I do
forgive thee, my excellent, my only hope!”

The princesses then revealed to Hippolita their mutual inclination for
Theodore, and the purpose of Isabella to resign him to Matilda. Hippolita blamed their imprudence, and showed them the improbability that
either father would consent to bestow his heiress on so poor a man,
though nobly born. Some comfort it gave her to find their passion of so
recent a date, and that Theodore had had but little cause to suspect it
in either. She strictly enjoined them to avoid all correspondence with
him. This Matilda fervently promised: but Isabella, who flattered
herself that she meant no more than to promote his union with her friend,
could not determine to avoid him; and made no reply. “I will go to the convent,” said Hippolita, “and order new masses to be
said for a deliverance from these calamities.”

“Oh! my mother,” said Matilda, “you mean to quit us: you mean to take
sanctuary, and to give my father an opportunity of pursuing his fatal
intention. Alas! on my knees I supplicate you to forbear; will you leave
me a prey to Frederic? I will follow you to the convent.”

“Be at peace, my child,” said Hippolita: “I will return instantly. I
will never abandon thee, until I know it is the will of heaven, and for
thy benefit.”

“Do not deceive me,” said Matilda. “I will not marry Frederic until thou
commandest it. Alas! what will become of me?”

“Why that exclamation?” said Hippolita. “I have promised thee to
return—”

“Ah! my mother,” replied Matilda, “stay and save me from myself. A frown
from thee can do more than all my father’s severity. I have given away
my heart, and you alone can make me recall it.”

“No more,” said Hippolita; “thou must not relapse, Matilda.”

“I can quit Theodore,” said she, “but must I wed another? let me attend
thee to the altar, and shut myself from the world for ever.”

“Thy fate depends on thy father,” said Hippolita; “I have ill-bestowed my
tenderness, if it has taught thee to revere aught beyond him. Adieu! my
child: I go to pray for thee.”

Hippolita’s real purpose was to demand of Jerome, whether in conscience
she might not consent to the divorce. She had oft urged Manfred to
resign the principality, which the delicacy of her conscience rendered an
hourly burthen to her. These scruples concurred to make the separation
from her husband appear less dreadful to her than it would have seemed in
any other situation. Jerome, at quitting the castle overnight, had questioned Theodore
severely why he had accused him to Manfred of being privy to his escape. Theodore owned it had been with design to prevent Manfred’s suspicion
from alighting on Matilda; and added, the holiness of Jerome’s life and
character secured him from the tyrant’s wrath. Jerome was heartily
grieved to discover his son’s inclination for that princess; and leaving
him to his rest, promised in the morning to acquaint him with important
reasons for conquering his passion. Theodore, like Isabella, was too recently acquainted with parental
authority to submit to its decisions against the impulse of his heart. He had little curiosity to learn the Friar’s reasons, and less
disposition to obey them. The lovely Matilda had made stronger
impressions on him than filial affection. All night he pleased himself
with visions of love; and it was not till late after the morning-office,
that he recollected the Friar’s commands to attend him at Alfonso’s tomb. “Young man,” said Jerome, when he saw him, “this tardiness does not
please me. Have a father’s commands already so little weight?”

Theodore made awkward excuses, and attributed his delay to having
overslept himself. “And on whom were thy dreams employed?” said the Friar sternly. His son
blushed. “Come, come,” resumed the Friar, “inconsiderate youth, this
must not be; eradicate this guilty passion from thy breast—”

“Guilty passion!” cried Theodore: “Can guilt dwell with innocent beauty
and virtuous modesty?”

“It is sinful,” replied the Friar, “to cherish those whom heaven has
doomed to destruction. A tyrant’s race must be swept from the earth to
the third and fourth generation.”

“Will heaven visit the innocent for the crimes of the guilty?” said
Theodore. “The fair Matilda has virtues enough—”

“To undo thee:” interrupted Jerome. “Hast thou so soon forgotten that
twice the savage Manfred has pronounced thy sentence?”

“Nor have I forgotten, sir,” said Theodore, “that the charity of his
daughter delivered me from his power. I can forget injuries, but never
benefits.”

“The injuries thou hast received from Manfred’s race,” said the Friar,
“are beyond what thou canst conceive. Reply not, but view this holy
image! Beneath this marble monument rest the ashes of the good Alfonso;
a prince adorned with every virtue: the father of his people! the delight
of mankind! Kneel, headstrong boy, and list, while a father unfolds a
tale of horror that will expel every sentiment from thy soul, but
sensations of sacred vengeance—Alfonso! much injured prince! let thy
unsatisfied shade sit awful on the troubled air, while these trembling
lips—Ha! who comes there?—”

“The most wretched of women!” said Hippolita, entering the choir. “Good
Father, art thou at leisure?—but why this kneeling youth? what means the
horror imprinted on each countenance? why at this venerable tomb—alas! hast thou seen aught?”

“We were pouring forth our orisons to heaven,” replied the Friar, with
some confusion, “to put an end to the woes of this deplorable province. Join with us, Lady! thy spotless soul may obtain an exemption from the
judgments which the portents of these days but too speakingly denounce
against thy house.”

“I pray fervently to heaven to divert them,” said the pious Princess. “Thou knowest it has been the occupation of my life to wrest a blessing
for my Lord and my harmless children.—One alas! is taken from me! would
heaven but hear me for my poor Matilda! Father! intercede for her!”

“Every heart will bless her,” cried Theodore with rapture. “Be dumb, rash youth!” said Jerome. “And thou, fond Princess, contend
not with the Powers above! the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away:
bless His holy name, and submit to his decrees.”

“I do most devoutly,” said Hippolita; “but will He not spare my only
comfort? must Matilda perish too?—ah! Father, I came—but dismiss thy
son. No ear but thine must hear what I have to utter.”

“May heaven grant thy every wish, most excellent Princess!” said Theodore
retiring. Jerome frowned. Hippolita then acquainted the Friar with the proposal she had suggested
to Manfred, his approbation of it, and the tender of Matilda that he was
gone to make to Frederic. Jerome could not conceal his dislike of the
notion, which he covered under pretence of the improbability that
Frederic, the nearest of blood to Alfonso, and who was come to claim his
succession, would yield to an alliance with the usurper of his right.