; whilst
his attendant satellites, the Lords Noodle and
Doodle, shook theirs for sympathy.</p>

<p>"Impossible!" cried Sir Ambrose; "she
cannot surely carry her infatuation to such a
height: she is too noble: but even if she be
so mad, will no one step forward and save her
from destruction?"</p>

<p>"I do not see how any one can save her, if
such be her intentions," said the Duke of Essex.
"Women are proverbially self-willed;
and, now that the people have put the laws into
her own hands&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The people were cajoled into consent," exclaimed
Lord Gustavus; "but if the Queen be
so mad as to intend to marry the prince, she
must lose her throne and suffer death, for the
laws against foreigners remain inexorable."</p>

<p>"Yes, the laws are inexorable!" echoed the
Lords Noodle and Doodle.</p>

<p>"Good Heaven!" cried Sir Ambrose, "is
it possible I am in England, and yet hear such
barbarous sentiments openly avowed? No one
has more right to feel anger at the folly of
Elvira than myself; but even I cannot bear
such cruelty. What! is a young and beautiful
woman, in the very flower of her age, to be
doomed to destruction, merely for having shown
a susceptible heart? Forbid it, Heaven! And
what are we that we should dare to judge so
harshly and refuse mercy to a fellow-creature?
Are we not all feeble? Do we not all err? And
if we show such cruelty in judging such a
trifling offence, how shall we expect mercy for
our own more weighty ones? Have mercy,
then. Let us show ourselves men! Let us
dare to exert our reason and throw off the
shackles of prejudice. We boast that the
law in this case makes us free, and arms us
with power against our Sovereign. Let us
use that power, then, and show that we are
really free by daring to act justly. If we do
not, we are slaves!"</p>

<p>"It cannot be," said Lord Gustavus; "you
talk well, Sir Ambrose, but words are nothing
against facts. If the Queen intend to marry
Prince Ferdinand, she must either be insane or
intend to subvert the constitution; and, in
either case, thinking as I think, and as I am
sure every reasonable person in the kingdom
must think, she is no longer competent to
reign, and is no longer worthy to live. Eloquence
is a fine thing, and I do not deny
that the worthy baronet speaks fluently; yet,
notwithstanding all he can say, or indeed all
that can be said, upon the subject, law is
law."</p>

<p>"Yes, law is law!" echoed the repeating
lords.</p>

<p>"Sir Ambrose, I thank you from my soul!"
cried the old Duke of Cornwall, starting from
the midst of the crowd. "You have, indeed,
proved yourself my friend; but I should blush
to think that my daughter was slandered in my
presence, and that I left it to another to undertake
her defence. Yes, gentlemen, Elvira is
slandered&mdash;I will venture my life upon her
innocence. Her heart is English, my lords,
thoroughly English; she will marry no German;
no&mdash;no, my poor, dear Elvira never
dreamed of such a thing; she is innocent." And
here the poor old man, overpowered by his
emotions, could not proceed, but, leaning upon
the shoulder of his friend Sir Ambrose, wept
bitterly. It is hard to see the tears of aged
men; and every one was affected: they had
started at the sudden appearance of the duke
amongst them; for his gaunt looks and wasted
form, aided by the belief of his serious illness,
gave him more the aspect of a spectre than a
man: and now his trembling voice, and grey
hairs, as he attempted to vindicate his child,
came home to the hearts of his auditors.</p>

<p>"Alas! why is not Edmund here?" sighed
Sir Ambrose; "he would not have left the
cause of Elvira to such feeble hands. But he
is gone, and, wretched father that I am! I may
soon no longer possess my darling boy. Six
months ago, two brave sons were the pride of
my heart, and the admiration of every eye.
Where are they now? the one wandering in
foreign climes, exposed to every misery of want,
and the other confined in a prison and doomed
to suffer an ignominious death. Alas! alas!
why has my life been spared to endure such
misery?"</p>

<p>Whilst the old man thus lamented, a bustle
was heard amongst the crowd, and the noble
lords of whom it was composed, dividing, made
way for Elvira! With glowing cheeks and
sparkling eyes, the Queen walked proudly along
the lane made for her, having a roll of parchment
in her hand, and with dignity took her
seat upon the vacant throne. A solemn silence
prevailed: the conspirators were awed by the
sudden appearance of their Sovereign; and those
who had hitherto remained neutral, surprised,
stood hesitating, unknowing how to act. Elvira
paused a few seconds, sternly surveying the
crowd, and finding that no one attempted to
speak, she exclaimed, "How now, my Lords?
what means this silence? I came to assist
your councils, not to interrupt them. Go on, I
pray you; for surely such enlightened senators
can have no sentiments they fear to breathe
before their Queen."</p>

<p>"We were surprised at the sudden appearance
of your Majesty," said the Duke of
Essex, "as, from the report of your Majesty's
physicians, we had feared your Majesty's
illness&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My illness was of the mind, my Lord
Duke!" said Elvira, "and this is the medicine
that has cured it. Look, my lords," continued
she, unrolling the parchment she carried, and
suddenly flashing it before their eyes&mdash;"behold
my panaçea! Now I am, indeed, a Queen;
for my people have made me absolute, and,
abolishing all laws, have placed their lives and
fortunes at my feet."</p>

<p>Lord Gustavus and his adherents stood
aghast, gazing upon the Queen and the parchment
she held so triumphantly, without the
power of uttering a word.</p>

<p>"Ere this," continued the Queen, "the purport
of this parchment has received some thousand
signatures; yet I do not wish to abuse my
power. Go, my lords; I have no longer occasion
for your counsels; when I have, I will summon
you."</p>

<p>The dignified manner in which Elvira waved
her hand as she said this, prevented reply; and
the lords of the council dispersed, without daring
to utter a single syllable. The duke and Sir
Ambrose alone remained. "My dear father,"
cried Elvira, throwing her arms round his neck,
whilst the overstrained feelings that had so
long supported her gave way, and she sobbed
in agony upon his shoulder.</p>

<p>"Remove her to her chamber," said Dr.
Coleman, who now appeared; "this agitation
will destroy her&mdash;her exhausted frame is not
able to endure it."</p>

<p>In fact, the Queen was now completely overpowered,
and was carried off by Emma and her
attendants in violent hysterics.</p>

<p>Lord Maysworth had not been present at this
scene, for his time had been otherwise engaged;
and, to explain what occupied him, it will be necessary
to go back to the prison of Prince Ferdinand.
It may be recollected, when Cheops removed
Clara, he had informed the prince that
Lord Maysworth and Father Murphy would be
with him in a few hours. The Mummy's information
was correct, for at the appointed time
they came.</p>

<p>"Och!" said Father Murphy, "and where's
Clara? So they've let me in after all, ye see;
for, knowing Lord Maysworth was your friend,
I went to consult him, and he talked to them
and tould them how barbarous it was to deny
a poor fellow that was just going to be burnt
alive, the consolations of religion;&mdash;they hadn't
the heart to refuse me."</p>

<p>"Oh!" groaned Prince Ferdinand; "is there
no hope of escape?"</p>

<p>"I fear not," said Lord Maysworth; "for,
notwithstanding the enormous expense attending
public executions, the people are so fond of them,
that it is necessary to indulge them now and
then; and they are so devoted to Lord Edmund
that his adversary has no chance. Besides,
they say there are plenty of witnesses to
prove that you have addressed the most impassioned
language to the Queen; your enthusiasm
one night at her singing&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I remember," cried Prince Ferdinand;
"idiot that I was&mdash;oh! curses on my folly."</p>

<p>"Ah, that's right," exclaimed Father Murphy;
"indulge yerself a little, my honey, and
it will do ye good. I don't know a prettier
amusement than cursing and swearing, and
finding fault when one's in trouble; and I'd
be far from denying ye a little harmless indulgence;
for, as ye're to die so soon, it would be
cruel, ye know, not to let ye have all the consolation
ye can get hold of."</p>

<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Prince Ferdinand, "I am
the most wretched of human beings."</p>

<p>"And ye may say that, for I don't see any
great hope ye have, in respect that the people
must have a victim, and they'd like you better
than Lord Edmund. But never mind that, for
the worst that can happen at all, is that ye'll
be roasted alive!"</p>

<p>"Oh!" groaned Prince Ferdinand, not much
consoled by this encouraging speech.</p>

<p>"Wehe mir!" exclaimed Hans; "and can
nothing be done?&mdash;for though roasting alive
may be the worst that can happen, I don't
think my master such an amateur in cookery
as to wish to try the experiment."</p>

<p>"Och!" cried Father Murphy, "and I'm
quite of your opinion; and so, if the prince
would just try, and get ready a word or two of
defence&mdash;or if some clever person that knows
the world like yere lordship, for instance, would
just give him a word or two of advice&mdash;the
thing would be entirely done, and all right."</p>

<p>"Oh!" cried the prince, clasping his hands
together, "save me! I implore you to save
me!"</p>

<p>"I will do all I can," said Lord Maysworth,
smiling most graciously; "rely upon me,
prince; the suggestion of the holy father
shall be attended to. The gratitude I owe
your father, demands my greatest exertions&mdash;and
I am most happy to have an opportunity
of serving his son. This worthy father's
plan is excellent: I wonder it did not strike
me before. Confide securely in me, prince;
a proper defence shall be prepared, and I think
by it you may escape."</p>

<p>So saying he retired, leaving Prince Ferdinand
somewhat consoled by his assurances, but
by no means reconciled even to the possibility of
being roasted alive. The intermediate time between
this conversation and the day fixed for
the trial of the prince, was spent by Lord Maysworth
in preparing, with the assistance of those
"learned in the law," this defence: and when
it was finished, his rapture was beyond description.
Three times did he read it over with
still increasing satisfaction, for, as he considered
it as his own production, he regarded it with all
the true, yet indescribable rapture of a doting
parent. We are all so fond of our own children,
whether of the mind or of the body, regarding
them as emanations from ourselves,
upon which we may indulge our self-love without
the grossness of undisguised vanity, that
the transport of Lord Maysworth is not surprising;
though he actually carried it so far,
that, notwithstanding his professed attachment
and gratitude to the German Emperor, I believe
if the means of procuring the prince's
escape had been offered to him, he would rather
have let him stay at the risk of being burned
alive, than have lost the pleasure he anticipated
on hearing the delivery of his speech.</p>

<p>The important day arrived, and the prince,
accompanied by his faithful Hans and Lord
Maysworth, proceeded to the court; the latter
carrying his beloved brief in his own pocket,
rightly considering it far too estimable to be
entrusted into any other hands than his.</p>

<p>The court was crowded to an excess&mdash;for
strange tales of the passion and illness of the
Queen had gone forth into the world, each edition
more wonderful than that which went before
it, and the people now thronged to see the
prince with that extraordinary feeling, so common
amongst the English, which makes them
stare at a great man in much the same way as
they would at a wild beast.</p>

<p>An automaton judge sat with great dignity
upon a magnificent throne, looking, though a
little heavy, quite as wise and sagacious as
judges are wont to look. A real jury (that is, a
jury of flesh and blood,) was ranged upon one
side of him, and some automaton counsel sate in
front, their briefs lying upon the table before
them, and having behind each a clerk ready to
wind him up when he should be wanted to
speak; it being found that the profession of
the law gives such an amazing volubility of
words, that it was dangerous to wind up the
counsel too soon, lest they should go off in
the wrong place, and so disturb the silence of
the court. In different parts of these counsel
were holes, into which briefs being put they were
gradually ground to pieces as the counsel were
being wound up, till they came forth in words at
the mouth: whilst the language in which the
counsel pleaded, depended entirely upon the
hole into which the brief was put, there being
a different one for every possible tongue.</p>

<p>All now was ready; the prisoner with his
friends placed themselves at the bar, and the
judge and jury prepared to hear and decide
with all due decorum. The signal to begin
was given, and the brief for the crown being
put into the English department of the counsel
appointed to conduct the prosecution, the clerk
began to wind away, and in a few minutes
the counsel burst forth in the following impassioned
strain of eloquence:&mdash;</p>

<p>"My Lord, and Gentlemen of the Jury,</p>

<p>"It is with feelings of the most unfeigned
regret that I now rise to address you. Sensible&mdash;oh!
how deeply sensible, of my insufficiency!
and of the much greater competency
of any one of my learned brethren at the bar;
how willingly would I resign the task to any
one of those eloquent gentlemen, feeling so indisputably
convinced as I do, of their eminent
talents and of their merit; and of their great,
oh! how much greater fitness for an undertaking
of this magnitude than myself!"</p>

<p>"Ach! Es ist aus mit uns! wir sind verlohren!"
cried Hans; "if thou art so unfit for
the task, I wonder why the deuce they employed
thee!"</p>

<p>"Peace, fool!" said the prince; "do you
not see that this is only the exordium&mdash;these
are words of course."</p>

<p>The orator had paused for an instant from
some error of his machinery; but his clerk
setting him in motion again, he went on as
follows:&mdash;</p>

<p>"But having being deputed to act, I will
not shrink from the arduous duty imposed
upon me; I will, therefore, state the principal
points of the case; prove my facts by witnesses;
and then leave the decision to the well-known
judgment and penetration of the enlightened
and intelligent tribunal before me!"</p>

<p>It was here intended the counsel should
bow to the court, but, owing to his defective
machinery, he only gave a kind of jerk, and
then continued:&mdash;</p>

<p>"My Lord, and Gentlemen,</p>

<p>"It sometimes falls to the lot of members of
my profession to relate astounding circumstances
and soul-harrowing facts!&mdash;facts that
pierce into the inmost souls of their auditors,
and rend their tortured spirits by their iron
fangs! as the teeth of the tangible harrow
pierce into and rend asunder the clods of inanimate
earth over which it is dragged! But
what I shall have to tell you, gentlemen, will
make even facts like these hide their diminished
heads, and run skulking into corners like owls
trembling, and flying hooting away on being
exposed to the scorching glare of the noon-day
sun.</p>

<p>"Do you not tremble, gentlemen?&mdash;do not
your hearts pant in breathless expectation of
what is coming? Indulge your anticipations&mdash;bid
fancy take her wildest flight, and let imagination
conjure up all the horrors of the infernal
regions. Paint the angel of death hovering
upon leathern wings over a devoted city&mdash;and
shrieking mothers imploring mercy in vain for
their murdered children! Paint all the multiplied
horrors of famine, fire, and carnage!&mdash;paint
miserable starving wretches screaming
wildly for food, and, in the agonies of despair
gnawing the flesh from their own withering
bones!&mdash;Paint flames surrounding with their
pointed arms an helpless family crying in bitter
anguish for the aid that cannot be afforded
them!&mdash;paint witches celebrating their detested
sabaoth! Imagine demons indulging in their
infernal revels! Yes, paint and picture to
yourself all these, and ten thousand other horrors,
each more frightful than the last;&mdash;dwell
upon them&mdash;let them haunt your imaginations;
but whatever you may fancy, picture, or paint,
nothing can ever equal the horror you will feel
when you learn the crime of which the prisoner
at the bar stands accused. Know then&mdash;my
tongue falters as I speak, and my quivering
lips almost refuse to give utterance to the appalling
sounds&mdash;know that he has dared, impiously
and presumptuously dared, to fall in
love with the Queen!</p>

<p>"I see your indignation at such baseness&mdash;I
feel the virtuous shame that burns upon every
cheek&mdash;yes, yes, my friends, I too am an Englishman,
and I, like you, spurn with disdain the
thought of submitting to a stranger. What do
we want with a King? Has not the country
been happy, prosperous, flourishing&mdash;respected
at home, and honoured abroad, under the dominion
of a Queen?&mdash;Yes, yes, my friends, it
has, and, under her gentle sway, the murderous
weapon of war has been converted into a ploughshare;
the nodding helmet and ponderous corslet
into the peaceful wig and graceful gown;
and the grim aspect of frowning ruin and grinning
desolation into the gentle smiles of benignant
peace and overwhelming plenty. Long,
long may gentle peace continue to shed her
benignant smiles upon us.&mdash;Long, long may we
sit beneath the grateful shade of her olive
branches; and long, long may their feathery
foliage hang in graceful festoons above our
heads, and their pale green wreaths encircle our
brows; for in the arms of peace lie joy, ease,
and happiness&mdash;her smile gives health and contentment,
and her blessing wealth.</p>

<p>"And what threatens to affright this bewitching
deity from our shores? 'Tis this audacious
stranger, who deserves the bitterest punishment
for his unparalleled atrocity. But this is not
all;&mdash;not satisfied with endeavouring to destroy
the happiness of the Queendom, and overturn
the laws enacted by the wisdom of our ancestors,
he has done more: yes, intolerable as his
crimes have been, there is still one more deadly
behind. Shudder, my friends, and turn away
your eyes as the fear-inspiring words drop from
my tongue.&mdash;He has dared to draw arms within
the precincts of the reginal palace.</p>

<p>"Insufferable audacity! Hear this, ye shades
of former royalty, and tremble in your Elysian
groves, at the profane hand that has dared
thus to invade your august privileges. Can it
be believed? Will after-ages credit the report?
Oh no, no! the fact will appear too monstrous
for even credulity itself to swallow!</p>

<p>"When the crime, the fatal crime was committed,
earth trembled beneath his feet: the
winds hushed their murmurs, and all nature
stood aghast. The frightened ocean receded
from its rocky bed. Pluto rushed shivering
from his nether throne, and Neptune waved in
vain his tranquillizing trident. The elements
were convulsed; lightning streamed from the
swords of the combatants, and thunder rolled
above their heads as they stood like two heroes
of Arabian fiction wielding the elements in
their wrath!</p>

<p>"But I have done, my lord and gentlemen. I
say no more; for I scorn to prejudice your
minds against the prisoner, or make the slightest
appeal to your feelings to condemn him.
However, this I must say, that if ever a case
could rouse every nerve of a true-born Englishman
against it, it is this. Does any man dread
to be torn from the calm delights of his comfortable
fireside, where he was surrounded by
his adoring wife and attentive children, and
doomed to incur all the wretchedness of misery
and want?&mdash;let him condemn the prisoner.
Does any man dread being dragged across
burning sands, or forced to wade up to the
knees in water through marshy deserts?&mdash;let
him condemn the prisoner. Would any man
shudder to be obliged to sleep upon the hard
cold ground, his limbs racked with rheumatism,
and his body exposed to all the vicissitudes of
hunger, thirst, and inclement seasons, whilst his
life is endangered every instant?&mdash;let him condemn
the prisoner;&mdash;but if he prefer these horrors
to the comforts of a warm down bed, or
if he enjoy the prospect of having his substance
devoured by tax gatherers, to support the expenses
of a foreign war, then let the prisoner
be acquitted. But&mdash;unless&mdash;he&mdash;can&mdash;make&mdash;up&mdash;his&mdash;mind
to&mdash;undergo&mdash;privations&mdash;like&mdash;these&mdash;let&mdash;him&mdash;aid&mdash;by&mdash;his&mdash;vote&mdash;to
condemn&mdash;the&mdash;wretch&mdash;who&mdash;"</p>

<p>And here the orator stopt abruptly, being
quite gone down. He had indeed uttered the
last words gradually slower and slower, and at
lengthened intervals, because the attendant
clerk had unfortunately given him a turn too
little, and had not screwed him up quite tight
enough. The witnesses were now called. Several
spoke to the circumstance of the extravagant
admiration expressed by the prince of
Elvira's singing; others deposed to the fact of
the combat, and others mentioned the Queen's
sighing and abstraction; but the principal one
distinctly stated, that he had heard the prince
make the Queen an offer of his hand in the gardens
of the Somerset House, and that she had
consented to marry him if she could obtain the
consent of her people. A general thrill of indignation
ran through the Court at this evidence,
and it was with difficulty that silence
was obtained for the pleading of the defendant.
At last all was still, and the attendant clerk
began to wind up the counsel for the prince.
Lord Maysworth watched the moment; but
being afraid to trust his beloved brief into any
hands but his own, unfortunately in his agitation,
he popt it into the wrong hole, and when
the counsel began to speak, he burst forth in
French! Words are wanting to express Lord
Maysworth's unutterable consternation at this
unfortunate accident.</p>

<p>"Stop! stop!" cried he, "Hush! hush!
Can nobody stop him?" but the inexorable
counsel would not stop:&mdash;for once wound up,
and properly set in motion, not all the powers
of Heaven and earth combined could stop him
till he had fairly run down.</p>

<p>"What shall I do?" cried Lord Maysworth,
in an agony of despair; "for, if the judge and
jury don't understand French, my fine oration
will be utterly lost."</p>

<p>"Oh, if that be all," said the clerk, "your
lordship need not distress yourself, for as soon
as I found what was going on, I ran up to
the judge and pulled out his lordship's French
stop!"</p>

