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:—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 forever dead. Oh, Julia! Julia! surely thy blesed 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!”
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. Blessed 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, 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.
“Fiend, demon, devil!” cried he, passionately; “avaunt! and tempt me not!”
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—yes, even I—shudder at the wickedness it contains!”
“My feelings are changed—I repent!”
“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!
“I tell you, my purpose is changed:—I will no longer plot against the Duke; and Elvira, if she will, may be Queen.”
“ ‘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?’ ”
“Devil!” cried the father, unable to resist the feelings these words had conjured up.
“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!”
“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.”
“I believe you think so now,” 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—”
“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 to madness.
“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; aye, 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 think they suffer: but what are their torments when compared to mine?”
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.
XVI
“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
