“Where is Sir Ambrose?” cried he in a state of violent agitation—“where is Sir Ambrose? I must see Sir Ambrose immediately.”
“Calm yourself, for Heaven’s sake!” said Father Morris, who had followed him unobserved. “This violent agitation will destroy you; remember your recent illness, your age, your weakness—”
“Where is Sir Ambrose?” cried the Duke.
“This vehemence is unbefitting of your station,” continued Father Morris: “moderate it, I entreat you—it can do no good.”
“Will no one call Sir Ambrose?” reiterated the Duke: and as the baronet, who had been summoned by Abelard, appeared, he threw himself into his arms, sobbing like a child.
“Oh, my dear, dear friend!” exclaimed he, “they are determined to ruin Elvira. Lord Gustavus and his adherents are gone to their country-seats to try to influence the election of the deputies; and my child can have no chance against such treachery.”
“If that be all,” said Henry Seymour, who had accompanied the baronet, “why not follow their example? your influence must, at least, be equal to theirs.”
“He is right,” rejoined Sir Ambrose. “I know not why we did not do so sooner; but, even now, it is not too late.”
“And what end can possibly be produced by such a measure?” asked Father Morris, scowling darkly at the youth: “the freedom of the election should be inviolable.”
“But!” hastily interrupted the Duke, “if they attempt to control it, we may surely—”
“I was not before aware,” said Father Morris, in his cold, ironical manner, “that the circumstance of others doing evil was any reason for our committing sin.”
“Nonsense!” cried the Duke; “there can be no sin in securing the election of my daughter; and so, Sir Ambrose, we will set off tonight, if you please.”
“With all my heart!” said Sir Ambrose: and the two old men and Henry Seymour hurried away, leaving the monk alone. He did not, however, long remain so, for in a few seconds Cheops was at his side.
“So, Sir,” said Father Morris, scowling upon Cheops with a look of deadly hatred, “you have proved yourself my friend, in suffering this babbling boy to counteract my views. Did you not boast he was your slave?”
The Mummy met his glance without shrinking; and, bursting into one of his fearful laughs, exclaimed tauntingly, “And so he is: but I thought you had determined not to oppose the Duke any longer. It seems, then, I did not understand your reasoning in the garden.”
“Fiend! cursed mocking fiend!” cried the friar, gnashing his teeth.
“Nay!” returned Cheops, “why blame me? Was I wrong in believing what you said? Was it, then, only a part you were acting to deceive me?”
“Demon! thou canst read my heart; but it is thy wish to drive me to distraction.”
“No, no, my good Father Morris, my worthy friend, I honour you too much! If I can read your heart, I must be charmed to see such devotion to your friends, such candour, openness, and integrity.”
“Taunting devil! be my sins what they may, thy presence is a penance that might redeem them. By Heaven! hell itself were easier to endure than those bitter scoffs.”
“And darest thou talk of Heaven?” said the Mummy in an awful voice, which thrilled through the father’s soul; whilst his eyes glared with such supernatural lustre that the priest could not bear their beams, and sank upon one knee before him, bending his head to the ground. “ ’Tis as it should be;” continued Cheops, with one of his fiendish laughs. “Yes, he is mine—he bends before my will! Now will I tell thee what thy feeble reason was too powerless to discover: I am still thy friend. The Duke and Sir Ambrose will only injure their cause by the ill-judged measures they will take to promote it. They had the advantage of justice, honour, and open dealing upon their side; was it nothing to deprive them of these fair sounding words? Will they in future be able to complain of corruption, when they have attempted to corrupt? Had it not been so, even if success had crowned your efforts, would not the minds of men have inclined to the side of injured integrity? for so they might have termed the party of the Duke. Might they not also have said the election was secured by bribery and deceit; and upon the first discontent that arose against Rosabella’s government, would they not have recurred fondly to the recollection of the honest, open dealing, plain speaking Duke! Men naturally love and respect virtue, though they may be seduced for a time by the allurements of vice. Thus, though they might not have had strength of mind to resist the arts of your party, their best feelings would have still remained upon the side of Elvira. This can now no longer be the case. The Duke and Sir Ambrose voluntarily throw away their strongest hold—they rush blindfold to destruction. They degrade themselves to your level; whilst, as they are unused to deceit, they will not succeed in their endeavours, and disgrace will be their only reward. Now, do you blame me?”
“Blame you!” exclaimed Father Morris; “you are my friend, my best, my only friend, my preserver.”
“With regard to Edmund,” said Cheops, “we must excite his jealousy. If he were detached from Elvira, her cause would perish.”
“It would, it would!” cried Father Morris.
“Try then thy efforts,” said Cheops; “and if thou canst excite suspicions, fan them gently to a flame, yet without seeming to do so. Do not attack Elvira openly, or assert broadly that she loves another; but hint it darkly, so that your victim cannot misunderstand, and that the damning certainty may flash upon his mind with greater force than mere words can give. Well knowest thou what I mean, and well hath Nature modelled thee for such a part. That downcast look, that insinuating voice, and half ironical manner; the infernal deity himself could not well have wished a more fitting agent to execute his designs on earth than thou. Work then upon Edmund, and success
