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:—
“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.”
“It is the raving of delirium,” whispered Emma to Dr. Coleman; “what shall I do?”
“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.
“Humour her,” returned Dr. Coleman; “in her present state, opposition would be fatal.”
“It would indeed be fatal,” said Elvira, seating herself in a large armchair; whilst the temporary colour her previous exertion had given her, faded from her cheeks, and she looked the image of death.
“She will faint!” cried Emma, flying for aid.
“It is impossible for her to go in this state!” said the doctor.
“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!”
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.
At the foot of the staircase they met Cheops. He steadfastly regarded the Queen, and smiled at her agitated appearance with his usual calm scorn.
“Oh, fearful spectre!” cried Elvira, the moment she beheld him, “I appeal to thee for help; my pride is humbled. I own to thee I love Seymour. Aid me to save Ferdinand, and I am thy slave.”
“Appeal to your people,” said Cheops, his fierce 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 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 anything 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.”
“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.
“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. I am certain he is a fiend incarnate. Do be advised; do return and relinquish this mad enterprise.”
Elvira did not reply. Her feelings were far 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.
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.
“We are going wrong!” cried Elvira, in agony; “we shall be too late.”
“No, no,” said Emma, “I feel we descend again—we are arrived.”
And as she spoke, the balloon sank rapidly, whilst the clouds opening, discovered the immense Square below them, apparently paved with human heads.
“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.
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 everything 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.
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 which prevailed amongst this so lately bustling crowd of human beings, and the thought that every ear and every eye turned towards her, slightly affected the nerves of