<p>"And the gentlemen of the jury?"</p>

<p>"O, they all understand French."</p>

<p>"It is well," said Lord Maysworth, "though
I am still sorry the hole happened to be French,
as I am afraid the verbosity of the language may
deteriorate the strength of my expressions."</p>

<p>Thus muttered the noble lord, not sorry,
however, I believe, if the whole truth were to
be openly declared, that he had an excuse in
the change of languages for the failure of his
speech, if it should not happen to meet with
that brilliant success that he felt so perfectly
confident it deserved.</p>

<p>The counsel, in the mean time, went on. The
following is a translation of his speech:&mdash;</p>

<p>"My lord, and gentlemen of the jury.</p>

<p>"It is with feelings of considerable diffidence
and hesitation, that I rise to address you, after
the flood of eloquence that has poured from my
learned brother. I, gentlemen, am not gifted
with such an enviable facility of speech; nor is
my imagination endowed with that creative
power he has so forcibly displayed. I cannot,
gentlemen, like him</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Uprear the club of Hercules&mdash;For what?</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To crush a butterfly, or brain a gnat.</span><br />
</p>

<p>Nor have I the least intention of drawing
either Neptune or Pluto from the quiet nap
they have been taking for so many centuries&mdash;to
assist in our debate. I assure you, also, gentlemen,
that I shall neither disturb the ocean from
its rocky bed, nor make Nature stand aghast.&mdash;No,
my lord and gentlemen, my intentions are
perfectly pacific, and your harassed imaginations
may repose tranquilly upon my speech,
after the tumultuous one of my learned brother,
as the way-worn traveller rests peaceably
upon the soft green turf, after having been
tossed about upon the heaving billows of the
tempestuous ocean.</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis sweet to rest from dread of danger free,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And mark the billows of the foaming sea;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis sweet, a little skiff to safely urge</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through the tempestuous ocean's boiling surge;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To hear the pattering rains against the roof,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And feel your hospitable mansion proof.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But sweeter far the troubled mind's repose</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When of a speech like this, it hears the close.</span><br />
</p>

<p>When I listened to the powerful exordium
of my learned friend&mdash;and I did listen to him
with the most profound attention&mdash;I confess my
imagination was too highly excited to be satisfied
with so lame and impotent a conclusion.&mdash;'What!'
cried I, 'have the laws of nature
been reversed&mdash;have demons been disturbed in
their infernal revels, and witches called from
their dusky caverns, merely because a beautiful
woman has excited a tender passion in the
breast of a youthful stranger? Is this so extraordinary
an occurrence that it should create
such excessive wonder? Are our hearts so dead
to beauty that such a catastrophe should occasion
surprise? Forbid it, Heaven! No! whilst
our hearts still throb in our bosoms, may they
ever beat responsive to the attractions of the
fair! May we never become insensible to the
charms of the loveliest objects of creation! May
we ever own their witchery, and bend beneath
their magic sway! Or man, degraded man!
would soon sink below the level of the brutes.
View man as he degenerates when secluded from
the influence of female society;&mdash;is he not
rough, brutal, and unpolished? Does he not
want all those winning graces and those delicate
attentions that form so undeniably the charm
and solace of life? In proportion as our sensibility,
as our goodness, and all the best feelings
of our nature are awakened, we become susceptible
of love. It is indeed, excessive sensibility,
and a kindly feeling to our fellow-creatures,
that creates it. Does there exist a generous
or noble mind that has not felt this passion?
No, not one! there is, indeed, something
generous and ennobling in it. We cannot prefer
the welfare of another to our own, nor
be completely absorbed in another's being,
with the devotedness of true love, without becoming
purified in our ideas, and raised from
that disgusting selfishness which is ever the
inspirer of base and mean actions.</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yes, love indeed is light from Heaven,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A spark of that immortal fire,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With angels shared, by Alla given,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To lift from earth our low desire.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Devotion wafts the mind above,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Heaven itself descends in love.</span><br />
</p>

<p>And from this heavenly, this inspiring feeling,
shall my unfortunate client be debarred?
Hear me, ye shades of heroic lovers, who,
though dying for the hopeless object of your
passion, have still exclaimed, with the enthusiastic
devotion of a modern poet&mdash;</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lead on, lead on, though horrors wait</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In awful fury round thy gate!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And danger, death, and grim despair,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Forbid my hopeless passage there!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If love, still smiling, beckon on,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The path is passed, the gate is won!</span><br />
</p>

<p>And ye poets and philosophers, who have
painted love as the oasis of the Desert, the
green spot in memory's waste, where affection
still lingers even when hope decays; have you
no compassion for my unhappy client, whose
only fault was 'that she was beautiful, and he
not blind?' And is this an offence for which a
man deserves to be burnt alive? Forbid it,
humanity! forbid it, mercy! No, no! such inhuman
cruelty exists not in the breasts of
Englishmen. I know, I feel that you must
acquit my client on this head. But this is not
the only charge brought against him; he is accused
of having violated the sanctity of a royal
palace, by drawing his sword within its precincts.
To describe the enormity of this crime,
my learned friend has brought forward such an
overwhelming torrent of eloquence, that unhappily
his meaning was swept away in the
current of his words. At least I suppose so, as,
with all my industry, I have been totally unable
to find it. As, however, I cannot imagine my
learned friend could have harangued so long
without having some meaning in what he said,
I suppose it has slipped undiscovered into some
sly corner, where it lies, poor thing! quite concealed,
and almost crushed to death by the ponderous
weight of metaphors heaped upon it.
Gentlemen, my client drew his sword in the
Royal Garden. This is the plain statement of
the fact, when stripped of the load of ornaments
with which my learned friend has encumbered
it. My client, a stranger to the English
laws and customs, chanced to be walking
in the public garden belonging to a Royal
palace. He there met a noblemen of the court;
from causes irrelevant to the question before
us, high words took place between them. My
client was grossly insulted in a manner impossible
to be borne by a man calling himself a
gentleman, or making the least pretensions to
honour. He drew his sword to defend himself.
Can any thing be more simple? And yet for
this, all created nature is thrown into confusion,
and Neptune and Pluto called shivering from
their beds. Gentlemen, my learned friend's
brain was teeming with a monstrous conception,
and longing to be delivered; he dragged
it into the speech with which we have just
been favoured. Not satisfied with piercing us
through with the fangs of a mental arrow;
plunging us into all the disasters of war, and
distracting our imaginations by exhibiting the
combined effects of plague, pestilence, and famine&mdash;he
has entangled, in his snares, these
unfortunate deities, whom he has forced to
upper earth to bear witness on his behalf, I
am afraid, very much against their wills.
Nothing, indeed, can be more distressing than
to see an unfortunate thought thus hunted
through the meandering of a sentence; a
crowd of unmeaning words, like a pack of
hungry dogs pressing close at its back, till at
last worn out and completely exhausted, it
sinks feebly away, and gives up the ghost so
quietly, that no one can reasonably imagine
what can possibly have become of it.</p>

<p>"Thus it was with the argument of my learned
friend, it has vanished amidst the bustle he
created around it. One thing more, my Lord
and Gentlemen, and I have done; for I shall
not, like my learned friend, after disclaiming all
intentions of appealing to your feelings, endeavour
by an artful peroration to come home to
your inmost souls. It is simply this, that my
client is a stranger, the son of a powerful foreign
monarch, and, of course, as he has never
taken any oath of allegiance to the English
government, he is not amenable to the English
laws. After stating this fact, I sit down, confidently
assured that your verdict will be in my
favour, and that, by it, you will again vindicate
that proud right you have so long and
gloriously maintained of acting always as enlightened
and free-born Englishmen."</p>

<p>As the orator sat down, a tumult of applause
rang through the hall, and the delight of Lord
Maysworth can be only justly appreciated by
an author who recollects what he felt when he
first heard of the success of a favourite work.
But he had little time for exultation, as the
Judge, having been wound up in his turn, now
began to sum up the evidence. Slowly and
heavily did he go on, the machinery that composed
him wanting oil, and creaking ominously
as it moved, whilst, ere he had half finished, a
cry was heard through the outer court, and
instantly a rush of people announced the arrival
of the Queen.</p>

<p>After the exertions made by Elvira the previous
day, her fever returned, and she lay insensible
to every thing that passed till she was
restored to recollection by the tolling of a deep-toned
bell, which was always set in motion the
moment a prisoner was put upon his defence.
She heard the solemn sound distinctly; the
court where state criminals were tried, adjoined
the palace, in order that the Queen might
have an opportunity of hearing appeals, or deciding
on any difficult case that might arise;
though as offences against the state had been
very rare in the female dynasty, (whether from
the goodness of the people or the severity of the
punishment, I leave it for my readers to determine,)
the privilege had been seldom called in
action, and the bell now grated harshly as it
tolled. Elvira, however, had heard of the custom,
and its cause flashed instantly upon her
mind, as she started from her bed, and listened
to the solemn sound as it fell slowly and heavily
upon her ear, every knell seeming to strike
upon the naked nerve.</p>

<p>"Emma!" cried she, "let me go&mdash;quick, let
me save him, or I shall be too late." Emma
obeyed; but whilst she was attiring her mistress
every moment seemed an age, and Elvira listened
to the heavy tolling bell till the sense of
hearing became agony; and, unable to endure
any more, she pressed her hands firmly against
her ears to shut out the dreaded sound. At
length she was ready, and hurrying to the
court, arrived just at the critical moment I
have mentioned.</p>

<p>"Stop!" cried she, "I command you to stop
proceedings. The prisoner is free. My people
have given me a right to pardon all offences,
and I thus first exercise it. Set him free!"</p>

<p>The guards obeyed; and it not being possible
to stop the automaton judge till he had run
down, he was carried out of court, repeating,
(for it happened he was summing up the evidence
at that moment,) "And the Queen said
she loved him, and would sacrifice even her life
for his sake."</p>

<p>"You are free, Sir," said Elvira to the
prince. "I only blush that a stranger should
have been so inhospitably treated in my court.
My illness, however, must plead my excuse;
and I can only now show my sorrow by releasing
you from the parole of honour you have given.
You are absolutely free, prince, not only from
these chains, but also to leave the kingdom whenever
you shall think fit."</p>

<p>The prince, in a transport of gratitude, knelt
and kissed her hand; and then retired with his
friends to the house of Lord Maysworth; whilst
Elvira, satisfied with herself, and hoping she
had disarmed scandal by desiring the prince to
quit the kingdom, returned to her palace more
happy than she had before felt since the fatal
combat in the garden.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></h3>


<p>The effect produced by the scene just described
upon the minds of the multitude was
magical. It seemed a confirmation "strong as
proofs of holy writ" of all that had been urged
against the Queen, and alienated from her side
even those who had remained neutral.</p>

<p>"I really could not have believed it possible,"
said the Duke of Essex, as he retired
slowly from the court.</p>

<p>"Thinking as I think, and as I am confident
every one else must think," said Lord Gustavus,
"she seems to have lost all sense even of
common decency."</p>

<p>"What do you say to this, Sir Ambrose?"
asked Dr. Hardman triumphantly.</p>

<p>"Nothing," replied Sir Ambrose, sighing.</p>

<p>"Then the case is hopeless," said the Duke
of Essex; "for I know Sir Ambrose so well,
that I am certain if a single word could be said
in the Queen's behalf, he would not remain
silent."</p>

<p>"Your grace judges me too favourably," returned
Sir Ambrose; "for there is, on the contrary,
much to be said for the Queen, if I had
been disposed to say it. You see the story of
her wishing to marry Ferdinand was evidently
false, for she desired him in plain terms to quit
the kingdom."</p>

<p>"A mere blind," cried Lord Gustavus, who
felt he had now gone too far to recede; "an
absolute farce; and I am only astonished a
man of your penetration, Sir Ambrose, could
have been deceived by it."</p>

<p>"It has long been the proudest boast of the
English law," said Sir Ambrose, "that every
one is presumed innocent till he be proved
guilty; and I confess I do not see why the
Queen should alone be made an exception to
the rule."</p>

<p>Lord Gustavus made no reply, and the party
proceeded to their several homes. The following
day was appointed for the trial of Lord
Edmund, and the court was, if possible, yet
more crowded than before; for the singular
termination of Prince Ferdinand's trial had
created the most intense anxiety upon the part
of the mob to know what would be the result
of that of Lord Edmund. It has been already
stated that he was the idol of the people, and
now thousands of human voices shouted his
praises to the sky, and heaped curses and execrations
upon his enemies.</p>

<p>The tumult, however, was hushed to breathless
expectation when it was announced that
the officers of justice were gone in search of the
prisoner; and innumerable human beings stood
craning their necks over the lane made for his
approach through the crowd, all eager to catch
the first glimpse of him. But what language
can express their disappointment and surprise
when they saw the officers return, pale and
trembling, fear painted upon their countenances,
and their teeth chattering in their
heads!</p>

<p>"He is gone," they cried: "the prison door
was locked, and the windows fast, but he is
gone; and doubtless some evil spirit has carried
him off."</p>

<p>Great was the consternation excited by this
unexpected news; every one rushed to the
prison, and each in turn was struck with horror
on finding it exactly in the state the officers had
described.&mdash;"It is the Mummy that has done
this," said the people, whispering amongst
themselves: "some horrible event certainly
hangs over us; and it is in vain to attempt to
resist our destiny! All is supernatural, and
we are merely blind instruments in the hands
of Fate."</p>

<p>The disappearance of Lord Edmund had,
however, nothing supernatural in it; and, indeed
was effected by very simple means, and
mere mortal agents. The agitation of his
mind after his interview with Cheops became
excessive, and every hour seemed stretched to
an unnatural length as he anxiously awaited
Father Morris's return; but the monk came
not. Lord Edmund's impatience increased
every instant, till it became absolute agony;
yet still he was alone. He paced his chamber
with uncertain steps&mdash;his brain burning with
incipient madness, till, no longer knowing what
he did, he dashed his head against the walls,
and tore off his hair by handfuls. In this
state the gaoler found him; and reporting his
condition, his trial, which was to have taken
place previously to that of Ferdinand, was
postponed a few days to allow time for his
recovery.</p>

<p>Bleeding and blistering reduced Lord Edmund's
fever; but his soul was still on fire. In
the paroxysms of his disorder, no less than in
his lucid intervals, one sole idea seemed to have
taken possession of his fancy; and he inquired
incessantly if Father Morris were returned?
No, no, was the continual answer to his queries;
till the heart of the poor prisoner sickened
within him at the sound. At length, he
appeared well enough to take his trial, and the
day was fixed, as we have already stated. The
mind of Edmund now seemed tolerably composed;
but it was the stillness of apathy, rather
than that of resignation; and on the night preceding
the day fixed for his trial, some of his former
anxious and tormenting fantasies returned.</p>

<p>"I will shake off this weakness," said he;
"I will read;" and, drawing his chair near the
fire, he took up a book: it was in vain, however;
for though he read over the same page
repeatedly, he could not compose his mind
sufficiently to comprehend its meaning. He
threw his book aside, and, fixing his eyes upon
the fire, was soon lost in gloomy meditations:
when a slight noise attracted his attention;
and, looking round, he saw a panel in the wall
slowly detach itself, and Father Morris appear
in the aperture, followed by another figure,
closely wrapped in a large black cloak.</p>

<p>"Father Morris!" cried Edmund; "is it
indeed Father Morris; or some kind spirit that
has assumed his shape?"</p>

<p>"It is indeed I, my son!" returned the
priest; "and I come to rescue and console
you."</p>

<p>"Methinks you come somewhat late, father,"
said Edmund, rather coldly; "for I have suffered
much since I saw you!"</p>

<p>"Others have suffered also," resumed the
monk, "and for your sake! Notwithstanding
you have fancied yourself neglected and forgotten
by all the world, there is one human
being who has never ceased to watch over you;
who thinks only of you; who makes your happiness
her only care; and who would sacrifice
her life to preserve yours!"</p>

<p>Edmund's heart beat, and his cheeks glowed
as he exclaimed, "And this kind friend is?"</p>

<p>"Now before you!" interrupted the monk;
tearing aside the cloak that shrouded his companion,
and discovering Rosabella!</p>

<p>"Rosabella!" exclaimed Edmund; a slight
shade of disappointment passing over his features.</p>

<p>"Oh Edmund!" cried Rosabella, throwing
herself at his feet, "can you forget that I
have overstepped the bounds prescribed to my
sex: will you not hate me?"</p>

<p>"I do not blame you. I were unworthy of
the name of man if I could. But father, what
says Elvira? Have you delivered the chain?"</p>

<p>"She refuses either to see or hear from
you."</p>

<p>"Cruel woman! But perhaps she dreads to
see me?"</p>

<p>"I know not; but she treated your petition
with contempt. 'Tell him,' said she, 'it
is not possible he can have aught to say that
can interest me. I will not hear his suit.'"</p>

<p>"Proud, haughty princess! But was this
all?"</p>

<p>"No: I again entreated her to see you,
when she turned from me in scorn, and bade
me leave her. 'Talk not to me of Edmund,'
cried she, with a look of ineffable contempt.
'Has he not wounded Ferdinand, and would
you have me forgive him?&mdash;a thousand deaths
are not sufficient to punish such a crime!'"</p>

<p>"What strange infatuation!"</p>

<p>"Strange, indeed&mdash;for she has interrupted
his trial and set him free; besides which, they
say she has actually offered her hand and he has
refused it; yet still she dotes upon him to distraction.
'Go,' continued she, when I had
finished all I had to say, 'and tell Edmund,
that I neither hate nor despise him; for he is incapable
of exciting any emotion in my breast;
however, if he wishes to make amends for his
past conduct, and be restored to my favour,
his first step must be, humbly to beg pardon of
the prince.'"</p>

<p>"Damnation!" cried Edmund, starting up
fiercely: "she did not, surely she could not,
say that?"</p>

<p>"Indeed she did, my lord."</p>

<p>"Then may ten thousand curses light upon
me if I forgive her! Pardon of that wretch!
my slave! my prisoner! no, sooner would I
expire in horrid torments&mdash;sooner be torn asunder
by wild beasts.&mdash;Pardon of that boy!&mdash;oh!
she could not mean it."</p>

<p>Whilst Edmund thus raved, Father Morris
and Rosabella watched his torments with much
of the same coolness, as a French philosopher
would those of an unfortunate animal upon
which he was trying experiments. No feeling of
compassion entered their souls, and they only
waited to see the effect their words would produce.
It may easily be perceived that the whole
scene which Father Morris related as having passed
between him and Elvira, was a fabrication;
but Lord Edmund saw not this, for jealousy
often throws a veil over the eyes of its victims,
which gives a delusive colouring to every thing
they see. Thus, Lord Edmund believed every
word the father uttered, and his whole frame
trembled with agitation as he paced the room
with hasty strides. At last, he threw himself
upon a chair&mdash;"Beg his pardon!" exclaimed he:
"Oh Elvira! Elvira!" and he hid his face in his
hands, whilst the big tears trickled through his
fingers, and Lord Edmund, the stern, courageous
soldier, the philosopher, the hero, and the
statesman, wept, actually wept, like a feeble
child.</p>

<p>"Oh Edmund!" exclaimed Rosabella, approaching
him, and taking his hand&mdash;"I cannot
bear to see you in distress. Would to
Heaven that by the sacrifice even of my life
I could relieve you!"</p>

<p>"Rosabella, you will drive me to distraction."</p>

<p>"Not for worlds, Edmund; on the contrary,
were I mistress of worlds, I would cast them at
your feet."</p>

<p>"I know it&mdash;I know it; but spare me
now."</p>

<p>"Spare you, Edmund! Spare what? spare
my reproaches, mean you? Alas! you need not
fear them. Am I not devoted to you? Is it
not for your sake that I have thus passed the
boundaries of my sex? Are you disgusted with
my boldness? But no: you will surely forgive
me, for my only motive has been to save you,
and my only hope of happiness is bound up in
yours."</p>

<p>"Rosabella!" repeated Edmund, "I believe
that you love me."</p>

<p>"Love you! Oh heavens! can you doubt my
love?"</p>

<p>"I do not doubt it, and this last action proves
it more than words. I have long done you injustice;
can you forgive me, Rosabella?"</p>

<p>"Oh Edmund!" exclaimed the princess, whilst
her full heart heaved almost to bursting and the
tears streamed down her face.</p>

<p>"I have been the victim of infatuation," continued
Edmund; "I have loved a false, ungrateful
woman, who has betrayed me. But I
see my folly; and if tears of penitence shed at
your feet can earn my pardon&mdash;if you will accept
a broken, bleeding heart&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh Edmund!" interrupted Rosabella, throwing
herself into his arms, "say no more&mdash;I
am yours&mdash;yours for ever&mdash;your devoted
slave&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Not my slave, Rosabella," said Edmund,
gently disengaging her from him, and placing
her upon a chair, "but my wife, my beloved
wife."</p>

