“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 betrayed the deep interest she took in his fate.
“How mournfully 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.”
“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.
“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.”
“You say right, Marianne,” replied the Father, in a deep hollow tone; “I have, indeed, conversed with spirits—for never could those fearful eyes which still seem to glare upon me, belong to mortal.”
“What do you mean?” asked Rosabella.
“I have again seen the Mummy! that fearful spectre from the tomb. Even now he crossed my path and bade me beware, or I should become his slave. I am not timid, but my very soul recoiled from the hideous aspect of that awful being; 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.”
“Are you certain it is no deception?” asked Marianne.
“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 which 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.”
“It may be a fiend,” murmured Marianne, in a low whisper. At this moment, the clock struck twelve.
Rosabella started at the sound. “Lord Gustavus will expect me,” cried she.
“Go, then,” replied the priest, “with Marianne. I will follow presently.”
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.
“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.”
“By no means—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 partisan, even before you utter a syllable.”
“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.
“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—to—”
“Your Lordship need not hesitate,” returned Rosabella; “I was not aware that Father Morris had seen you, or I should not have expressed surprise.”
“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.”
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.
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
