LITMIR.BIZ

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Heaven. When first I repaired to this solitude, after seeing my country become a prey to unbelievers—it is, alas! above fifty years since I was witness to that dreadful scene—St. Nicholas appeared to me, and revealed a secret, which he bade me never disclose to mortal man, but on my death-bed. This is that tremendous hour, and ye are no doubt the chosen warriors to whom I was ordered to reveal my trust. As soon as ye have done the last offices to this wretched corse, dig under the seventh tree on the left hand of this poor cave, and your pains will—— Oh, good Heaven, receive my soul!” With those words the devout man breathed his last.

      “By break of day,” continued Frederic, “when we had committed the holy relics to earth, we dug according to direction; but what was our astonishment, when, about the depth of six feet, we discovered an enormous sabre—the very weapon yonder in the court. On the blade, which was then partly out of the scabbard, though since closed by our efforts in removing it, were written the following lines—no; excuse me, madam,” added the marquis, turning to Hippolita, “if I forbear to repeat them: I respect your sex and rank, and would not be guilty of offending your ear with sounds injurious to aught that is dear to you.”

      He paused—Hippolita trembled. She did not doubt but Frederic was destined by Heaven to accomplish the fate that seemed to threaten her house. Looking with anxious fondness at Matilda, a silent tear stole down her cheek; but recollecting herself, she said, “Proceed, my lord, Heaven does nothing in vain; mortals must receive its divine behests with lowliness and submission. It is our part to deprecate its wrath, or bow to its decrees. Repeat the sentence, my lord; we listen resigned.”

      Frederic was grieved that he had proceeded so far. The dignity and patient firmness of Hippolita penetrated him with respect; and the tender, silent affection with which the princess and her daughter regarded each other melted him almost to tears. Yet apprehensive that his forbearance to obey would be more alarming, he repeated, in a faltering and low voice, the following lines:

      Where’er a casque that suits this sword is found,

       With perils is thy daughter compass’d round;

       Alfonso’s blood alone can save the maid,

       And quiet a long-restless prince’s shade.

      “What is there in these lines,” said Theodore, impatiently, “that affects these princesses? Why were they to be shocked by a mysterious delicacy, that has so little foundation?”

      “Your words are rude, young man,” said the marquis; “and though fortune has favoured you once——”

      “My honoured lord,” said Isabella, who resented Theodore’s warmth, which she perceived was dictated by his sentiments for Matilda, “discompose not yourself for the glozing of a peasant’s son: he forgets the reverence he owes you; but he is not accustomed——”

      Hippolita, concerned at the heat that had arisen, checked Theodore for his boldness, but with an air acknowledging his zeal; and changing the conversation, demanded of Frederic where he had left her lord?

      As the marquis was going to reply, they heard a noise without, and rising to inquire the cause, Manfred, Jerome, and part of the troop, who had met an imperfect rumour of what had happened, entered the chamber. Manfred advanced hastily towards Frederic’s bed to condole with him on his misfortune, and to learn the circumstances of the combat, when, starting in an agony of terror and amazement, he cried:

      “Ah! what art thou? Thou dreadful spectre! Is my hour come?”

      “My dearest, gracious lord,” cried Hippolita, clasping him in her arms, “what is it you see? Why do you fix your eyeballs thus?”

      “What,” cried Manfred, breathless, “dost thou see nothing, Hippolita? Is this ghastly phantom sent to me alone—to me, who did not——”

      “For mercy’s sweetest self, my lord,” said Hippolita, “resume your soul, command your reason; there are none here, but us, your friends.”

      “What, is not that Alfonso?” cried Manfred; “dost thou not see him? Can it be my brain’s delirium?”

      “This! my lord,” said Hippolita: “this is Theodore, the youth who has been so unfortunate.”

      “Theodore,” said Manfred mournfully, and striking his forehead—“Theodore, or a phantom, he has unhinged the soul of Manfred. But how comes he here? and how comes he in armour?”

      “I believe he went in search of Isabella,” said Hippolita.

      “Of Isabella,” said Manfred, relapsing into rage. “Yes, yes, that is not doubtful—but how did he escape from durance, in which I left him? Was it Isabella, or this hypocritical old friar, that procured his enlargement?”

      “And would a parent be criminal, my lord,” said Theodore, “if he meditated the deliverance of his child?”

      Jerome, amazed to hear himself in a manner accused by his son, and without foundation, knew not what to think. He could not comprehend how Theodore had escaped—how he came to be armed, and to encounter Frederic. Still he would not venture to ask any questions that might tend to inflame Manfred’s wrath against his son. Jerome’s silence convinced Manfred that he had contrived Theodore’s release.

      “And is it thus, thou ungrateful old man,” said the prince, addressing himself to the friar, “that thou repayest mine and Hippolita’s bounties? And not content with traversing my heart’s nearest wishes, thou armest thy bastard, and bringest him into my own castle to insult me!”

      “My lord,” said Theodore, “you wrong my father: nor he nor I are capable of harbouring a thought against your peace. Is it insolence thus to surrender myself to your highness’s pleasure?” added he, laying his sword respectfully at Manfred’s feet. “Behold my bosom; strike, my lord, if you suspect that a disloyal thought is lodged there. There is not a sentiment engraven on my heart that does not venerate you and yours.”

      The grace and fervour with which Theodore uttered these words interested every person present in his favour. Even Manfred was touched; yet still possessed with his resemblance to Alfonso, his admiration was dashed with secret horror.

      “Rise,” said he; “thy life is not my present purpose. But tell me thy history, and how thou camest connected with this old traitor here.”

      “My lord——” said Jerome, eagerly.

      “Peace! impostor,” said Manfred; “I will not have him prompted.”

      “My lord,” said Theodore, “I want no assistance: my story is very brief. I was carried at five years of age to Algiers with my mother, who had been taken by corsairs from the coast of Sicily. She died of grief in less than a twelvemonth.” The tears gushed from Jerome’s eyes, on whose countenance a thousand anxious passions stood expressed. “Before she died,” continued Theodore, “she bound a writing about my arm under my garments, which told me I was the son of the Count Falconara.”

      “It is most true,” said Jerome; “I am that wretched father.”

      “Again I enjoin thee silence,” said Manfred. “Proceed.”

      “I remained in slavery,” said Theodore, “until within these two years; when, attending on my master in his cruises, I was delivered by a Christian vessel which overpowered the pirate; and discovering myself to the captain, he generously put me on shore in Sicily:—but, alas! instead of finding a father, I learned that his estate, which was situated on the coast, had, during his absence, been laid waste by the rover, who had carried my mother and me into captivity; that his castle had been burnt to the ground, and that my father, on his return, had sold what remained, and was retired into religion in the kingdom of Naples, but where, no man could inform me. Destitute and friendless, hopeless almost of attaining the transport of a parent’s embrace, I took the first opportunity of setting sail for Naples; from whence, within these six days, I wandered into this province, still supporting myself by the labour of my hands: nor until yester-morn did I believe that Heaven had reserved any lot for me but peace of mind and contented poverty. This, my lord, is Theodore’s

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