<p>"Your wife!" exclaimed Rosabella, "Edmund's
wife! am I indeed so blest? Oh no!
surely it is a dream, a fond delusive dream!
You cannot surely be serious."</p>

<p>"Is this a moment for jest?" asked Edmund
calmly.</p>

<p>"It certainly is not," said Father Morris,
whose agitation had been nearly equal to their
own, and who had stood gazing upon them with
looks of the fondest affection. "We must immediately
escape, or it will be too late; it wants
but two hours of daybreak, and, with the dawn,
Lord Edmund's trial will commence."</p>

<p>"True, true!" cried Rosabella, "I had forgotten.
Dearest Edmund, you must condescend
to fly, or your precious life will be sacrificed."</p>

<p>"But how shall I escape?"</p>

<p>"Through this panel. A balloon waits at
a little distance, and this cloak will conceal your
person from observation."</p>

<p>"Dear Rosabella!"</p>

<p>"Come, come," cried Father Morris, "we
have no time to lose. Though Ferdinand was
acquitted you must fall, for the state requires a
victim."</p>

<p>Lord Edmund waited for no more; the name
of Ferdinand was torture to him; and, hastily
disencumbering himself of his chains, he followed
the father and Rosabella from the prison.
He sighed, however, and looked back for a
moment with regret ere he quitted the outer
walls, for he thought of Elvira. Rosabella's
quick ear caught the sigh and her subtle spirit
divined its meaning; but this was not a moment
to complain, and stepping into their balloon
they were soon out of sight of London. They
proceeded to a palace of Rosabella's, a few miles
out of town, and there, the following day, Edmund
became her husband.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the excessive agitation Elvira
experienced on the day of Prince Ferdinand's
trial brought on a return of her fever, and it
was several weeks ere she was sufficiently recovered
to leave her bed. When she did so,
however, she was really shocked at the state in
which she found her kingdom. When she first
began to reign, carried away by the enthusiasm
of the moment, she had taken too much of the
executive part of the government upon herself;
and as her illness had been too sudden to allow
her to appoint a regency, no one knew who
ought to supply her place. All therefore was
confusion and disorder, and Elvira shrunk disgusted
from the chaos before her. She had now
no Edmund to smooth the way for her, and the
native energy of her mind was gone. Pale,
heart-broken, and dispirited, she felt languid
and incapable of the slightest exertion. What
had formerly been a pleasure, was now become
an overwhelming burthen, and the weight of
life seemed insupportable.</p>

<p>She was now weary also of the fatigue necessary
to carry on the plans she had projected for
the benefit of her people. At first, when all
seemed new and delightful, she had devoted
herself entirely to their interests: she had denied
herself even the most trifling pleasures, and
scarcely allowed herself the time absolutely necessary
for food and rest. This was all very
well, whilst her plans had the charm of novelty,
and were supported by passion. But now that
novelty had worn off, and they had assumed the
dull wearisome appearance of duties&mdash;when repeated
disappointments had extinguished almost
the hope of success, and when she found her
people expected, nay, demanded as a right, that
which she had originally granted them only as
an especial mark of favour, she discovered,
though too late, the folly of the toil she had
imposed upon herself.</p>

<p>She now also discovered that improvement to
be effectual must be slow: that people don't like
to be forced out of old habits, till they have seen
the effect of new ones proved by experience,
and that nothing is so difficult as to improve
people against their wills. Increase the resources
of a country, throw money into the
hands of the middling and lower classes, and
they will improve themselves; but, at least,
nine-tenths of a population will never suffer
themselves to be improved. Those only who
have attempted this thankless and painful office
can fully estimate the sufferings of the unfortunate
Elvira, who, disappointed in all she
undertook, found life become tasteless and insipid,
and was completely wretched,&mdash;though
surrounded by all the gifts of beauty, power,
and fortune.</p>

<p>Every thing seemed to conspire to increase
her misery. Those whom she raised from indigence
to affluence treated her with the most
provoking insolence and discontent. A plan
which had been opposed by the lords Gustavus
de Montfort and Maysworth, and which
she had persisted in having tried, had completely
failed, and the noble Lords had triumphed
in the most provoking manner in her disappointment.
In short, every thing went wrong;
and Elvira, disgusted with the world, felt mortified
and disgusted with herself.</p>

<p>"How hard it is," thought she, frequently,
as she tossed upon her sleepless couch,
"that I who, since my accession to the throne,
have devoted myself entirely to the interests of
my subjects, should be thus wretched; whilst
tyrants, who live but to oppress, sleep quietly
upon their beds of down. Alas! why cannot
I be as they are? Why cannot I divest myself
of reflection, and enjoy the pleasures that
surround me? But what pleasures can I enjoy?
alas! the world presents nothing that can interest
me; an insipid vacuum spreads through creation;
my heart is cold and desolate; my affections
are thrown back upon myself, and I am
miserable."</p>

<p>Thus raved Elvira, and, absorbed in painful
meditations, she neglected the duties of
her station, and resigned herself to despair,
whilst the people, attributing her evident
wretchedness to her grief for the absence of
Prince Ferdinand, who had left London immediately
after his trial, and had not since
been heard of, became every hour more and
more discontented with their Queen.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the marriage of Lord Edmund,
though not openly avowed, was generally
suspected; and the party of Rosabella
gained strength every day, whilst mysterious
rumours were whispered from mouth to mouth,
and divers hints given that many knew more
than they chose to say; though from the immense
number of these mystery-mongers it
seemed, as in the celebrated scene in the Barber
of Seville, that every one was in the secret, though
nobody was to divulge it. The listlessness of
Elvira soon produced the most serious effects.
A kingdom without a government, or rather a
government without a chief, cannot long go on
well. It is like a ship at sea without a pilot,
and it must founder upon the first rock that
impedes its course.</p>

<p>When the vigour of government is from any
cause relaxed, there are always plenty of persons
ready to take advantage of the opportunity
afforded them to commit evil with impunity;
and crimes of every description multiplied so
fast under the negligent sway of Elvira, that
the people became clamorous in their complaints.
But to whom could they address
themselves? The Queen was rarely visible&mdash;Lord
Edmund was gone, and the lords of the
council were too busy <i>talking</i> about the interests
of the people to think of <i>really attending</i>
to them; whilst the duke and Sir Ambrose
seemed too old to be likely to trouble themselves
by intermeddling with an affair of state.
To them, however, the people looked as a
dernier resort; and as it seemed indelicate to
apply to the duke when the person they complained
of was his own daughter, they entreated
Sir Ambrose to present a petition to the Queen
in their behalf.</p>

<p>The worthy baronet acceded to their request,
and though almost bent to the earth by age
and misery, prepared once more to appear at
court. The loss of his beloved Edmund had
affected the old man deeply: he considered his
flight before trial as a confession of guilt, and
the thought of disgrace weighed down his grey
hairs with sorrow to the grave. The distress
of the people, however, roused him from the
apathy into which he was fast falling; and when
he waited upon the Queen, it was with all the
energy of his former years.</p>

<p>The Queen received him sullenly. "I cannot
help it Sir Ambrose," said she; "I am
sorry for my people, but I cannot do any thing
to relieve them. I feel that I am fast sinking
into the tomb; do not then disturb my last
moments by fruitless solicitations."</p>

<p>"Last moments!" cried Sir Ambrose, indignantly;
"rally your energies, and you may
live half a century. You give way to a morbid
sensibility that oppresses you; and, because
some of your hopes have been disappointed,
you shrink from the duties that you have imposed
upon yourself, and talk of your last moments.
Shame! shame! Elvira! rouse yourself
from this lethargy, and be indeed a Queen.
Remember, that though Nature has ordinarily
denied your sex the power of triumphing in
the field, she has yet left a far greater conquest
for you to achieve&mdash;the conquest of yourself;
for it is far more glorious to subdue the wayward
desires of the human heart, than to lead
scores of monarchs captives in your chains.
Struggle then with your feelings: conquer those
fatal passions that threaten to destroy you;
show yourself worthy of your crown, and be
again the Elvira for whom even in her childhood,
I anticipated greatness."</p>

<p>"It is too late," interrupted the Queen impatiently&mdash;"it
is now too late. Urge me no more,
Sir Ambrose, or you will drive me to despair."</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose was provoked at her obstinacy,
and a pause ensued, which was broken by a tumultuous
noise and shouting. It was the people
at the gates of the palace, who, impatient
at the length of Sir Ambrose's stay, were now
becoming clamorous for an answer.</p>

<p>"What shall I say to them?" asked the
baronet.</p>

<p>"Tell them I deny their suit!" replied the
Queen. "Away, away, away! I would be quiet;
go without reply; I will hear no more; I will
not be tormented:" and waving her hand for
him to depart, she hurried to her chamber.
Finding there was no alternative, Sir Ambrose
was compelled to appear before the people and
acquaint them with the will of their Sovereign.
The tumult became more violent as he spoke.
An English mob is proverbially impetuous; and
now their rage rose beyond control. "The Queen!
the Queen!" they shouted; "we will see the
Queen!" The crowd increased every moment&mdash;the
multitude heaved in tremendous waves like
the rolling billows of the sea, and the hum of
thousands of human voices filled the air. They
threatened to storm the palace. A man in complete
armour, his face entirely concealed by his
vizor, headed their attempts; the outer gates
were forced, and the throng rushed tumultuously
into the court of the palace.</p>

<p>All there was confusion: soldiers might have
been summoned, and the place defended; but
there was no one to give orders; and the servants
ran to and fro in the greatest possible
distress, without knowing either where they
were going, or what they intended doing. In
the midst of this bustle, Elvira sate burying her
face in her hands, and obstinately refusing to
take the slightest interest in the scene. The
door opened violently, and Sir Ambrose and
some of her principal servants rushed in. "For
God's sake, save yourself!" cried they. "If
your Majesty were safe, we care not for ourselves."</p>

<p>"Fly!" cried Sir Ambrose, throwing himself
upon his knees before her, his white
hair streaming almost to the ground; "for
God's sake, fly!" It was too late, however,
then, had the Queen been disposed to obey
him; for, as he spoke, the outer door burst
open with tremendous violence; the palace
seemed to shake to its foundation with the
shock; and in an instant the chamber was filled
by the infuriated populace.</p>

<p>"Seize the Queen, but do not injure her!"
cried a voice that thrilled through every nerve
of Sir Ambrose. "Spare the old man; do not
hurt a hair of his head." Sir Ambrose looked
up; the voice came from the man in armour;
but it was the voice of Edmund. A crowd
of overwhelming thoughts rushed through his
mind, and, overpowered by their weight, he
sank senseless upon the ground. "Take
him away!" cried Edmund; (for it was indeed
he;) "take him away! but see that ye
hurt him not: he dies that injures him."</p>

<p>"Edmund!" cried Elvira, struck also by his
voice&mdash;</p>

<p>"To prison with her!" exclaimed he.</p>

<p>"To prison, Edmund! do you doom your
Queen to prison? Is it thus you treat your Sovereign?"</p>

<p>"I own no Sovereign here but Rosabella."</p>

<p>"But, by what right can she be called your
Sovereign?"</p>

<p>"By that which made you Queen. The people's
voice. It lies with them to crown or to
dethrone!"</p>

<p>"Oh Edmund! mercy!"</p>

<p>"Away with her! I'll hear no more."</p>

<p>The guards seized upon the unfortunate
Queen, and, in spite of her entreaties, hurried
her away. Edmund did not trust himself to
look at her. For a moment he hid his face
in his hands; then rousing himself, he exclaimed,
"Now to proclaim the Queen!" The people
followed him with shouts of applause, and
before evening Edmund and Rosabella were
unanimously acknowledged as King and Queen
of England.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a></h3>


<p>Notwithstanding the able manner in which
the revolution had been effected, England was
still in a state of tumult. Though the army
had been seduced by the example of Edmund,
and the people had been obliged to submit, they
were by no means perfectly satisfied with their
new government; and Rosabella found, too
late, that though the throne might be compared
to a bed of roses, it was not without its thorns.
The discontented nobles who had aided her
cause were also extremely displeased by what
they called the trifling value of the rewards
bestowed upon them; though, in fact, they
rated their services so high, that Rosabella
found her whole kingdom did not possess the
power of repaying them to their satisfaction.
It was also a considerable grievance of these
haughty nobles, to see Prince Ferdinand return
to the English Court immediately after the
dethronement of Elvira, and be received with
open arms by Rosabella, who, with the anxiety
to conciliate the friendship of foreign powers,
usually displayed by those whose thrones feel
far from secure at home, loaded him with favours,
and even gave him a post of honour in
the command of her own body-guard.</p>

<p>Whilst the unreasonableness of her people
thus embittered Rosabella's political life, her
domestic happiness seemed to rest upon a yet
more unstable foundation. She knew that
though she possessed Edmund's hand, his heart
was still devoted to Elvira; and jealousy made
her view all his actions in a distorted light. If
he were sad, she was sure he was thinking of
her rival; and if gay, she fancied it a masque
put on only to deceive her. She was thus completely
miserable, and Edmund was as wretched
as herself. He felt that he had sacrificed himself
to revenge, and sold his peace for a bauble,
which, when obtained, did not seem worth the
trouble of possessing. His father too&mdash;Sir
Ambrose, his doating father, was now entirely
estranged from him, as he repeatedly declared
he would never forgive a traitor, who could
forget his oath of allegiance for his own aggrandizement.</p>

<p>"No!" exclaimed the old man, "I loved, I
doted upon Edmund; but the Edmund I loved
is vanished. My darling son was brave and
noble, not a deceptive scoundrel. No, no, my
old heart may break&mdash;nay, I hope it will&mdash;but
never whilst I live shall a deceitful traitor be
pressed against this breast."</p>

<p>Edmund was inconsolable; he passionately
loved his father, and could not bear his anger;
besides, he felt that the reproaches of the old
man were seconded by those of his own heart.
It is painful at any time to bear the censures
of the world, but they fall with double weight
when we know that they are deserved. Edmund
was dissatisfied with himself, and, consequently,
disposed to quarrel with the world.
He fancied it looked coldly upon him, and, in
return, he affected to despise it. A hundred
times a day he repeated that he was perfectly indifferent
to every thing that was said of him;
whilst his nervous anxiety to peruse the newspapers,
and make himself perfectly acquainted
with every popular rumour, proved that he was
only too sensible to every word that was uttered.
Edmund had made the mob his idol, he
could not live without its applauses, and
wretched indeed are those who thus depend
on others for their hopes of happiness.</p>

<p>Edmund's disgust at his new rank and situation
was soon still farther increased by a visit
from Lord Gustavus, who, with several other
lords, was deputed to present to his Majesty
the complaints of the Commons. They wanted
to be enfranchised, they desired innumerable
rights and privileges, and in fact they wanted
to be all kings; for if half that they demanded
had been granted, Edmund must have made
them more powerful than himself. He pointed
this out to Lord Gustavus, and condescended
to reason with him upon the folly of their
desires.</p>

<p>"Impossible!" cried Lord Gustavus. "Your
Majesty must excuse me but I cannot listen to
such arguments; I came here to defend the
liberties of the people. Reform is necessary&mdash;without
reform, nothing can go on well. Evils
must be torn up root and branch."</p>

<p>"Are not my subjects healthy, wealthy, and
prosperous?" asked Edmund. "Have they not
been successful at home and abroad? Do not
the English peasants live as well as most
foreign princes, and what more can they require?"</p>

<p>"Liberty, Sire," returned Lord Gustavus.
"What are all these pretended advantages
without liberty? mere toys; gaudy apples, but
rotten at the core. Of what use, indeed, are
all the blessings of life, without liberty to give
them zest, and radical reform to purge them
of all impurities?"</p>

<p>"But listen to reason."</p>

<p>"Reason! Thinking as I think, and as I
am sure every rational being must think, your
Majesty must forgive me if I assert, that even
Reason herself does not deserve to be attended
to, when she is basely enlisted upon the side of
Tyranny."</p>

<p>"Nay, then," said Edmund, "it is useless to
attempt to argue with you. I thought you had
made Reason your goddess; but if you worship
her only as long as it suits your own purposes, I
have done. You may retire. I shall take the
petition into consideration, and give it an answer
when I may think fit."</p>

<p>Edmund, who, from being degraded and
debased in his own opinion, no longer possessed
that confidence in himself that carried
conviction with all he said, had yet sufficient
dignity in his manner to awe those to silence
who dared to dispute his commands; and Lord
Gustavus and his colleagues, not presuming to
make farther remonstrance, retired in dudgeon.
This incident contributed to sicken Edmund of
reigning: he became disgusted with his Queen,
his court, his kingdom, and his country, and,
secluding himself as much as possible from public
life, left the care of managing the affairs
of state to Rosabella and Father Morris, who
now throwing off the disguise he so long had
worn, appeared openly as the dispenser of her
favours, and the arbiter of her actions.</p>

<p>The spirit of poor Sir Ambrose was quite
broken by these misfortunes. The defection of
his son, and the ingratitude of his confessor,
stung him to the core. He retired again to the
country, where with his friend the duke, Clara,
and Father Murphy, he contrived to exist,
though but the shadow of his former self. The
duke was also grievously changed, and it was
melancholy to see these two poor old men wandering
about their splendid gardens and magnificent
palaces like roaming ghosts, permitted
to revisit for a time the scenes of their departed
happiness. Clara now became the sole
stay that bound these old men to life. Her
character had developed itself wonderfully in
the midst of the striking events she had
witnessed. Firm, courageous, and enterprising,
though still gentle&mdash;the lively girl seemed
changed into the intelligent woman, whose active
mind and comprehensive spirit foresaw every
thing and provided against every emergency.
Clara was still young; but her spirit was mature
beyond her years, and her attention to the
duke and Sir Ambrose was unremitting.</p>

<p>"Well!" would they often say, "though
we have lost much, we ought still to be thankful
that Clara is spared to us:" and then with
tears trickling down their aged cheeks, they
would join in imploring Heaven to shower down
blessings upon her head. In the mean time,
however, Clara herself was far from happy.
She would, it is true, exert herself to appear
cheerful, but it was evident it was an exertion;
and often, when the duke and Sir Ambrose had
seated themselves at a party at chess, she would
steal out unobserved and retire to a little pavilion
in the garden, near what were formerly the
apartments of Father Morris, as being the most
secluded spot she could find; this part of the
mansion having been carefully shut up and
avoided by every human being, since the departure
of the priest, as infectious; the indignation
the worthy and attached servants of Sir
Ambrose felt towards Father Morris for his desertion
of their master, being extended even to
the rooms he had occupied.</p>

<p>In this secluded spot Clara often sate for
hours, lost in meditation, her head resting upon
her hand, and her eyes fixed in vacancy. Winter
had now given place to spring, and all nature
seemed to revive with that gay and joyous season.
The heart of Clara, however, was still
lonely; she fancied it could enjoy no second
summer; and she felt almost disposed to quarrel
with all around her for displaying a gaiety in
which she could not participate. Nothing
makes a broken heart feel more gloomy than
to see all other objects look gay. It turns
from them in disgust, and feels its own
misery doubled by the sight of their happiness.</p>

<p>One evening as Clara was sitting absorbed in
melancholy reflections, she was startled by hearing
a deep-drawn sigh heaved heavily behind
her. She turned, and fancied she could distinguish
a figure in the midst of the twilight
but, magnified by the obscurity, the figure
seemed of gigantic proportions. Uttering a
faint scream, she attempted to fly&mdash;when a
hand of iron grasped her arm, and arrested her
progress. An icy chill shot to her heart, whilst
the well-remembered voice of Cheops sounded
in her ears.</p>

<p>"Clara," said he, in his deep sepulchral tone,
"would you save your Queen?"</p>

<p>"With the sacrifice of my life, if necessary,"
replied Clara firmly.</p>

<p>"Clara," continued the Mummy, "I have
marked you attentively,&mdash;and as I do not know
any individual possessing more strength of mind
and personal courage than yourself, I have fixed
upon you to be my assistant in this enterprize.
The life of Elvira is in danger; and even my
influence cannot much longer save her, if she
remain in the power of Father Morris. Besides,
the lesson she has already had, has been sufficiently
severe. I will aid her to escape, and you
must assist me. You shall go to Ireland; and
there, if the warlike Roderick be not deaf to
the cry of beauty in distress, through his aid
Elvira may hope redress,&mdash;at least, she must
implore his help.&mdash;Rosabella is now at a palace
near this, and she has brought her rival in her
train; for, with the usual jealousy and suspicion
of tyrants and usurpers, she scarcely dares to
trust her from her sight. Besides this, her
diabolical revenge is gratified in making Elvira
wait humbly near her throne, and serve in those
palaces where she once commanded. Moved
by this ungenerous conduct, and the patience
with which the unhappy Elvira bears her sufferings,
the nobles and people of the realm
begin to pity her: and when they are disgusted
with the haughtiness and intolerance of Rosabella,
they sigh for the return of the gentle
Elvira. Father Morris perceives this, and determining
to rid Rosabella of her rival, the fair
Elvira fades beneath his arts, like a flower withering
on its stem."</p>

<p>"She must be saved!" said Clara, with
enthusiasm; "she <i>shall</i> be saved!&mdash;Point
but out the means, and I am devoted to her
service."</p>

<p>"You must assume these weeds, and follow
me," said Cheops, pointing to a bundle
in a corner of the pavilion, which Clara had
not before noticed. "In half an hour I will
return for you."</p>

<p>"And my sudden disappearance," rejoined
Clara, "will it not excite suspicion?"</p>

<p>"The river is deep and rapid," returned
Cheops; "some of your clothes left upon its
banks&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I comprehend," cried Clara eagerly; "but
the poor old duke, and Sir Ambrose?"?</p>

<p>"Their anxiety and distress may be great,
but cannot be lasting: the feelings of age are
blunt, and&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh, no!" exclaimed Clara, "you are deceived;&mdash;nay,
I think that age feels grief more
acutely than youth. The mind has lost its elasticity&mdash;hope
is dead within it, and the old
brood over their secret sorrow till they destroy
their&mdash;"</p>

<p>"By Osiris! thou art a most extraordinary
girl," said Cheops; "the old do brood over grief,
but why say this to me? Do I not know it well&mdash;too
well?" continued he, looking at her earnestly.
Clara turned pale, and trembled&mdash;he saw
her agitation; and, hastily averting his eyes, continued
in a calmer tone,&mdash;"Whatever the sufferings
of the old men may be for the moment,
I suppose even you will allow the life of Elvira
more than counterbalances them;&mdash;and, by inflicting
this temporary pain, you will save them
from the more lasting agony they would endure
from her death: for Father Morris is so subtle,
that it would be dangerous to give them the
slightest hint of our intention, lest he should worm
it from them. Be ready then, Clara; resign thyself
to my instructions, and, above all, fear not."</p>

<p>Clara bent her head in token of assent, and
Cheops disappeared. Upon examining the
clothes, Clara found them to be the dress of a
Greek peasant boy, numbers of whom at this
period were rambling over England singing
wild romances to their harps or lutes, and
telling fortunes in a kind of doggerel rhyme.
Exposure to the air tanned most of these wandering
minstrels brown, and Clara found a
bottle of liquid in the parcel to stain her face
and hands. She bound up her flaxen ringlets,
and, covering her head with curls of a jetty
blackness, she found the metamorphosis so complete
that she scarcely knew herself as she saw
her figure reflected in a large mirror behind
her. It was now nearly dark, but Cheops had
left the necessary implements for striking a
light, and Clara made her toilette without the
least difficulty.</p>

<p>Anxious were the moments, however, that
passed after her task was completed, till the
arrival of Cheops; and when he did come, she
saw he was attired as herself. He grasped
her arm, and without speaking led her to the
banks of the river. Clara shuddered as she
found herself alone in the power of this mysterious
being, and saw the river roll deep and
dark beneath her feet. Cheops felt her shudder,
and cried with one of his horrid laughs,
which sounded fearfully amidst the stillness
of the night, "What! do even <i>you</i> fear me?
Is there <i>no</i> courage in this degenerate race?
None? What do you fear? If you dread to
trust yourself in my power, or think yourself
unequal to the task you have undertaken,
retire: there is yet time, and I wish no unwilling
agents. Poor child!" continued he,
looking at her with feeling; "thou dost not
know me, but for worlds I would not harm
thee!"</p>

<p>"I will go with you," said Clara resolutely;
"I do not shrink. Let what will await me, I
will not recede: though unheard-of torments
may attend me, I will endure them."</p>

<p>"By the Holy Gods of my forefathers,"
cried Cheops, "she is a brave girl! Yes,
Clara, I will trust thee; and though we should
encounter horrors fearful as those which menace
the initiati in the dread Isian mysteries, I will
not doubt thy courage. A determined spirit,
Clara, may subdue even Fate."</p>

<p>As he spoke, he threw the clothes she had
brought for the purpose carelessly upon the
banks of the river; and then again seizing her
arm, he dragged her forward with such rapidity,
that in an incredibly short time they
approached the palace of Rosabella. The mansion
looked the region of enchantment. Brilliantly
illuminated, light streamed from every
window; and through the colonnade of the great
hall, groups of elegantly dressed people were
seen gaily moving to and fro, some dancing,
and others listening to harmonious music.</p>

<p>Clara, though terrified and exhausted, felt
still irresistibly impelled to proceed, and, still
guided by her strange companion, entered, unobserved,
the outer court of the palace.</p>

<p>"Prince Ferdinand of Germany commands
the guard to-night," whispered Cheops, in a
low, unnatural voice "it is well, he shall go
with us."</p>

<p>"But will he?" asked Clara tremblingly.</p>

<p>"Will he?" returned Cheops, with his peculiar
sneer: "dost thou doubt my power,
girl?"</p>

<p>Clara and Cheops had now reached a place
from whence, unobserved, they could survey the
whole of the splendid apartment before them.
They had, in fact, entered the hall, and placed
themselves in a kind of recess shaded by
projecting pillars, from whence they could see
every part of the saloon. Clara was astonished
to find herself so easily in the presence
of the Queen, for she knew not how they had
attained their present situation; and she would
have spoken to ask Cheops, but he laid his
finger upon his lips: and whispering&mdash;"Hippocrates
was the only son of Isis and Osiris!"&mdash;she
comprehended he meant that Wisdom
and Knowledge produced Silence, and she did
not dare to breathe a syllable.</p>

<p>Rosabella sate upon a splendid dais, gorgeously
attired; her black eyes flashing with
added brilliancy from the deep rouge upon
her cheeks; whilst her raven hair was adorned
with diamonds, and a splendid tiara of the
same precious stones sparkled on her forehead;
a robe of crimson velvet, bordered with
ermine, fell in graceful folds over her fine
figure; whilst her swanlike neck and snowy
arms, exposed perhaps more than delicacy
might strictly warrant, were also loaded with
costly jewels. Around her, stood the ladies of
her court, and amongst the rest, Elvira, plainly
attired in a robe of dark grey silk. No ornaments
shone amongst her golden tresses, and
her naturally fair complexion seemed faded to
a sickly and unnatural whiteness.</p>

<p>The indignation of Clara could scarcely be
restrained at this sight; but Cheops laying his
hand upon her arm, they stood suddenly before
the Queen.</p>

<p>"Ah! who are these?" cried Rosabella, starting.
Cheops took no notice of her surprise;
but, tuning his lute, began to sing.</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Loveliest Queen! oh deign to hear</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The humblest of thy suppliants' prayer;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Blandly on a stranger smile,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who has sought thy happy Isle,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To feast his eyes upon that face,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where majesty combines with grace."</span><br />
</p>

<p>"What means this mummery?" asked Rosabella;
"how came these minstrels here?"</p>

<p>"It is doubtless a device of the King,"
returned some of her ladies, "to amuse your
majesty."</p>

<p>Rosabella smiled; attentions were now so
rare upon the part of Edmund towards her,
that she felt gratified that it should even be
supposed he wished to please her, and, addressing
the minstrel more graciously, asked what
brought him to England. He sung his
reply:</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Full often in my native land</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I've struck my lute with bolder hand;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But with the liberties of Greece,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her minstrel's harmony must cease.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Since Iwan with a soldier's frown</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hath seized and worn th' imperial crown,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Those hearts which spurn despotic power</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Must wander from their native bower,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And in far distant lands must try</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The meaner arts of palmistry.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Give then your hand, fair lady! give,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And let the wandering minstrel live:</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So shall he tell the varied fate</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That may that lovely form await.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To other strains his voice is mute;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Broken his heart, unstrung his lute!"</span><br />
</p>

<p>"What say you, ladies," said Rosabella, again
smiling, "shall we hear our destiny?"</p>

<p>The ladies, delighted at any thing that promised
an interruption to the general gloom
which hung over Rosabella's court, gladly assented;
and, to Clara's infinite surprise, the
Mummy addressed a few doggerel verses to each.
When Elvira's turn came, Clara perceived her
colour was heightened, and that she trembled
excessively, yet the Mummy's verses to her
were as unmeaning as to the rest. Whilst this
scene was passing, the King and Father Morris
approached. The former stood silent and
abstracted, apparently quite unconscious of
the group before him; whilst Father Morris
gazed at them intently, with a satirical sneer
upon his countenance, as though in thorough
contempt for such folly.</p>

<p>"How can you endure such mummery?"
said he to Rosabella, after a short pause.</p>

<p>"Any thing for a change," said she, sighing.
The father's dark eye glanced upon the King,
and then upon Rosabella, as with a gloomy
frown he stalked on. The Queen coloured, and
hastily waving her hand to the minstrel, as a
sign that he might depart, she turned away,
and the disappointed ladies were reluctantly
obliged to follow in her train. In a few minutes,
however, a page returned with a chain
and a purse of gold, which he gave the minstrels,
and retired. Clara was upon the point
of refusing her share of this bounty, but a
look from the Mummy made her sensible of
her error, and she took it without uttering a
syllable. Her hesitation, however, did not pass
unnoticed, and she found, to her infinite horror,
when they quitted the palace, that two of the
Queen's servants had followed them. Clara
trembled excessively, and clung tightly to the
Mummy's arm for protection; but that mysterious
being still stalked on with the same indifference
as before. Clara longed to give him
some intimation of the danger that awaited
him, but she could not speak; the words seemed
to swell in her throat and almost choke her,
whilst she found herself dragged along by an
irresistible influence, too powerful to admit of
her even struggling against it. Inexpressible
agony, however, seized her as she found herself
hurried on towards the river; and when,
as they reached the brink, she beheld Cheops
stamp, with almost supernatural force, upon the
fragile bridge which stretched across the water,
and saw the slender plank sink beneath his
weight, she could bear no more, and, screaming
with horror, rushed forwards to save him. A
strong arm, however, pulled her back; she felt
herself whirled round, and for the moment her
senses seemed to desert her. The next instant
she found she had been dragged under some
bushes, and saw their pursuers rush down to
the place where the broken bridge had been.</p>

<p>"They are gone, by Jupiter!" said one; "I
heard them fall into the water. It was a tremendous
crash."</p>

<p>"I heard them," returned the other;
"they fell as heavy as lead; and how they
screamed!"</p>

<p>"The young one screamed," said the first;
"but the old one groaned."</p>

<p>"What does it matter," resumed the second,
"whether they screamed or groaned? They
are gone to the devil a little before their time,
and so we have only to go back as we came.
Between ourselves, it was nonsense to take the
trouble to watch them. They were evidently
only what they seemed to be; and even Father
Morris, suspicious as he is, gave us no orders
about them."</p>

<p>"Thy dull head cannot see," said the first.
"The father's negligence was the very motive
of my vigilance. Things are not with him as
they have been&mdash;he wants to rule the Queen
with a rod of iron, and Rosabella will not endure
control. Now, it struck me when I
saw the youth's hesitation, that all was not
right, and, I thought, if I could discover what
had escaped him&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I see," said the other; "his lifeless trunk
might have had the honour of serving as a stepping-stone
to enable <i>you</i> to rise."</p>

<p>"It was possible," returned the other, laughing;
and they retired, their voices gradually
dying away till they became inaudible in the
distance. Clara now perceived that the Mummy
stood beside her. He did not speak, but pressed
his finger upon his lips in token of silence,
and for some minutes they stood fixed to the
spot:&mdash;till, as the last faint echo of the servants'
footsteps died away, he again seized the arm of
Clara, and hurried her away towards a gloomy
cave.</p>

<p>They stopped at the entrance; and though
the poor girl was still too much terrified to
speak, yet she felt somewhat relieved by the
discovery that the Mummy had evidently saved
her from danger, instead of, as she feared, precipitating
her into it. She still gazed with awe,
however, at his strange unearthly figure, as he
stood with his eyes fixed earnestly upon a star,
and apparently occupied in muttering prayers
addressed to it.</p>

<p>"Clara!" at length said he, his deep, full
voice echoing solemnly through the vaulted
cave; "Clara!" again he repeated, whilst the
blood of his terrified companion seemed to curdle
in her veins at the awful sound. She, however,
slowly and tremblingly advanced&mdash;he grasped
her arm&mdash;she attempted to shrink back, but
seemed fixed as though by magic;&mdash;"Hear
me," continued the Mummy, in a low, hollow
tone, which appeared to rise from the tomb,&mdash;"Elvira
understood my signal, and she will
soon be here; but you must do the rest. Prince
Ferdinand keeps guard to-night. Pass through
this cave; the outlet will bring you to his station.
Throw yourself at his feet, and appeal to
his compassion in whatever language the feelings
of the moment may inspire. He will
readily listen to you, for he has not forgotten
your visit to him in prison, and will swear to
devote himself to your service. Tell him you
accept his offers, and entreat him to convey
yourself and the Queen to Ireland&mdash;where
Roderick will receive and protect you. He
will immediately comply; and his being the
companion of your flight, will induce the belief
that you are gone to Germany, and will consequently
prevent the least danger of pursuit."</p>

<p>At this moment a slight figure, wrapped in a
large mantle, appeared at the entrance of the
cavern. "Elvira!" cried Cheops, and the
stranger sprang forward. "Then I am right,"
exclaimed she, whilst her whole frame trembled
with agitation.</p>

<p>"This is your guide," said Cheops, in his
deep sepulchral tone; "follow her and you
will do well. Farewell! but we shall meet
again." Then bending over her, he pressed
his lips to her forehead, and to that of Clara.</p>

<p>Both shuddered at the touch of those cold
marble lips, and an icy chill ran through their
veins, as the fearful conviction that their companion
was no earthly being thrilled in their
bosoms. Even the strongest minds dread supernatural
horrors, and our fair fugitives turned
involuntarily away. When they looked again,
the Mummy was gone, and the darkness appeared
so profound that they were obliged to
grope their way cautiously along. Fearing
alike to remain or to advance, they proceeded
with trembling steps slowly along a narrow
passage; their minds filled with that vague
sense of danger that generally attends the
want of light, when Imagination pictures terrors
which do not really exist, and Fancy lends
her aid to magnify those which do.</p>

<p>By degrees, however, the Queen and her companion
became accustomed to the darkness; and
as the pupils of their eyes dilated, they were
enabled to discern the objects around them.
Innumerable fantastic shapes, however, now appeared
to flit before them, and grim giants to
frown awfully from every corner of the gloomy
vault they were traversing. The dim and indistinct
light threw a misty veil round the projecting
corners of the rocks that gave them a
fearful and unnatural grandeur; whilst the fair
friends, overpowered with terror, gazed timidly
around, and stood a few moments not daring to
advance into the darker abysses of the caverns,
and yet dreading alike to remain where they
were, or to return.</p>

<p>"We must go on," said Elvira at length,
her voice echoing through the cave, till she
started at the sound.</p>

<p>"Oh God!" cried Clara; "hark! a thousand
mocking demons seem to repeat from every
rock&mdash;Go on!&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Go on!" again rang in a thousand varied
tones through the cavern.</p>

<p>"Let us proceed," whispered Elvira, shuddering;
"this is a fearful place!"</p>

<p>And they hurried on as fast as their trembling
limbs could carry them, along a dark and
gloomy passage, leading in the direction pointed
out by the Mummy. In a few minutes, however,
a bright though glimmering light appeared
afar off, like a star, which, gleaming
through the darkness, seemed a beacon of hope
to guide them on to happiness. A slight current
of air, too, now blew freshly in their faces,
and their spirits rose, as with quickened steps
they hastened onward in the direction from
whence it appeared to proceed.</p>

<p>The light now seemed rapidly to enlarge,
and the wind blew more freshly, whilst the
Queen and her companion distinctly heard the
heavy stamping of horses, which vibrated fearfully
on the hollow ground, and grew louder
and louder every moment as they advanced.</p>

<p>"Ah! what is that?" cried Elvira trembling,
clinging closer to her companion.</p>

<p>"It is the bivouack of Prince Ferdinand,"
replied Clara; "the Mummy told me we should
find him here, and that he would aid us."</p>

<p>"Ah, that fearful Mummy," murmured
Elvira softly; "if he should deceive us, and
this should be only a plan to betray us to our
enemies?"</p>

<p>"Fear not," said Clara; "come what may,
we must dare the worst."</p>

<p>They had now reached the outlet of the
cavern, and found an opening large enough to
admit of a single person. Cautiously advancing
towards it, they paused for a few moments ere
they descended, to gaze upon the scene below.
A troop of soldiers were scattered round, in
various attitudes of repose, under a small grove
of trees, whilst their horses grazed at a little
distance. The prince alone seemed awake, and
he lay apart from his companions, stretched
upon a grassy bank, a thick tree spreading
above him, his head resting upon his hand,
and his eyes fixed upon the ground. The
moon shone brightly, and played upon the
prince's polished armour, like summer lightning
dancing on a lake. His helmet was
thrown aside, and his countenance looked pale
and sad, whilst his frequent sighs betrayed the
uneasiness of his mind.</p>

<p>"Let us advance," said Clara, "and try to
move him to compassion."</p>

<p>Elvira complied; and with light and timid
steps, fearing almost to breathe, lest they should
break the slumbers of their enemies, they approached
the prince. All was still, save the
hard breathing of the sleeping soldiers, and
the measured champing of the horses; their
stately figures strongly relieved by the dark
grey sky beyond, and their long manes and
tails sweeping the ground. The prince was
now listlessly tracing figures in the grass with
the scabbard of his sword: he started as they
approached, and hastily demanded the cause of
their intrusion.</p>

<p>"Mercy!" cried Elvira, sinking upon her
knees before him; "mercy!" She could say
no more, but gasping for breath, she stretched
out her arms imploringly, whilst every thing
around seemed to swim before her eyes, and the
figures of the prince, the trees, the horses, and
the sleeping soldiers, appeared all dilated to
gigantic magnitude. She entirely forgot the
pathetic appeal she had intended making to the
prince's feelings, and every faculty seemed suspended
in the intenseness of her anxiety.</p>

<p>"For Heaven's sake, good youth," exclaimed
the prince, addressing Clara, "explain the
meaning of this scene! Why does this lovely
female kneel to me, and why does she implore
my mercy?"</p>

<p>"Because she has no other hope, save in that
and Heaven," said Clara solemnly; "it is the
Queen."</p>

<p>"Elvira!" cried the prince: then raising her
eagerly, he continued&mdash;"Your Majesty may
command my services; only tell me how I can
assist you."</p>

<p>A few words from Clara explained the urgency
of their situation; and the prince, promising
to meet them with horses in an hour, persuaded
them to return to the cavern till he
should join them. Heavily rolled the minutes
of this tedious hour, which seemed destined
never to have an end, till the nerves of Elvira
and Clara were wrought up to such a pitch of
agony, that death would have appeared a blessing.
At length, the prince came, bringing with
him only his faithful Hans.</p>

<p>The sight of him was sufficient to rouse the
almost fainting spirits of the Queen; and, without
speaking a single word, she and Clara
hurried after their conductors, to the wood
where the horses were waiting for them.</p>

<p>They mounted, still in perfect silence, and
hurried through the most intricate paths they
could find; for, as morning dawned, they feared
inevitable destruction. Before it became quite
light, however, they had reached a thick wood,
near the centre of which, they found a half
ruined hut; and here did the ci-devant Queen
of England and her suite try to obtain a few
hours' repose. But, alas! sleep fled from Elvira's
eyes; she could not forget she was a fugitive in
her own kingdom, flying with terror from those
very people who, but a few months before, had
almost worshipped her as a goddess; and not
even the exhaustion of her body could overcome
the hurry of her spirits, whilst every time she
closed her eyes, and felt a soft doze creeping
over her troubled senses, she started up again
in horror, fancying her pursuers had overtaken
her.</p>

<p>Consternation reigned in the palace when the
flight of Elvira, and the defection of Prince Ferdinand
were made known there. "She is gone
to Germany!" was the universal cry, and troops
were directly dispatched to all the sea-ports,
whilst a whole fleet of balloons were ordered to
scour the air in all directions, and arrest every
aërial vehicle they should meet with, whose passengers
could not give a perfectly satisfactory
account of themselves. These commissions were
executed to the letter, as the guards now sought
by extra diligence to excuse the negligence with
which they had suffered the Queen to escape;
and numerous were the wandering lovers, absconding
clerks, and unfaithful wives, who were
brought before the Council instead of Elvira
and the German Prince, of whom, however,
nothing could be heard, their measures having
been taken too well to expose them to
detection.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the hat and mantle of Clara
having been found upon the banks of the river,
the duke and Sir Ambrose were inconsolable;
and dispatched emissaries every where in search
of her. Amongst the rest, Father Murphy and
Abelard were sent to the summer palace of the
Queen, to inquire if she had there been heard
of. Rosabella and her Court, however, had removed
to London immediately upon the flight
of Elvira being discovered, and the disconsolate
searchers having inquired of every one they
met in vain, wandered through the gardens,
restless and forlorn, till at last they found the
mysterious cavern. The aspect of the place was
dreary in the extreme: a few stunted shrubs
grew upon the banks of a dark, dull rivulet; and
Father Murphy shivered and crossed himself as
he looked around.</p>

<p>"Och, murther! and this is an awful place,
Mr. Abelard," said he; "and I'm after thinking
the sooner we get out of it the better."</p>

<p>"Ah, what is that?" cried the butler, springing
forward eagerly, and snatching at something
in the bushes that looked white.</p>

<p>"It is Clara's pocket-handkerchief, poor
darling!" said the friar; "see, here is her name
worked upon it by her own pretty fingers:"
and as he turned to examine it, his foot slipped,
and he rolled into the water, floundering about
like a huge porpoise.</p>

<p>"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried Abelard, "he will
certainly be drowned. Submersion in an aqueous
fluid is almost always destructive of animal life,
and I see little chance that he has of escape."</p>

<p>"Och! and will ye let me drown while ye're
talking?" asked the indignant priest. "Before
it's the good-natured thing ye'd be doing in
pulling me out, will ye let me be suffocated?"</p>

<p>"No, no, certainly not!" returned Abelard;
"my agony is unspeakable at your distress.
I only doubt how I shall be able to raise you
without a lever or pulley. The application of
the mechanical powers&mdash;"</p>

<p>"May go to the devil," cried Father Murphy,
as he crawled out without assistance;
"and so you would have let me drown, whilst
you were talking of the mechanical powers?"</p>

<p>"Excuse me, father," returned Abelard;
"friendship is a powerful affection of the
human mind; it invigorates, it warms."</p>

<p>"Does it," said the priest, shaking himself
like a water-spaniel; "then I should be very
glad to have a little of it at present, for I am
shivering with cold; to say nothing of being so
hungry that I could eat my fingers."</p>

<p>"I am surprised to hear you talk of being
hungry, father," said Abelard; "you are surely
too fat to feel any craving for food. Fat, you
know, is a kind of intermedium through which
the nutritive matter extracted from the food,
must pass before it is assimilated to repair the
loss of the individual. It thus forms a kind
of magazine to supply his wants; and a fat man
may abstain from food much longer than another,
because, during this abstinence, the collected
fat is rapidly re-absorbed."</p>

<p>Father Murphy did not speak, but his look
was sufficient, and his teeth clattering in his
head afforded an ample commentary upon the
text.</p>

<p>"You seem cold also," said the pedantic butler;
"but that must be a mistake, for animal
oil is universally allowed to be a bad conductor
of caloric."</p>

<p>"The devil take your caloric," cried Father
Murphy, again forgetting his holy office in his
anger; "I suppose you'll want to persuade
me that I have no feeling next."</p>

<p>"That is far from impossible," replied Abelard,
with the most provoking gravity; "for fat,
by surrounding the extremities of the nerves,
always obviates inordinate sensibility. At
the same time, pray do not let me be misunderstood:&mdash;I
do not say that fat people can
do entirely without eating, for the indivisibility
and individuality of the living body can
only be maintained by an incessant change of
the particles which enter into its composition;
though merely part&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hold, hold, for Heaven's sake!" groaned
Father Murphy.</p>

<p>"&mdash;Part of the animal food is reduced into
chyle," resumed Abelard; "and, as you doubtless
know, another part becomes bones; in fact,
the bones are merely secretory organs encrusted
with phosphate of lime. The lymphatic vessels
remove this salt&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh!" groaned Father Murphy, "all this
is very fine, but it does not make me one whit
less hungry. O that I had a broiled rump-steak
at this moment, smoking hot and swimming
in gravy, with a lump of fresh butter!"</p>

<p>"Hark!" cried Abelard, "the vibration of
the air that strikes upon the tympanum of my
ears, gives intimation of the approach of some
tangible object."</p>

<p>"Alas! alas!" cried the priest, "it is certainly
the spirits returned, that carried away
poor Clara. Poor dear girl! that was certainly
her pocket-handkerchief."</p>

<p>"I despair of finding her," said the butler.</p>

<p>"Despair is sinful, my son," replied the
friar; "misfortunes are sent to try us, and we
ought to bear them with resignation, and without
uttering a single murmur."</p>

<p>"But I thought you were even now complaining
of being hungry, father?" said Abelard
with the utmost simplicity.</p>

<p>"True, true!" replied the priest, a little disconcerted
by this remark; "but&mdash;but&mdash;"</p>

<p>"It is one thing to preach, and another to
practise," resumed the butler, smiling; "is it
not, father? However, I certainly heard a
noise; and if any one finds us here, we shall
be ruined."</p>

<p>"Och! never mind that," said Father Murphy;
"for that we are already, ye know."</p>

<p>"Who have we here?" cried some soldiers,
who now descended into the cave; and who
as before-mentioned, were particularly alert
in performing their duty in examining all
strangers.</p>

<p>"And is it me ye are asking that?" demanded
Father Murphy&mdash;"for if it is, it's of
no manner of use; for if I were to set about
telling you, it's a hundred to one if ever ye got
to the bottom of it."</p>

<p>"Is it possible?" cried one of the soldiers;
"surely my ears deceive me, or that is the
voice of Father Murphy!"</p>

<p>"Sure and it is!" said the reverend father;
"and whose should it be but my own? D'ye
think I'd use that of another person?"</p>

<p>"No, no!" returned the soldier, laughing;
"but my astonishment was, to find the owner of
the voice so near me. Though, now I think of
it, it is not at all surprising, as the Duke of
Cornwall is at the palace hard by, and you of
course are with him."</p>

<p>"And how can I be with him," asked the
literal Father Murphy, "when I am here?
Now if an Irishman had said such a thing,
they'd have called it a bull."</p>

<p>"Well, well, my good friend," said the soldier,
"we will not quarrel for words. I suppose
you came down with the duke?"</p>

<p>"And if you do, you never were more mistaken
in your whole life!"</p>

<p>"I cannot in the least comprehend you."</p>

<p>"I don't know how ye should, for I hav'n't
begun to explain myself yet: nor should I finish
if I were to work at it all day; and so,
as the duke is here, we'll just go to him, if
ye plase."</p>

<p>The duke, already miserable at the loss of
Clara, had no sooner heard of the escape of his
daughter, than he had determined to visit the
place where she had been, principally from that
restless desire of change which generally haunts
the unhappy; and he was now as much surprised
as the soldier to see Father Murphy
there. He felt grateful, however, to the priest
for his assiduous search for Clara; but as the
adventure of the handkerchief rested entirely
upon the father's conviction of its identity&mdash;the
handkerchief itself having been lost in the
holy father's unfortunate tumble into the water&mdash;the
duke considered the whole adventure
as rather apocryphal. He felt, however,
consoled by it, though he scarcely knew why;
and returned to his friend Sir Ambrose in
much better spirits than he had left him.</p>

<p>In the mean time, the party of Elvira did
not dare to leave the hut in which they had remained
pent up the whole day; their horses
being crowded within its walls, as well as themselves,
to prevent the possibility of discovery.
At length, the shades of evening began to fall,
and they again set forward at a rapid pace.
The agony they had suffered all day from fear
of detection&mdash;the narrow space in which they
had been cooped up, together with want of
food, had exhausted the Queen so much, that
the morning found her unable to proceed without
refreshment, and about daybreak they
were obliged to approach a cottage to implore
assistance.</p>

<p>The cottager and his son were out at work;
but the woman of the house agreed to give
the fugitives the shelter they requested. The
prince, delighted at receiving this permission,
flew back to the Queen to lift her from her
horse; but, alas! Elvira was not in a state to
enjoy even the most welcome tidings. Pale and
livid as a corpse, her head hung upon the
prince's shoulder as he bore her into the house,
and her terrified friends thought she had expired.
A little warm milk, however, revived
her, and she opened her eyes.</p>

<p>"I am ready&mdash;quite ready&mdash;to go on," said
she, gasping for utterance, and again sinking
back in a fainting fit.</p>

<p>"It is impossible she can proceed in this
state," said the prince to Clara, in a whisper;
"what will become of us?"</p>

<p>"We must remain here quietly, till she is
better," said Clara.</p>

<p>"But if we should be pursued and taken?"</p>

<p>"We cannot die better than in such a cause,"
said the heroic girl.</p>

<p>"It is strange," said the prince, looking at
her earnestly, "that the Queen has been able
to inspire such enthusiastic devotion in such a
mere boy."</p>

<p>Clara blushed, and cast her eyes upon the
ground, whilst the prince gazed upon her
blushing cheeks still more earnestly, till she
turned away from him abashed. He took her
hand; "I cannot be mistaken," said he, "it
is, it is Miss Montagu!"</p>

<p>Clara's agitation betrayed her. "I must
attend the Queen," said she, breaking from him;
and the prince, respecting the awkwardness of
her situation, forbore to urge her farther: he
felt, however, completely happy. Clara was
too artless to conceal the interest he had excited
in her breast, and it was not in the nature
of man to be indifferent to the devotion of so
young and lovely a creature. His eyes, however,
alone expressed his happiness; and Clara,
who felt his delicacy in refraining from making
any farther observations on her disguise, found
her love for him increased tenfold by his forbearance.</p>

<p>A few hours' repose restored Elvira so much,
that she wished to pursue her journey immediately,
and it was with the greatest difficulty
that the prince persuaded her to wait till nightfall.
"You must recruit your strength," said
he, "or you will never be able to plead your
cause with Roderick. He is too stern a hero
to be won as I was."</p>

<p>"Oh, it is impossible to describe how I dread
to meet him," cried Elvira; "I tremble at his
name. A being so fierce and stern as he is,
will perhaps not even condescend to listen to a
woman's prayer, and he will spurn me from him."</p>

<p>"Impossible!" cried the prince; "though, I
own, I wish we could do without him."</p>

<p>Whilst the principals were thus employed,
the cottager's wife was endeavouring to learn
from Hans who and what they were. "That
poor lady seemed dreadfully tired," said she.
"When she came, she looked just like a drooping
daffadowndilly; when the gentleman lifted her
from her horse&mdash;oh! it was quite moving to
see her!"</p>

<p>"Ja!" said Hans.</p>

<p>"However, though her illness should occasion
a little delay," continued the cottager; "I
opine that you must be unreasonable to grumble,
when you consider the delightful occasion
it affords you of refreshing your olfactory nerves
by partaking of a little of this odoriferous
atmosphere."</p>

<p>"My what nerves?" asked Hans.</p>

<p>"Your olfactory nerves," replied the learned
cottager, with a look of the greatest possible
contempt: "that is, the nerves that line the
membrane of the nasal organ. Every child
knows that the nasal fossæ are formed to receive
sensations, as by their depth and extent
a larger surface is given to the pituitary membrane,
and these soft sinuses, or cavities, are enabled
to retain a greater mass of air loaded with
odoriferous matter."</p>

<p>Poor Hans stood aghast at this explanation,
which he found something like that said to be
given by Dr. Johnson, when he called network
a complicated concatenation of rectangular angles;
and afraid to speak, lest he should draw
upon himself a new volley of words as astounding
as the last, he remained silent, staring at his
companions with much the same kind of feeling
as that with which a wild man of the woods
just caught, might be supposed to gaze upon
enlightened Europeans.</p>

<p>"Can you give me some more warm milk?"
asked Clara, who now descended in search of
refreshments for the Queen.</p>

<p>"Do you think so much of the tepid lacteous
fluid good for the lady?" asked the cottager, as
she put some milk into a saucepan.</p>

<p>"She can take nothing else," returned Clara.
"How delightfully that girl sings!" continued
she, listening with rapture to a milk-maid, who
was chanting an Italian bravura as she was
milking her cow.</p>

<p>"Yes," replied the cottager; "Angelica
sings well. The parieties of her larynx are in a
very tense condition, and her trachea is quite
cartilaginous. But here comes my good man,"
continued she; "he has been hard at work all
day in the roads, and I am sure he must want
some refreshment."</p>

<p>"I do indeed feel excessive lassitude, missis,"
said the cottager, as he came in; "and I want
something to eat. What have ye got? Do see,
will you, for it's dreadful hard work breaking
stones; most we had to-day were primitive
limestone, but I found a few fine specimens of
quartz. The crystals were quite rhomboidal, and
I stopped at least half an hour admiring them."</p>

<p>"Rock crystals are often found amongst
quartz," said his wife; "so I don't think you
had any occasion to lose your time in admiring
them, when, you know, you break stones by
measure, and your wife and children are starving
for want of bread."</p>

<p>"Do not distress yourself upon that head,
my good woman," said Clara; "we have money,
and our gratitude will not permit you to
want any thing that we can give you."</p>

<p>"Thank you, thank you," cried the woman;
"it's a pleasure to serve a generous gentleman
like your honour."</p>

<p>"What a charming voice you have!" said
Clara, turning away to avoid the woman's
praises, and addressing herself to the milk-maid;
who, having finished her task, now stepped over
the stile that divided the field from the garden
of the cottage, with a pail of milk upon her
head, and advanced gracefully in measured
steps towards them.</p>

<p>"I am very happy to have pleased you,
Sir," replied the girl, dropping her foot into the
fourth position, as she made an elegant curtsy,
and then glided gracefully on.</p>

<p>"Stay, stay!" cried Clara; "won't you give
us another song before you go?"</p>

<p>"You must excuse me, Sir," said the girl,
again gracefully curtsying; "I am exceedingly
sorry to be obliged to refuse a gentleman
of your appearance; but singing requires an
alternate enlargement and contraction of the
glottis, an elevation and depression of the larynx,
and an elongation and shortening of the neck,
very difficult to be performed with a pail of
milk upon one's head."</p>

<p>"Set down the pail, then," said Clara.</p>

<p>"Indeed I can't, Sir; for I have not a moment
to spare. I just met some gentlemen
of my acquaintance on the hill, and as I expect
them here every moment, I must snatch an instant
or two to arrange my toilette."</p>

<p>"Gentlemen of your acquaintance!" cried
the mother; "what gentlemen can you have
met with here, child, that know you?"</p>

<p>"My cousin John that went for a soldier
some time since, and a party of his companions."</p>

<p>"And what brings them in these parts? No
good, I fear; for John was always a wild good-for-nothing
lad."</p>

<p>"It is no evil, I assure you, mother," said
Angelica pertly; "but you are always fancying
the worst. John is become a man of consequence
now, and he is at the head of a party
of soldiers, searching for some state prisoners.
He'll be made a captain if he finds them:
and I hope he will, with all my heart."</p>

<p>"Where are they now?" asked the mother.</p>

<p>"In the wood," replied the girl; "and my
brother is gone to help them to search, as he'll
get a share of the reward if they find the fugitives
whilst he is with them."</p>

<p>"And you'd go too, if you'd any wit," said
the wife to her husband, who had now seated
himself comfortably before the fire, and seemed
very unwilling to be disturbed. Inspired,
however, by his wife's remonstrances, he roused
himself, and, stretching his heavy limbs, rolled
rather than walked away. Angelica had also
retired, and Clara was left alone with the woman.
It has already been mentioned, that presence
of mind was one of Clara's distinguishing
characteristics; and, perceiving the danger
of the Queen, she was aware not a moment
was to be lost. The observations of the woman
to her husband, and, in fact, her whole
manner, showed that avarice was her master
passion, and upon this hint Clara spoke. She
offered her abundance of gold; she enlarged
upon the greediness of the soldiers, who, if
she waited for their approach, would perhaps
cheat her of her share in the promised reward,
or, at least, give her such a trifle as would not
to be worth having; and at last drew forth the
glittering metal and spread it before her eyes.
Gold softens the hardest heart, and the cottager's
wife could resist no longer, but promised
to connive at their escape.</p>

<p>Clara instantly ordered Hans to prepare the
horses; and, informing the prince and Elvira of
what had passed, the whole party again set forward
on their eventful journey.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></h3>


<p>In the mean time, Roderick had been completely
victorious in Spain. He had reached
Madrid and established Don Pedro as King;
and was now on his return to Seville, where he
had left M. de Mallet and his charming daughter.
Edric, of course, accompanied him; but
the rest of the army had marched to Cadiz to
embark, the Greek page only attending upon
his master.</p>

<p>"Well, Edric!" said the King, laughing, as
they approached Seville, "does not your heart
beat with pleasure at the thought of quitting
Spain?"</p>

<p>"How can you torment me so, Roderick?"</p>

<p>"Torment you! why I thought you would
be in raptures; though I must own, if you are,
they are the most melancholy raptures I ever
beheld in my life."</p>

<p>"This raillery is not generous. It is unworthy
of you. I own I love Mademoiselle
de Mallet&mdash;but I despair."</p>

<p>"And why?"</p>

<p>"Alas! how can I ask her to share the fortunes
of a banished man?"</p>

<p>"Am not I your friend?"</p>

<p>"I know it; but I cannot brook dependence
even upon you."</p>

<p>"I do not wish you to be dependent; but
what can I do to serve you? Shall I make
war upon this cross old father of yours?"</p>

<p>"Oh, do not speak of him so lightly! Say
what you please of me, but spare my father!"</p>

<p>"I respect your feelings; and as I can say
no good of him, I will have the discretion to
be silent."</p>

<p>Edric felt no inclination to reply to this remark,
and they travelled on in perfect silence
till they reached Seville. Here they found
every thing changed: the town had been partially
re-built, and the lovely groves of orange
and myrtle trees in the vicinity, glowing with
all the rich luxuriance of a southern spring,
gave no idea of the scene of ruin and desolation
it had before presented. They inquired for
the house of M. de Mallet, and upon entering
the inner square, or court-yard, they found him
seated under the piazza that stretched round
it, enjoying the evening breeze, whilst his fair
daughter was occupied in reading to him.</p>

<p>A fountain played in the centre of the court,
its sparkling spray descending in silvery showers;
whilst innumerable orange trees and flowering
shrubs, which were placed around, perfumed
the air with their delicious fragrance;
and a light awning, spread over the roof of the
court, mellowed the light to a soft though glowing
tinge, which gave an air of voluptuous languor
to the whole scene.</p>

<p>The delight felt by M. de Mallet and his
daughter at again seeing their deliverers was
enthusiastic; and though it was most openly expressed
by the father, the burning cheeks and
sparkling eyes of Pauline spoke quite as intelligibly
her silent transport.</p>

<p>"We have long expected you," said M. de
Mallet; "for I cannot describe how anxious
we are to leave this country. Pauline has wearied
Heaven with prayers for your safety, and
as I have felt my strength decay daily, I too
have prayed for your return, for I have a secret
to confide to you that weighs heavily upon
my spirits."</p>

<p>"To confide to us?" cried Edric.</p>

<p>"Yes, to you," said M. de Mallet. "It is
true I have not known you long; but some
circumstances make men better acquainted in
a month than the ordinary routine of life does
in years. Thus, the kindness with which you
have treated me, and the important events in
which I have seen you engaged, have made me
consider you as old and tried friends, and have
induced me to confide to you a secret which I
have hitherto guarded with the utmost scrupulous
fidelity."</p>

<p>"What can you mean?" asked Edric in astonishment;
whilst Pauline gazed upon her
father with a look of the most intense anxiety.</p>

<p>"Pauline is not my child!" said the old man
impressively. Pauline uttered a cry of agony
that thrilled through the souls of her auditors,
and threw herself at his feet, looking up in his
face with an expression of the bitterest anguish,
as though she implored him not to desert her.
M. de Mallet's agitation was equal to her own,
and, as he fondly regarded her, he continued:</p>

<p>"Yes, miserable being that I am! I am not
her father. Alas! often when I have beheld her
enduring hunger and thirst for my sake; when
I have seen her delicate frame exhausted with
fatigue or shivering with cold, whilst still with
angelic sweetness she has seemed to forget her
own sufferings, and to think only of alleviating
mine&mdash;oh, then, how I have burned to tell her
that I did not deserve her kindness, and that I
was an alien from her blood!"</p>

<p>"Oh father! my dearest father!" cried Pauline,
her eyes streaming with tears; "what do
you not deserve from me? What is there that
I could do, that could half express my love
and gratitude? Alas! though I am not your
child, the tender care you took of my infancy&mdash;your
kindness, your affection&mdash;" Pauline could
not continue, her sobs impeded her utterance.</p>

<p>"My dear child!" said M. de Mallet: and
folding her in his arms, he mingled his tears
with hers; whilst Roderick and Edric were both
too powerfully affected to interrupt their sorrows,
and stood gazing upon them in silence,
though both ardently desired an explanation of
this seeming mastery. After a short pause,
M. de Mallet resumed: "I see the astonishment
I have caused you, and my heart bleeds
for the pain I have been compelled to inflict upon
Pauline, but I could not die in peace without
disclosing the truth."</p>

<p>"Oh, do not talk of dying!" cried Pauline,
still clinging to him with the fondest affection.</p>

<p>"And who are the parents of Mademoiselle
de Mallet?" demanded Roderick.</p>

<p>"Alas! I know not," returned the Swiss.
"About twenty years ago, I was travelling in
England with my wife, who, afflicted with an
incurable disease, had been advised to try the
skill of English physicians, they being considered
the most able in the world. One night, my
poor wife being exhausted with fatigue, we
stopped at a small inn in a village near the sea
coast. The night was tempestuous, and a blazing
light in the kitchen tempted us to wait there
whilst the parlour was prepared for us. A
woman sate near the fire, with a lovely little
girl, about two years old, playing at her feet.
My poor wife was always passionately fond of
children, though Heaven had never blest us with
any; and attracted by the exquisite beauty of the
little cherub, she took it in her arms and began
to caress it.</p>

<p>"'Is your honour fond of children?' asked the
woman with an evident affectation of vulgarity.</p>

<p>"'I dote upon them,' replied my wife. 'Oh
Louis,' continued she, addressing me in French,
'if I could have such an angel as this to supply
my place to you, I think I could be resigned to
die.'</p>

<p>"'If your honours like the child, you may
have her,' said the woman.</p>

<p>"I started: but recollecting that, from the
over education of the lower classes in England,
they were all linguists; the circumstance of the
woman's understanding what we said, did not appear
extraordinary. 'She is my child,' continued
the woman; 'I live hard by&mdash;and have
only taken shelter here from the storm. The
landlady knows me very well. My husband has
been dead some months; and, as I find it hard
work to maintain myself and the child too, I
own I shall be glad to place her in hands where
she is sure to be taken care of.'</p>

<p>"The woman's tale seemed plausible; and my
wife and I were easily induced to conclude the
bargain that gave us possession of Pauline! We
visited the cottage of this woman the next morning,
and found her story true, excepting that
she had only lived there a few weeks. This,
however, appeared immaterial; as indeed she
had not fixed any definite time for the period of
her residence, and gave some reason which I
have forgotten for having left her former abode
when her husband died. Soon after this, we
left England, taking Pauline with us: her
beauty increased with her years; and when my
poor wife died, which she did a few months
after our return to Switzerland, Pauline formed
the sole consolation of my life. Two or three
years afterwards, a friend of mine visiting England
called by my desire upon the reputed mother
of Pauline. He found the cottage deserted,
and the landlady of the inn told him, that the
woman had left the place a few hours after we
had done so ourselves.</p>

<p>"This circumstance, combined with the evidently
affected vulgarity of the woman, and
the elegance and delicacy of Pauline, has always
induced me to suspect I was the dupe of a
deception, and that the child had been stolen
from parents in a superior rank of life to that in
which I found her. Whether my conjectures
are correct, I know not; but when I have
surveyed the beauty and graces of my child,
my breast has smote me for confining her to my
own humble station, and I have determined,
whenever circumstances would permit, to take
her to England, and endeavour, if possible, to
elucidate the mystery that hangs over her
destiny."</p>

<p>"Accompany me then to Ireland," said Roderick,
"and when you have stayed there till you
are tired, if you still wish to prosecute your researches,
I will give you letters of introduction
to the English Court, and I sincerely hope
we may find our fair friend to be a princess
of the blood at least."</p>

<p>In the mean time, M. de Mallet's narrative
had caused the greatest agitation in the breasts
of Edric and Pauline. "Not his daughter!"
thought the former; "whose can she be, then?"
and his imagination ran wild amongst a variety
of dreams and fancies, each more extravagant
than the last: for, to suppose the elegant and
accomplished Pauline the daughter of a mere
peasant was impossible; and the transporting
hope that she might yet be his, with the consent
of his father and the approbation of all his
friends, danced before him; whilst Pauline, uncertain
what to think, and unable to analyze
her own sensations, felt, even amidst the desolation
in which the avowal of M. de Mallet had
involved her, a faint emotion of pleasure still
throb at her heart, when she reflected that now
her country was that of her lover's, and that it
was possible&mdash;she dared go no farther, for her
senses seemed unable to support the intoxicating
thoughts of what might follow.</p>

<p>It had been agreed that our friends should
remain a few days at Seville, to give the army
at Cadiz time to recover from the fatigue of
their march previous to their embarkation; but
the morning after their arrival, a courier arrived
with despatches from England, which made Roderick
impatient to leave Spain immediately.
He was at breakfast when these letters, which
had been forwarded to him from Cadiz, were
put into his hands. He changed colour, and,
starting from his seat, begged Edric to follow
him into the garden.</p>

<p>"Good God, what is the matter?" asked M.
de Mallet.</p>

<p>"Nothing, nothing!" replied Roderick; "but
that I must return to Ireland immediately."</p>

<p>And waving his hand as though to repel farther
inquiry, he left the room; Edric followed
in silence. "Edric," said the Irish Monarch,
throwing himself into a garden-seat and burying
his face in his hands; "Elvira is dethroned,
and perhaps murdered, all owing to my cursed
folly in remaining so long in Spain."</p>

<p>"Elvira!" exclaimed Edric, looking at his
friend in the most profound amazement; for he
could not imagine why he took so deep an interest
in her fate.</p>

<p>"I see your astonishment, Edric," resumed
the King; "but I have not now time to explain
whys and wherefores. Suffice it to say, that I
adore Elvira, and if she perish, I will not
survive her."</p>

<p>A piercing shriek burst from the thicket as
he uttered these words, and both Edric and
Roderick sprang involuntarily to the spot&mdash;it
was vacant; they searched the wood, but no
creature was to be seen.</p>

<p>"It was fancy," said Edric.</p>

<p>"It was the Mummy," murmured the King,
"come to chide me for doubting his promises
for an instant."</p>

<p>"The Mummy!" cried Edric; "good God!
what do you mean?" and he gazed with horror
upon the wild and haggard countenance of his
friend, who he seriously believed had become
distracted. His look recalled the fleeting senses
of Roderick, and with a ghastly smile he replied,
"I am not mad, though I have enough to make
me so. We must return to Ireland without a
moment's delay, and there reinforce my army.
Elvira must be restored immediately, for her
life is in danger from every moment's delay."</p>

<p>"I hope not," said Edric; "for, though I
detest Rosabella, I do not think her capable of
assassination."</p>

<p>"If she be not, Father Morris is," returned
Roderick, in a low voice, with a look of intense
feeling.</p>

<p>Edric turned pale.&mdash;"In the name of God,
tell me who and what you are?" said he earnestly;
"and how you have obtained this close
knowledge of the English Court."</p>

<p>"I am called the Devil's favourite, you
know," returned Roderick, smiling, in spite of
his distress, at his friend's embarrassment, "and
it would be very hard if my patron did not give
me a hint now and then upon subjects of importance."</p>

<p>"How <i>can</i> you jest upon such a topic?"
asked Edric reproachfully.</p>

<p>"True," returned Roderick; "as you say,
the subject is not one to joke upon: for we
must quit Seville in a few hours, and leave M.
de Mallet and the pretty Pauline to follow us
under the escort of my Greek page; or rather,
what perhaps you would prefer, you shall stay
behind to take care of them, and Alexis and I
will proceed alone."</p>

<p>"Oh Roderick!" exclaimed Edric, "how can
you imagine I could leave you?"</p>

<p>"Not even for Pauline?" asked the King,
smiling.</p>

<p>"Not even for Pauline," repeated Edric
firmly; "my love for you surpasses even the
devoted love of woman; and whilst I breathe,
neither peril nor pleasure shall tear me from
your side."</p>

<p>"My dear Edric!" said Roderick; the tears
glistening in his eyes: the next instant, however,
he dashed them away, and added gaily,
"But come, we must go and make our bows,
and take our leave like pretty behaved cavaliers;
and you may trust my discretion, Edric,
that I will not tell Pauline of your want of
gallantry."</p>

<p>The Greek page looked the image of despair,
when he heard his master's commands that he
should remain behind; and passions, dark as
the lowering heavens before a storm, hung upon
his brow. He offered no opposition, however,
to his master's will; and crossing his arms upon
his breast, bent his head in token of obedience.</p>

<p>The voyage of Edric and Roderick to Ireland
was rapid and favourable in the extreme;
and on their arrival, their reception was enthusiastic.
The Irish are proverbially warmhearted,
and the rapture with which they now
greeted their victorious Monarch defies description.
Triumphal arches were erected, the
walls were hung with tapestry, and the streets
strewed with flowers, to greet his entry into his
capital. Roderick did not refuse these honours;
but it was evident to all who knew
him well, that his mind was occupied with other
things; and, in fact, he took his measures so
promptly and so decidedly, that, by the time
his army, with M. de Mallet and his daughter,
Dr. Entwerfen, and the Greek page, arrived
from Spain, he had assembled a force quite
sufficient for the restoration of the Queen.</p>

<p>The very day that Elvira fled in terror from
the power of her rival, the combined army of
Roderick began its march to hasten to her
assistance; and it had nearly advanced through
the whole of the tunnel under the sea, which
separates the two kingdoms, without opposition.
Orders were now given for the soldiers
to rest for the night, and tents were rapidly
pitched for that purpose. Roderick, however,
could not sleep; and he stood with his arms
folded, gazing at the singular scene before him,
the innumerable torches fixed against the dark
sides of the tunnel shedding their lucid light
around, and showing distinctly the long line of
white tents that stretched as far as the eye could
reach; whilst the distant roaring of the sea
above their heads, sounded like the hoarse
murmur of gathering thunder.</p>

<p>Whilst Roderick was thus engaged, Edric
perceived a group of people enter the cavern
from the English side, and eagerly inquire for
the King. They were brought before him;
they were four in number: but one stayed behind,
holding their horses, which looked dreadfully
jaded and distressed; whilst the other
three, a man and two women, approached and
threw themselves at Roderick's feet: "Good
God! it is Elvira!" exclaimed he.</p>

<p>"Henry Seymour!" screamed the Queen,
and fell senseless upon the ground.</p>

<p>In the mean time all was anarchy in England.
Disgusted with the world and with himself, the
King secluded himself from society, and passed
his time entirely upon a small estate adjoining
the chateau of his father. Sir Ambrose and he
often met; but they never spoke, though their
hearts yearned towards each other. With all
his good qualities, Sir Ambrose was prejudiced
and obstinate; he loved his son passionately,
but he could not endure a rebel, and the poor
old man was fast sinking into the grave, for
want of the very consolation he would not condescend
to receive.</p>

<p>Edmund also was wretched: the habits of
respect in which he had been always brought up
towards his father, prevented his daring to intrude
upon him against his will, though he would
willingly have relinquished his empty title of
King, and have exposed himself to all the miseries
of absolute want, to have obtained the privilege
of throwing himself upon his father's neck,
and receiving his forgiveness. The title of
Edmund was, indeed, now only an empty one.
Rosabella alone exercised the power of a Sovereign,
and her haughty temper and capricious
tyranny made her universally detested. Monarchs
to be respected must be firm; and whilst
they continue to inspire respect, they may sometimes
venture to be tyrants. But Rosabella was
no longer respected; he was despised; and
the Commons finding themselves oppressed, and
their complaints completely unattended to, began
to regret the gentle sway of Elvira. "She, at
least," said they, "treated us with kindness; and
if she did refuse our petitions, it was with gentleness.
But now we are treated with scorn,
and trampled beneath the feet, not only of the
Queen, but of her confessor. We will not, we
cannot bear it."</p>

<p>Sad and mournful also was the life of the
Duke of Cornwall: for days and hours he
would wander in the gardens of his chateau with
his friend Sir Ambrose, and lament sorrowfully
over the complete destruction of his hopes.</p>

<p>In these walks they often saw Edmund, gliding
at a distance like a solitary ghost, and
plunging amongst the trees when he thought
himself observed. "How changed Edmund is
become!" said the duke. "Alas! how guilt corrodes
the heart! He has destroyed my daughter,
and he is now suffering the penalty of his crime."</p>

<p>"Say not so," rejoined Sir Ambrose, who
could not bear to hear his son blamed by any
one but himself; "if Elvira had not eloped with
Prince Ferdinand&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Eloped with Prince Ferdinand!" cried the
duke,&mdash;"I did not expect this. What! can
you, Sir Ambrose, join in the general voice?
Will you slander poor Elvira? Elvira, whom
you have known from her cradle&mdash;whom you
have loved and fondled as your own child?"</p>

<p>"Patience! patience! my good friend."</p>

<p>"I have no patience, I can have no patience,
when I hear my daughter scandalized&mdash;my
poor motherless girl. Remember, if she
should err, she lost her mother in her childhood&mdash;she
has been always brought up with
me, and as she has been the playfellow of your
sons, from her earliest infancy, perhaps she
may not act according to those rigid restraints
imposed upon her sex, by those who have been
always secluded from the society of men. But
she means well, Sir Ambrose, she means well
always, and I'd answer for her virtue with my
life. Besides, you know, she has always been
used to have an intimate friend of the other
sex;&mdash;You know Edmund&mdash;"</p>

<p>"No one ever blamed her whilst Edmund
was her friend."</p>

<p>"And who dares blame her now? No one, I
trust, whilst I have an arm and a sword ready
to defend her."</p>

<p>"My good friend, you reason like a fond
father; who, though he sees, is willing to excuse
the faults of his offspring: your judgment
condemns Elvira, even more than mine."</p>

<p>"No, no,&mdash;if I thought her wrong, I should
not blame her as you do. Your partiality to
Edmund blinds you, and you fancy my poor
child has a thousand faults, because she was
not sensible to the merit of your son."</p>

<p>"You mistake me quite; my opinion of Elvira
would be just the same if Edmund were not in
existence: though I acknowledge frankly, that
every time I see his fine noble countenance,
worn with care&mdash;his pale cheeks and sunken
eyes&mdash;I feel a pang through my inmost soul.
It is a strange infatuation that she should repulse
my noble boy, and yet elope so readily
with a youth she scarcely knew."</p>

<p>"Take care what you say, Sir Ambrose&mdash;take
care what you say,&mdash;I will not have my
child insulted."</p>

<p>"I do not wish to insult her&mdash;I speak but
the truth&mdash;I do not even think her guilty,
though the whole Court rings with her shame."</p>

<p>"Guilt! shame! And this to me? Oh God!
Oh God! I have lived too long! To hear my
child thus basely slandered, and be unable to
resent it!"</p>

<p>"Base! and is this the conclusion of our
long friendship&mdash;Base! and have I lived to be
called base, for merely blaming a coquettish
wanton?"</p>

<p>"Wanton!" cried the duke, and transported
by his passion he struck Sir Ambrose violently.
The aged baronet could not endure
this insult; his sword flew from his scabbard,
and in a few seconds these ancient friends were
engaged in mortal combat.</p>

<p>It was a shocking thing to see these two old
men, their white hair streaming in the wind&mdash;their
venerable features wrinkled with age, and
their feeble frames tottering for support&mdash;fighting
with all the vindictive fury of youth. How
fearful is the storm of passion! How vile the
human heart when left to its own workings!
Every gentler feeling was extinguished in the
breasts of the two veterans, and only brutal
rage remained. For some time victory was
doubtful; but at last Sir Ambrose fell, and
in another moment the sword of his antagonist
would have passed through his bosom, had not
a powerful arm arrested the stroke. It was
Edmund! he had heard the clashing of swords
at a distance, and, rushing to the spot, arrived
just in time to prevent the fatal blow.</p>

<p>"Oh my father!" cried Edmund with a
thrill of horror, "for God's sake, do not die
till you have forgiven me! He hears me not!"
cried he, wringing his hands in unutterable anguish.
"Oh, for mercy's sake, speak! Do not
destroy me."</p>

<p>Sir Ambrose feebly opened his languid eyes:
"Farewell," said he, faintly: "God bless you!"</p>

<p>"Oh, do you forgive me!" shrieked Edmund,
falling upon his knees.</p>

<p>"I do," said Sir Ambrose: "and&mdash;the&mdash;duke;"
the words feebly ebbed from his lips;
and, as he spoke, the fearful rattle of death
gurgled in his throat, and with a convulsive
sob he expired.</p>

<p>Sadly did the duke now gaze upon his fallen
foe, but when he found him dead he was distracted.
Madly he tore his hair, and threw
himself upon the corpse; but his agonies were
in vain, the vital spark was extinct. Edmund
stood also for some seconds gazing upon the
body, without any distinct idea existing in his
mind; but when the whole sad reality rushed
upon him, he could not endure his own
thoughts, and darted away with the velocity
of lightning. The duke heeded not his departure;
he had thrown himself upon the
body of his departed friend, and the whole
universe seemed to contain for him only that
bloody corpse. "I have killed him! I have
killed him!" cried he, "I have killed him!"</p>

<p>His fearful shrieks soon drew many persons
to the spot. "I have killed him!" screamed
the duke, in answer to all interrogations; "I
have killed him!" Abelard was one of the
first collected round this mournful spectacle.
"What can we do?" said he to Father Murphy,&mdash;"the
case seems desperate."</p>

<p>"I've killed him!" again screamed the duke
in agony.</p>

<p>"He's entirely mad," said Father Murphy,
"and there's no doubt of it."</p>

<p>"I've killed him!" repeated the duke, with a
still more piercing shriek: "I've killed him!"</p>

<p>"Oh he is mad," cried all the spectators,
whilst they attempted to remove him from the
spot. With infinite difficulty they succeeded,
he still clinging to the corpse, and screaming
"I've killed him!" till his voice was lost in
the distance.</p>

<p>Whilst these scenes were transacting at the
English Court, the army of Roderick marched
through the kingdom without opposition, for
the people every where, tired of the tyranny of
her rival, received Elvira with open arms, and
the chief nobility vied with each other in opening
their houses to entertain her and her suite
as she passed along.</p>

<p>It was a fine evening in March, and the
night was clear, though cold, when Elvira, with
hurried steps, paced the fine terrace belonging
to the castle of one of these noblemen. The
Queen was evidently lost in reflection, and as she
occasionally stopped, she threw back her long
hair and looked up to the sky with an air of intense
anxiety. "It is a lovely night!" murmured
she: "Heaven grant that peace may still attend
us! yet, I fear I know not what of danger.
Oh, if the forces of Rosabella should resist&mdash;and
Roderick should fall&mdash;and for me&mdash;"</p>

<p>She paused, for the thought seemed too dreadful
for endurance. The moon shone brightly
in the heavens, and the stars sparkled like diamonds
on the clear blue sky; whilst Elvira,
raising her eyes to heaven, and clasping her
hands together, seemed lost in silent prayer.
Her fair face, shaded by her long black veil,
looked even more lovely than usual, in the soft
light thrown upon it; and, as she stood thus apparently
quite absorbed in inward devotion, she
seemed almost a celestial being descended for
the moment upon earth, and about to remount
to her native skies.</p>

<p>A figure, wrapped in a dark long cloak, now
appeared at the extremity of the terrace, and
advanced slowly towards the Queen. Two
other figures also emerged from the shade, and
followed, though at a considerable distance.
Elvira was not aware of their approach till
the first figure stood behind her, and seizing her
arms, threw a cloak over her head to stifle her
cries; and then, with the help of the others,
was hurrying her off. At this moment, Roderick
sprang actively upon the terrace, and
with one blow from his vigorous arm, felled
the first assailant to the ground. Then, drawing
his sword, the enraged Monarch would have
instantly dispatched him, had not the supposed
assassin uttered a piercing scream, and, clinging
round his knees, implored mercy. The moon
shone full upon the boy's face, and disclosed
to Roderick's astonished eyes the features of the
dumb page. "Alexis!" cried he.</p>

<p>The boy sprang from the ground.</p>

<p>"Roderick!" screamed he; "then I am
ruined!"</p>

<p>"Stay!" returned the King, grasping his arm,
and preventing his escape; "who, and what are
you? Speak, or dread my vengeance."</p>

<p>The boy's heart beat almost to suffocation;
every nerve throbbed with the most violent emotion,
and drawing a dagger from his belt, he
attempted to plunge it into the heart of Roderick.
"Ah!" cried the King, starting aside in
time to prevent the blow; whilst ere he could
prevent it, the page had buried the weapon in
his own bosom.</p>

<p>"Good God!" exclaimed Roderick, "what
can this mean?"</p>

<p>The whole of this scene had passed with such
rapidity, that Elvira had scarcely time to recover
herself, or to be aware of what had happened.
The two assistants had fled the moment
they perceived the King; and Elvira, with
trembling steps and pallid cheeks, approached
the spot where Roderick knelt beside the bleeding
page.</p>

<p>Kneeling beside him, she attempted to staunch
the blood which flowed rapidly from the wound,
but in vain; for the boy's life was evidently
fast ebbing.</p>

<p>Brian, a servant of the King, who had followed
his master to the terrace, aided her endeavours;
but Roderick remained fixed and immoveable,
his eyes chained as by the power of
fascination upon the page, who now slowly unclosed
his eyelids, and heaving a deep sigh,
fixed his languid eyes upon those of Roderick.</p>

<p>"Zoe!" cried the King.</p>

<p>"Yes," returned the page, gasping for
breath, and speaking with difficulty; "Zoe!
I am indeed that wretch. I loved you, Roderick;
I would have died for you. I do die
for you; but&mdash;but&mdash;Elvira&mdash;"</p>

<p>"What meant your outrage upon her?"</p>

<p>"What did it mean?" cried Zoe, her eyes
flashing fire, and her whole frame supported by
a supernatural energy; "did I not see that you
loved her, and could I endure to resign you to
another? No," continued she, starting from the
ground; "I would have killed her, and, had
she perished, I should have died contented."</p>

<p>The violence of the action made the blood
gush in torrents from her wound; and, pale and
feeble, her failing eyes closed. She staggered
a few paces, fell, heaved one convulsive struggle,
and Zoe was no more!</p>

<p>Sadly did Roderick gaze upon that form
which had so lately thrilled with feeling&mdash;now
cold and inanimate at his feet: the victim of passion
lay before him. Her hopes, her fears, her
rage, and her love, had passed away, and there
her body remained a senseless clod of clay,
till it should be resolved into its original elements.
By this time, some of the servants of
the castle, who had been summoned by Brian,
approached; and the old Earl of Warwick, in
whose castle the fatal scene had taken place,
rushed upon the terrace, calling wildly upon
his people to save the Queen.</p>

<p>"Is it the Lady Elvira that ye mane?" asked
Brian; "Och an't plase yere honour, and she's
safe, every inch of her."</p>

<p>"And what has been the matter?" asked
the Earl.</p>

<p>"Och and your lordship may well ask that;
but the divil a bit any body can tell you but
one, and that's myself. Ye see, my master, his
most gracious Majesty, and me were walking in
the garden; that is, he was walking and I was
watching, for fear any harm should happen to
him; for the life of such as he isn't to be
trusted to chance in a strange country, and I
guess he was thinking of the Queen, though he
never said nothing about it. And so when we
came near the terrace, it was so dark, ye couldn't
see yere hand before you. And then the moon
peeped through the clouds, like a pretty face
looking through a ground-glass window. And
then she came out as bright as a silver mirror;
and the Queen looked so pretty as she stood
praying, that my master couldn't find it in his
heart to interrupt her; and for me, I wasn't
the man to be even thinking of such a thing.
And then two black-looking spalpeens, bad luck
to them! stole out behind her, and there wasn't
two, for there were three of them&mdash;with never a
livin' soul beside, to be seen in respect of being
near her: but God never would suffer a rale
lady like herself to want a friend to comfort
her when she'd be in naad&mdash;and my master
wouldn't let her be after coming to harm, for
he jumped upon the terrace entirely like a
hound springing at the deer&mdash;and saved her,
which nobody but himself could have done like
it, for the very life of 'em. And when I came,
there was the man lying dead that would have
killed the princess, and it turned out he wasn't
a man at all, but a woman."</p>

<p>The story of Zoe is soon told. Bred in a
warm climate, and naturally enthusiastic in her
disposition, she was the child of passion. The
misfortunes she had experienced in Greece, by
depriving her of all she loved, had thrown her
affections back upon her own bosom, and they
had preyed upon themselves.</p>

<p>To give vent to the feelings that oppressed
her, she created an image of perfection in her
own mind, and this she worshipped in secret.
When she saw Roderick, however, all was
changed; a new world seemed to open upon
her. The idol of her fancy, indeed, stood before
her; for Roderick realized all her wildest
dreams. He became her god. His heroism,
his person, his talents, caught her imagination,
and the violence of her passions completed
the delirium of her soul. Notwithstanding,
however, the intensity of her feelings, no
thought of grosser texture contaminated her
mind. Her love was as that of angels, pure
and undefiled:&mdash;she regarded Roderick as a
thing enshrined, almost too holy for mortal
vows to worship; and she would have considered
it sacrilege to dare even to think of
him as a husband.</p>

<p>With these feelings, she had watched over
him, with almost a mother's love; and when
she informed him of the conspiracy against him,
she resolved, with all the romantic self-devotion
of a fond woman, to follow him unknown
and in disguise; without any plan, however,
but that of being near him, or any hope
but that of contributing to his happiness.
Money, and the assistance of one or two devoted
servants, who contrived to follow in Roderick's
train, had enabled her to accomplish this. She
had felt a momentary jealousy at his anxiety
for Pauline, and she had been half induced to
favour the plots of the Spanish general, to take
Roderick prisoner; but that feeling had worn
away, when she discovered the mutual passion
of Edric and the fair Swiss. Now the case was
different, and, maddened by the thought of
Roderick's devotion to Elvira, she had determined
to destroy her. Her trusty Greeks
would have assisted her plan, but they fled
at her detection.</p>

<p>Inexpressibly shocked at what had taken
place, Roderick could scarcely bear again to
separate himself, even for an instant, from
Elvira. "Do not bid me leave you," said he,
looking at her with the fondest affection;
"You shall accompany me, even to the field.
Oh! would to Heaven you would give me a
right to be near you for ever."</p>

<p>"Alas! alas!" replied Elvira; "I tremble
for the result of this fatal contest. Oh that
I were but a humble peasant!"</p>

<p>"Would to Heaven you were!" cried Roderick,
with enthusiasm; "for happy as I
always am in your presence, never do I feel so
much so, as when we seem, as at present, secluded
from the world. Then I could forget your
rank, and all the artificial restraints grandeur
has thrown around you; and without remembering
that I am Roderick, and you Elvira, think
only of a pair of simple lovers, whose weightiest
care was their attendance upon their flocks, and
whose only happiness consisted in loving and
being beloved."</p>

<p>"Alas, Roderick!" replied Elvira; "do not
speak of love. After the dreadful scene we have
just witnessed, I tremble at the passion. No, be
my friend, Roderick. Friendship is more sure
than love. On that, we may confidently rely;
but passion destroys itself with what it feeds
upon&mdash;intense feelings cannot last."</p>

<p>"Oh Elvira! say not so," cried Roderick,
fixing his eyes earnestly upon her blushing
countenance&mdash;whilst she, trembling and agitated,
betrayed by her confusion the passion she
would have fain concealed.</p>

<p>How feeble are words to express the transports
of such a moment! 'Tis the oasis in the
desert of life&mdash;the bright gem that casts a
radiance even upon the dross with which it is
surrounded. Man is born to misery&mdash;thick
clouds hang over him, and obscure his path&mdash;dangers
await him at every step. One single
ray alone breaks through the gloom&mdash;bright as
the fairy dreams of childhood; but, alas!
equally fleeting. 'Tis love&mdash;pure, passionate,
unsophisticated love&mdash;the only glimpse of heaven
vouchsafed on earth to man. And this was
what was now felt by Roderick and Elvira, as
he, throwing himself at her feet, vowed eternal
constancy, and persuaded her to acknowledge
that her hopes of earthly happiness centered
in him alone.</p>

<p>But why do I profane such a scene, by attempting
to describe it? Those who have
loved, have only to recollect what they felt upon
a similar occasion; and to those who have not,&mdash;Heaven
help them!&mdash;not all the eloquence
of Cicero himself could give the least idea
of any thing of the kind. Suffice it to say,
that before Roderick and Elvira parted, she
consented, if success should crown their efforts,
to become his bride.</p>

<p>The state of England, at this moment, defies
description. The death of Sir Ambrose and
the insanity of the Duke of Cornwall were
events so shocking in themselves, that it was
not surprising they produced a violent effect
upon the minds of the people. Edmund had
disappeared, and Rosabella, instigated by Father
Morris and Marianne, became every
day more rapacious and tyrannical; whilst
even they quarrelled amongst themselves, and
wretchedness prevailed throughout the kingdom.</p>

<p>This was the state of the public mind, when
the news of the invasion of Roderick first
reached the ears of Rosabella.</p>

<p>"Marianne!" she exclaimed, "summon Father
Morris. We are ruined," continued she,
as the reverend father entered&mdash;"absolutely
ruined. Roderick is invincible, and he supports
Elvira! Where is Cheops?"</p>

<p>"Ay!" returned Father Morris, "where
<i>is</i> Cheops? It is that accursed fiend that has
led us on to destruction! His counsels have
destroyed us; for, though plausible in appearance,
they have been as deceitful as the oracles
of old."</p>

<p>"Yet you trusted him!" said Rosabella.
"I hated him from the first; but you trusted
him. You thought him all perfection: he flattered
your vanity, and you weakly believed
every thing that he asserted."</p>

<p>"Weakly!" cried Father Morris, his lips
quivering with rage.</p>

<p>"Yes, weakly!" returned Rosabella; "for
a child would have seen through his artifices;
but you were deceived by them, and have
been his dupe, his tool, his plaything."</p>

<p>"This to me!" cried Father Morris, gnashing
his teeth together with passion.</p>

<p>"Yes, to you," returned Rosabella coolly;
"for why should I longer conceal my sentiments?
I will no longer be your slave. You
have made me deserted by my husband&mdash;hated
by my subjects&mdash;and detested by myself. I
will, therefore, no longer follow your councils;
from henceforward I will act for myself.
Adieu, we meet no more as friends!"</p>

<p>And as she spoke, she walked out of the
room, leaving the priest motionless with astonishment.&mdash;"This
to me!" cried he to Marianne,
as soon as he recovered himself sufficiently
to speak&mdash;"to me, who have sacrificed every
thing for her! Did I not place her on the
throne? Have I scrupled even to imbrue my
hands in blood for her sake? Have I not committed
crimes for her that weigh heavily upon my
soul? Did I not poison Claudia? and should I
not also have destroyed Elvira, if Cheops had
not saved her? Oh, Marianne, am I awake?
Is it not a cruel dream? Is it possible it can
be Rosabella! Rosabella! <i>my</i> Rosabella! <i>my
child!</i> my own Rosabella! that uses me
thus?"</p>

<p>"Hush! hush!" cried Marianne; "'tis
but the passion of a moment. Be composed.
Rosabella still loves you; but, irritated by the
desertion of Edmund, and the news she has
just heard&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh, Marianne!" interrupted the friar in
agony, "you may easily reason, for you never
had a child; but if Heaven had blessed us with
one, you might have felt for my anguish."</p>

<p>"I do feel for you," returned Marianne;
"but does she not treat me with equal scorn?
Since the absence of Edmund she has become
distracted, and I, who know the agonies a
woman endures when she finds herself deserted
by the man she adores, can feel for
her."</p>

<p>"And who first gained her Edmund? Would
he ever have become her husband, had not I induced
him?"</p>

<p>"I believe not; neither would she have been
Queen but for you."</p>

<p>"No&mdash;no. Oh! how I have toiled for that
ungrateful girl! How I have adored her!"</p>

<p>"You have been a devoted father."</p>

<p>"Have I not, Marianne? I have at least
endeavoured to expiate my sin. I have done
penance&mdash;I have spent nights unnumbered in
painful vigils. I have scourged my body, till
the feeble flesh has shrunk beneath the torture;
yet still my mind remains unappeased. Remorse
still gnaws my vitals! Oh, Marianne!
how poor is earthly grandeur to a mind diseased!"</p>

<p>In this manner did these companions in iniquity
confer; till at length, hating each other
and themselves, they gave vent to mutual upbraiding,
and parted with undisguised hatred
and contempt. Such, indeed, is the disgusting
nature of sin, that though a man may shut his
eyes to his own defects, or rather, see them
through the magic prism of self-love; yet he
almost always abhors them when he sees them
reflected in another.</p>

<p>Thus it was with Father Morris.&mdash;Marianne
had been his associate in many scenes of vice;
he had, in fact, first led her from the paths of
virtue, and, as usual in such cases, he now
hated the creature he had made.</p>

<p>Father Morris was indeed that brother of the
Duke of Cornwall, whose crimes and punishment
have been before slightly hinted at. He
had married in early life a beautiful and accomplished
woman; but, instigated by the machinations
of Marianne, whom he had previously
seduced and abandoned, he had become jealous
of her, and, in a paroxysm of rage, had deprived
her of life. This was the crime he had
since endeavoured to expiate by the penance of
his whole life. Vain, however, had been his
endeavour! The mortification of the body
avails little, where the humiliation of the spirit
is wanting; and Father Morris, notwithstanding
his apparent repentance, was proud, envious,
and intolerant.</p>

<p>In a fit of remorse, after the death of his
wife, he had embraced a monastic life, and in
order to subject himself to a perpetual penance,
had placed himself as father confessor to Sir
Ambrose. No situation, in fact, could have
been more painful to a proud spirit than this;
yet this daily misery Father Morris felt a pride
in supporting without murmuring.</p>

<p>It is strange, but true, that haughty spirits
sometimes feel almost pleasure in trying their
powers of endurance to the utmost; for there is
a self-satisfaction in thinking we have borne
what seems almost too much for mortals, that
often consoles a man under the acutest agonies.</p>

<p>This was the case with Father Morris, and
the daily tortures which he endured without
shrinking, almost reconciled him to himself.
Ambition, however, was still his master-passion,
and as his monastic vows prevented its indulgence
in his own person, he devoted himself to
the advancement of his child. How he succeeded,
and how he was rewarded, has been
already shown.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></h3>


<p>"Have you heard the news?" asked Lord
Maysworth one morning, bustling into the breakfast-room
of Lord Gustavus de Montfort.</p>

<p>"What is it?" demanded that noble lord,
who was sitting at breakfast with his usual
satellites.</p>

<p>"The King of Ireland has arrived at Oxford
with an immense army, intending to re-establish
Elvira."</p>

<p>"Impossible!" cried Lord Gustavus.</p>

<p>"Impossible!" echoed the satellites.</p>

<p>"Something must be done," said Lord Maysworth.</p>

<p>"Thinking as I think, and as I am confident
every one who hears me must think, or at least,
ought to think," said Lord Gustavus; "no
government can be worse than the one we have
at present."</p>

<p>"The Queen has not performed one of her
promises," subjoined Dr. Hardman; "and her
caprice and cruelty are beyond endurance."</p>

<p>"Her extravagance is unbounded," said Lord
Maysworth.</p>

<p>"And her arrogance extreme," rejoined Lord
Gustavus.</p>

<p>The satellites shook their heads in chorus.</p>

<p>"In my opinion," said Lord Maysworth,
"we had better seek Elvira and try to propitiate
her. She was used to be mild and
gentle."</p>

<p>"But will she not be too much exasperated
with our former desertion, to listen to us?" asked
Dr. Hardman.</p>

<p>"I think not," said Lord Gustavus pompously.</p>

<p>The result of this conference may be easily
imagined. Rosabella found herself deserted;
many who would not have had courage to abandon
her cause, had they not found precedents
for their conduct, fled in the suite of the rebel
lords. Roderick rapidly advanced, and his army
was every day augmented by the discontented
English.</p>

<p>"I am lost, Marianne!" cried the Queen, when
she found the enemy was within a day's march
of her capital; "I am ruined past redemption."</p>

<p>"Do not desert yourself," said Marianne,
"and you may yet be saved. If you despair, it
is a virtual acknowledgment of the weakness of
your cause."</p>

<p>"What will become of me?" continued Rosabella,
wringing her hands; "no earthly help
can save me."</p>

<p>"But courage may," said the deep voice of
Cheops, who had entered the room unobserved.</p>

<p>"Ah!" screamed Rosabella; "it is the
fiend!"</p>

<p>Cheops laughed, and the unearthly sound
rang hoarsely in the ears of his auditors.</p>

<p>"Speak, demon! or whatever thou art,"
cried Marianne; "shall we perish?"</p>

<p>"You shall meet with your reward!" said
the Mummy calmly: "Are you satisfied?"</p>

<p>"Oh, Rosabella!" screamed Father Morris,
rushing into the room in an agony of despair;
"save her! save my child!"</p>

<p>"Your child?" cried Rosabella; "can it be
possible that <i>you</i> are <i>my</i> father?"</p>

<p>"I am&mdash;I am;&mdash;but fly&mdash;fly&mdash;and I forgive
every thing; only let us fly!"</p>

<p>"Alas!" cried Marianne; "he has but too
much reason for his agony. The enemy have
entered the city."</p>

<p>"What will become of us?" ejaculated the
friar. "Fiend! monster! barbarian!" cried
he, addressing Cheops, and seizing him roughly
by the arm; "deliver us! It was thy accursed
counsels which involved us in ruin.
Save us!"</p>

<p>"My counsels that led you to ruin!" returned
Cheops, with one of his bitter laughs;
"say rather, your own passions. Did I urge
you to murder Claudia? Nay, did I not save
Elvira? Did I not warn you that the throne
and misery were inseparably connected? And
have not all my promises been fulfilled to the
very letter?"</p>

<p>"Yes, yes; to the letter," returned Father
Morris; "but not in spirit."</p>

<p>"By the sacred hawks of Osiris kept at
Edfou! I swore Rosabella should be Queen,
and you her favourite minister."</p>

<p>"Talk not of what is past," cried the priest
impatiently; "tell me how to act. The foe
is at the gates of the palace."</p>

<p>"Did you not say there was a secret passage,
leading from this chamber?"</p>

<p>"There is! there is!" cried Father Morris,
with rapture; "we will there lie concealed,
and may surprise them."</p>

<p>Cheops laughed:&mdash;"Am I still your foe?"
asked he, with his usual bitterness.</p>

<p>"Name it not, name it not!" cried Father
Morris; "we have not an instant to lose. Hurry
into the subterranean passage. I hear the
horses of the enemy in the court of the palace!"</p>

<p>"Thebes was perforated with passages,
yet she has fallen," muttered Cheops, as he
followed the friar and Rosabella through
the opening into the secret chamber; Marianne
joined them, and the spring pannel
closed.</p>

<p>Nothing could be more flattering than the
reception Elvira met with from her people.
Roderick had placed her at the head of his army,
and the people hailed her appearance with rapture.
Not a blow had been struck, for the army
of Rosabella had joined her banners; and Elvira
advanced to London without opposition.
Too mild and forgiving to indulge a single
feeling of revenge, she felt rejoiced that her
rival had escaped, and wished no pursuit to be
instituted.</p>

<p>Edric, however, was not so quiescent. A
thousand circumstances flashed upon his mind, to
prove that the accession of Rosabella had been
long planned by Father Morris, and he felt convinced
he had been the dupe of the plans they
had laid to induce him to quit the kingdom.</p>

<p>"I will find him," said he, "and expose
his infamy. He shall not escape me thus."</p>

<p>Vain, however, was his search, and he returned
to the room so lately occupied by Rosabella
restless and dispirited. Elvira was now in this
splendid chamber, surrounded by her friends;
and, trembling with agitation, was awaiting the
expected arrival of her father.</p>

<p>"Oh, Heavens!" exclaimed she, as the poor
old man was led in; "Roderick! my beloved
Roderick! can we not save him!"</p>

<p>"Alas," returned Roderick, "I fear&mdash;but
compose yourself, my dearest girl; all may
yet go well."</p>

<p>"Where is Elvira? my child, my darling
Elvira!" cried the old man: "I did not kill
her! No," whispered he, drawing near to Roderick;
"I killed <i>him</i>, it is true, but it was for
her sake. He slandered my child, and I could
not bear that."</p>

<p>"Oh God! oh God!" cried Elvira! "have
mercy upon him! It breaks my heart to
see him thus. Leave us, I implore you," she
continued, addressing her friends; "I cannot
bear that even you should see the extent of
his malady. Leave him with me, and perhaps
my presence may recall his lost recollection."</p>

<p>Finding opposition only increased her anxiety,
her friends at length consented; and Elvira
was left alone with her father. Kneeling
by his side as he lay stretched upon a sofa,
the Queen endeavoured to console him; but
he knew her not, and wrung her heart by calling
vehemently upon Elvira. "If I could see
my child," said he, "I should die contented.
Call my child! where is Elvira? Yes, yes, I
know she is a Queen, and cannot come to me!
Yet I think even a Queen might look at her
poor old father: I only want her to look at
me!"</p>

<p>Whilst this scene was passing, Rosabella and
her friends lay concealed in the secret chamber;
and, through the moveable pannel, watched
every thing that passed.</p>

<p>"Now is the time," cried Father Morris;
when he saw that Elvira, exhausted by her
grief, had hidden her face in her hands, to indulge
her tears unrestrainedly.</p>

<p>"You ensure your own destruction if you
kill her!" said Cheops.</p>

<p>"I care not," returned Father Morris; and
removing the pannel, he approached. Elvira
saw him not: and the shining dagger already
was aimed at her breast, when it caught the
eye of the maniac; and returning reason flashed
through his mind.</p>

<p>"Edgar!" cried he, with a piercing scream,
"spare my child!"</p>

<p>The cry roused the friends of Elvira, who
had remained in the antechamber, and they
rushed in. In an instant the room was crowded;
Father Morris was secured; and his confederates
(from his having left the pannel open)
discovered.</p>

<p>"Edgar!" cried the duke; "yes, it is Edgar!
my brother! my only brother! and this
is Elvira. She is not fled; I knew she was
not! She is safe!"</p>

<p>"And is it possible," cried Edric, "that
you can be Duke Edgar!"</p>

<p>"I am that wretch!" said Father Morris.</p>

<p>"Then Rosabella is&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My child! and for her I have become
the wretch I am! Yet to her I have done my
duty; and if she be spared?"</p>

<p>"Ah!" cried M. de Mallet; "it is, it is&mdash;yes,
I am not deceived, <i>that</i> is the woman who
sold us Pauline."</p>

<p>"Who, which&mdash;" exclaimed Edric eagerly.</p>

<p>"There," cried the Swiss, pointing to Marianne.</p>

<p>"Marianne!" exclaimed Edric.</p>

<p>"Yes," said she, "Marianne! He is right;
it was I, and now is the moment of my vengeance.
Seduced and deserted by this man,"
pointing to Father Morris, "my passions, always
impetuous, panted for revenge. <i>I</i> instigated
him to murder the wife for whom he had
abandoned me&mdash;<i>I</i> stole his child and sold her
to a stranger&mdash;and <i>I</i> substituted my own wretched
offspring, whom I had had by a man he
abhorred, in its place."</p>

<p>"What!" cried Father Morris, his livid
lips quivering with anguish; "is not Rosabella
my child?"</p>

<p>"No," said Marianne; "twenty years ago I
sold your child to this gentleman," pointing to
M. de Mallet. "He was a foreigner, and I
believed, by placing her in his hands, you
would never see her more."</p>

<p>"Then who is Rosabella?"</p>

<p>"<i>My</i> child, and by your servant Jacques."</p>

<p>"Curses on thee, woman! What! have I
then destroyed myself here and hereafter for
the offspring of that wretch? A man I detested,
abhorred, despised!"</p>

<p>"Yes," said Marianne, with a fiendish laugh.
"You abandoned me, and I swore to be revenged:
he heard my oath, and by promising
to assist me obtained my consent to be his paramour.
By his aid I effected all the rest. He
has long been dead, but still I have pursued
my plan; and when I saw you risking body
and soul for Rosabella, I have gloried, for I
was revenged."</p>

<p>"Fiend!" cried the priest; and rushing
upon her before any one could prevent him, he
stabbed her to the heart, and then instantly
withdrawing the dagger buried it in his own
bosom. "Still I am revenged!" cried Marianne,
as heaving a deep sigh she expired. Father
Morris never spoke again.</p>

<p>My tale is nearly closed, for dull must be
the mind that cannot picture all the rest. The
duke recovered his reason, and enjoyed all the
happiness his bosom was yet capable of, in witnessing
the union of his daughter and Roderick,
whom he had loved as Henry Seymour, and
now adored as the hero of Ireland. He gave
Pauline a noble fortune, as his niece, and she
married Edric; who, in the absence of his brother,
took possession of his father's wealth,
and fixed his residence in his former dwelling,
where, after all his troubles, Dr. Entwerfen
found himself comfortably re-established in his
ancient chamber; whilst Clara, by becoming
the bride of Prince Ferdinand, enchanted her
mother, and secured her own happiness.</p>

<p>The coronation of Roderick and Elvira, as
King and Queen of the United Kingdoms of
Great Britain and Ireland, was superb, and
far excelled that in which Elvira had previously
been an actress. Taught wisdom by
experience, however, she no longer placed implicit
reliance upon the shouts of applause
that followed her footsteps;&mdash;yet, even with
the reflection that all the promises she received
might be evanescent, she could not resist
the emotion of pleasure that swelled her
breast, when, after the priest had pronounced
the nuptial benediction, she walked with Roderick,
the chosen of her heart, through a long
line of kneeling subjects, and heard every
mouth implore blessings on their heads, and
bestow praises on her choice.</p>

<p>Proudly did Elvira look around as she
reached the entrance of Westminster Hall;
yet, ere she entered it, a rush and bustle
in the crowd attracted her attention, and a
man, clad like a monk, threw himself before
her. Elvira screamed; when the man, throwing
back his cowl, fixed his heavy eyes upon
her and exclaimed, "Do you not know me,
Elvira?" It was Edmund.</p>

<p>"Alas! alas!" cried he, "the demon was
right; I trusted in my own strength, and I
have fallen, miserably fallen. Though I knew
it not, ambition was my god&mdash;and every thing
else weighed lightly in the scale. Yet, even
when my ambition was gratified, I was wretched;
for I loved you, Elvira, even whilst I plotted
against you;&mdash;and as my own heart reproached
me, I felt every wrong you suffered far more
poignantly than you could yourself. My
poor father too!&mdash;but all is over now, and I am
doomed to bitter expiation of my sins,&mdash;bitter
indeed, for oh, how far beyond all other sufferings
are the never-dying tortures of remorse.
One thought alone haunted my mind,&mdash;one
image alone floated before my senses. I could
not die till I had obtained your pardon. Pardon
me then, Elvira! See! thus humbly, at thy
feet I implore thy forgiveness; crouching in
the dust, and bending my neck to be thy footstool!"</p>

<p>"Rise, I entreat you, rise!" said Elvira;
"and be assured I forgive you&mdash;nay, that I
pity you from my inmost soul."</p>

<p>"She pities me!" cried Edmund; "yet I
can bear even this: even pity. And am I indeed
fallen so low as to be pitied! Yes, yes, I
am indeed to be pitied."</p>

<p>"I did not mean to wound your feelings,"
returned Elvira, "believe me, Edmund. Tell
me, what is there I can do for you?"</p>

<p>"Nothing!" cried he wildly; "the world
is nothing for me now. Pity that unhappy
woman that was my wife; and as for me, forget
me!"</p>

<p>"Never!" said Elvira; "for never can I
forget your disinterested love and your devoted
affection. The heart, however, is capricious;
and mine, though sensible to your merits, was
destined for another."</p>

<p>"And well does that other deserve your
love;&mdash;for even jealousy itself must own that
Roderick is worthy to be your husband. Yes,
to him I <i>can</i> resign you. Farewell, Elvira! you
shall never see me more! Let my brother take
my inheritance! May you be happy! God bless
you! God bless you!"</p>

<p>And starting from his knees, he disappeared,
before she could reply.</p>

<p>The spirits of Elvira were agitated by this
event, which threw a damp over the remaining
festivities of the day; and, trembling and unnerved,
she proceeded to the magnificent hall,
where a sumptuous banquet was prepared for
her reception. For some days after this event,
the attention of Roderick and Elvira was occupied
in arranging the different affairs of the
kingdom; whilst Edric and Pauline, with the
old Duke of Cornwall, M. de Mallet, and Father
Murphy retired to the house of the former in
the country, where Dr. Entwerfen was already
comfortably established.</p>

<p>A thousand emotions swelled in the heart of
Edric as he approached this venerable mansion,
and saw again its well-known turrets peeping
through the trees. Strange, indeed, are the
feelings that oppress the mind, when the wanderer
returns, after a long absence, to the habitation
of his forefathers. A mingled crowd
of contradictory sensations, of disappointed
hopes, of undefined fears, float through his
fancy; and, as well-remembered objects recall
the visions that formerly delighted him, he
starts at the difference the experience of their
fallacy has made in himself, and he sighs in
vain for a return of the blissful ignorance he
formerly despised. All too appears changed!
As the human mind judges only by comparison,
the eyes become dazzled by distant splendours,
and that which to the eyes of youth had appeared
superb, seems to the maturer judgment
of manhood, tame, vapid, and insipid,&mdash;whilst
the imagination which had fondly cherished the
favourite dreams of childhood, and decked them
in all the vivid colours of fancy, feels disappointed
and disgusted, though it scarce knows
why, to find the reality so different from the
image it had pictured to itself.</p>

<p>Such were the feelings of Edric as he entered
the grand hall of this residence of his ancestors,
and gazed upon the well-remembered faces of
the crowd of servants assembled to meet him.
At the head of these was Davis; his tall thin
figure waving to and fro, and his long thin
white hair floating upon his shoulders; and the
more spruce and gallant aspects of Abelard
and his devoted Eloisa, the late Mrs. Russell,
who had blest him with the possession of her
fair hand a few days before, and now stood
blushing and simpering, with all the affected
modesty of a bride of sixty, to receive the
congratulations of those around her.</p>

<p>"Welcome! welcome, my dear Edric!" cried
Dr. Entwerfen, rushing down-stairs to meet
them, his sleeves tucked up, and his wig thrown
back, in a very experimental-philosophic manner;
"rejoice with me too, for I have recovered
my balloon! My darling caoutchouc bottle of
inflammability! My immortalizing snuff, and,
more than all, my adored galvanic battery!
Yes, my compendium of science, my epitome
of talent, and my most inestimable treasure, is
safe! Not, indeed, that which was employed in
galvanizing the Mummy, but its counterpart,
its duplicate, its prototype. The Mummy
came to England, and the balloon being recognized
to be mine, it was placed in my apartment,
where it has remained ever since, stowed
up in safe but inglorious obscurity, till my
return."</p>

<p>"Och! and that's a clear case!" said Father
Murphy; "and there's no doubt of it."</p>

<p>Leaving the delighted doctor to show the
treasures of his laboratory to M. de Mallet,
Edric retired to his chamber, and after surveying
again and again the well-known objects it
contained, he hurried to his favourite grove.</p>

<p>It is singular how inanimate objects, which
have been long unseen, recall the thoughts and
train of feelings indulged in when one last beheld
them: thus, the house, the groves, the
walks, the gardens, and the river, recalled all
its former longings to Edric's mind; and he
again burnt to converse with a disembodied spirit,
as he entered the grove where he had formerly
so often ruminated, and indulged dreams
wild and improbable as the delusions of delirium.
The day was beautiful; it was one of
those bright glowing mornings in April, when
dew drops hang upon every thorn, when the
sun shines brightly through the clear pure air,
and all nature seems awaking to new life and
vigour from repose.</p>

<p>Edric entered the grove, and threw himself
upon that very bank where he had reclined
only a few months before, under such different
feelings. The river, the grove, the bank, were
all the same; he only was changed. "And
yet," said he, "is not my mind still as unsettled
as before? Am I not still wandering
in a labyrinth of doubts? Unknowing where
to turn; and yet tormented with a restless desire
to discover my way. What can have become
of the Mummy, I so strangely resuscitated?
It is strange, that since the restoration of Elvira
it seems to have vanished, and yet all here speak
of it as of a living animated being. Would
that I could see it. O Cheops! Cheops&mdash;"</p>

<p>Suddenly a strange unearthly voice seemed to
murmur harshly in his ear&mdash;"Go to the Pyramid!
There and there only can thy hopes be
gratified." Edric started upon his feet&mdash;no one
was near him, and not a sound broke the awful
stillness that reigned around, save the gentle
rippling of the river that flowed at his feet. He
gazed wildly on every side, hoping, yet fearing
to behold the ghastly being, he fancied
his words had conjured up. It was in vain;
no dark figure interposed between him and
the clear bright sunshine; no gloomy shadow
stretched along the plain; all looked gay as
youth and happiness; yet still that awful voice
rang in his ears, and thrilled through every
nerve.</p>

<p>"I <i>will</i> go the Pyramid," cried he energetically;
"I will again enter that horrid tomb&mdash;but
I will go alone."</p>

<p>In pursuance of this sudden, but irresistible
desire, Edric hastily prepared to return to
Egypt; and feigning that he was called to
London by business of importance, to satisfy
the anxious curiosity of Pauline, he departed.
Indescribable emotions throbbed in his bosom
as he took his seat in the stage balloon which
was to convey him to Egypt; but when he saw
the towers and temples, and, above all, the pyramids
of this mysterious country, lying beneath
his feet, his agitation increased almost to agony.
It was with infinite difficulty that he obtained
permission again to visit the objects of his journey;
as, since the mysterious disappearance of
the Mummy, the tomb of Cheops had been
closed from mortal eyes. The interference of
the British consul, however, at length obviated
all objections, and Edric (whose impatience had
become absolute torture from the delay) once
more entered that awful receptacle of fallen
greatness.</p>

<p>Scarcely a twelvemonth had elapsed since
he had last trodden those solemn vaults, yet
what a change had taken place in his destiny!
When he considered the number and variety of
the events that had befallen him, he could
scarcely fancy it possible that they had been
crowded into so short a space of time; and, instead
of a year, centuries seemed to have rolled
over his head. His feeling of personal identity
seemed confused&mdash;his senses became bewildered,
and he mechanically followed his conductor
almost without knowing whither he was
going.</p>

<p>At last the guide stopped&mdash;"This is the
tomb of Cheops," said he; "I suppose, Sir,
you will enter it alone."</p>

<p>Edric started&mdash;the words of the guide seemed
to ring in his ears as the knell of death,
and he shuddered as the thought crossed his
mind that some horrid and appalling punishment
might even now await him for his
presumption. Desperately he snatched the
torch from the hands of his guide and advanced
<span class="smcap">alone</span>.</p>

<p>Darkly did those gloomy vaults seem to
frown at his approach, and fearfully did his
footsteps resound as he slowly penetrated into
their deep recesses. At length, he reached
the tomb, but the brazen gates were closed,
and he attempted in vain to open them. He
placed the torch upon the ground, and again
tried to unclose the fatal portal; he exerted
his whole strength, but still it resisted his efforts.
Rendered desperate, he now threw himself
against the gates with almost superhuman
force. Suddenly a hollow sound murmured
through the cavern, and a current of wind
rushed by with mighty and resistless fury.
The brazen gates flew open with a fearful
clang, and the torch fell and was extinguished.
The next moment the sepulchral lamp shot
forth a faint gleaming light, which brightened
by degrees into a steady flame, whilst heavenly
music sounded faintly upon the ear, dying
gradually away in murmurs, soft as those of
the Æolian harp.</p>

<p>The brilliant light of the lamp now glowed
with noon-day radiance, and showed distinctly
every corner of the fatal chamber. Edric looked
timidly around, and shuddered as each well-remembered
object met his eyes; but what was
his horror and surprise when, glancing at the
marble sarcophagus of Cheops, he beheld the
gigantic figure of the Mummy standing erect
beside it! It was again simply wrapped in the
garments of the tomb, and its glassy eyes, rigid
features, and statue-like form, chilled Edric to
the heart. He looked at it a few moments in
silence, till it raised its arm and seemed about
to address him; when, shrinking back with indescribable
horror, he uttered a faint shriek,
and hid his face in his hands.</p>

<p>"Why dost thou tremble?" asked the
Mummy in a deep hollow voice that thrilled
through Edric's very soul. "Didst thou
not come here to seek me, and dost thou shudder
to behold my form? I am now before
thee. Ask what thou wilt, I am permitted
to reply. Why art thou silent? Why does thy
heart seem to wither in my presence? Alas!
alas! is no mortal to be found free from the
debasing influence of fear? Thou art called
bold, courageous, and noble. Thou hast dared
to soar above thy fellow-men, and thou
hast ardently wished to see me. Behold I
am here, and now, weak, fearful, and inconsistent
as thou art, thou shunnest my approach."</p>

<p>"I do not shun thee," said Edric, removing
his hands, and endeavouring to look calmly
on the fearful being before him, though the
flesh seemed to quiver on his bones with the
effort&mdash;"I do not shun thee; but the nerves
will shrink though the mind be firm. I did
wish to see thee; for ardently do I still desire
to know the secrets of the tomb."</p>

<p>Cheops burst into one of his fearful laughs.
"Weak, silly worm! are you not satisfied then?
How would this knowledge avail you? Has
any thing but misery attended your former researches?
And can any thing but misery attend
the knowledge you now covet? Learn
wisdom by experience! Seek not to pry into
secrets denied to man! If you wish still,
however, to be resolved of your doubts,
behold me ready to satisfy them; but, I warn
you, wretchedness will wait upon my words."</p>

<p>"Then I no longer seek to hear them; for,
even weak as you esteem me, I can learn wisdom
from experience. Thus, then, I tear the
tormenting doubts, that have so long haunted
me, from my mind, and bid them farewell
for ever!"</p>

<p>"It is well," said Cheops, his eyes beaming
with joy. "Then my task is accomplished. I
have at last found a reasonable man. I honour
you, for you can command yourself, and now
you may command me."</p>

<p>"I wish it not," said Edric.</p>

<p>"Have you no curiosity?" asked the Mummy,
with a ghastly smile.</p>

<p>"None," returned Edric; "unless it be
that I would fain know your history, and
the meaning of the sculptures upon your
tomb."</p>

<p>"What are they?" demanded Cheops.</p>

<p>"A youthful warrior is bearing off a beautiful
woman in his arms, whilst an old man
laments bitterly in the distance."</p>

<p>"I was the warrior," said Cheops; "and
the beautiful female was Arsinoë. I loved her,
and to gratify my impetuous passion I tore her
from the arms of her father by force."</p>

<p>"The warrior is afterwards contending
with the old man who falls beneath his
blows&mdash;"</p>

<p>"He did, he did," cried Cheops; "he died
by my hand; and eternal misery haunts me for
the deed."</p>

<p>"And this old man was&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My father!" cried the Mummy, writhing in
agony.</p>

<p>"And Arsinoë&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My sister&mdash;my own, my beloved sister!"</p>

<p>A solemn pause followed this speech, for
Edric was too much shocked to speak again to
the awful being who had avowed such crimes,
and upon whose face were traced passions too
horrible to be imagined. After a short silence
Cheops again exclaimed&mdash;</p>

<p>"Yes, yes; I see your horror, and it is just;
but think you that I do not suffer? know that a
fiend&mdash;a wild, never-dying fiend rages here," continued
he, pressing his hand upon his breast. "It
gnaws my vitals&mdash;it burns with unquenchable fire
and never ceasing torment. Permitted for a time
to revisit earth, I have made use of the powers
entrusted to me to assist the good and punish
the malevolent. Under pretence of aiding them,
I gave them counsels which only plunged them
yet deeper in destruction, whilst the evil that
my advice appeared to bring upon the good
was only like a passing cloud before the sun:
it gave lustre to the success that followed.
My task is now finished;&mdash;be happy, Edric,
for happiness is in your power; be wise, for
wisdom may be obtained by reflection; and be
merciful, for unless we give, how can we expect
mercy? Rely not on your own strength&mdash;seek
not to pry into mysteries designed to be
concealed from man; and enjoy the comforts
within your reach&mdash;for know, that knowledge,
above the sphere of man's capacity, produces
only wretchedness; and that to be contented with
our station, and to make ourselves useful to
our fellow-creatures, is the only true path to
happiness."</p>

<p>The Mummy ceased to speak, and his features,
which had appeared wild and animated
during his conversation with Edric, became
fixed&mdash;the unearthly lustre that had flashed
from his eyes, faded away, and gave place to
a glassy deadness&mdash;his limbs became rigid, and
as the light of the lamp gradually sunk to
less distinctness, the ghastly form of the Mummy
seemed rapidly changing into stone. Edric
felt that the moment when it was possible
for him to hold communion with this strange
being was rapidly passing away, and almost
shrieked as he exclaimed, "One question!
only one ere it be too late." The Mummy
feebly raised his languid eyelids, but Edric
felt his blood freeze at the unnatural glare.
With a violent effort, however, he roused himself
to speak. "Was it a human power that
dragged you from the tomb?"</p>

<p>"The power that gave me life could alone
restore it," replied the Mummy in slow measured
accents, as it sank gradually back into
its former tomb. Edric shuddered, and involuntarily
rushed forward, but the Mummy
no longer lived or breathed. Cold, pale, and
inanimate it lay, as though its sleep of two
thousand years had never been broken.</p>

<p>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Oblivion laid him down upon his hearse!"</span><br />
</p>

<p>and no mortal ever more could boast of holding
converse with <span class="smcap">The Mummy</span>.</p>


<h4>THE END.</h4>

<hr class="full" />








<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 56426 ***</div>

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