“I am better now,” returned Elvira faintly.
“Do not deceive yourself,” cried he, with the most intense anxiety. “You are ill—you are not equal to this fatigue. Retire from this scene, it will destroy you.”
“I dare not,” replied Elvira, still more feebly, “without permission from my father; though, I own, I do feel exhausted!”
Lord Edmund waited for no more; but darted to find the Duke, and obtain his wished-for sanction. The next instant, his place was supplied by Prince Ferdinand, who had been invited into the country a few days before by the Duke; and who, with the inconstancy natural to his disposition, had now become as deeply smitten with Elvira, as he had before been with Rosabella. Elvira, however, saw him not; and, looking gratefully after Lord Edmund, sighed profoundly as she lost sight of him among the crowd.
“Happy Edmund!” said the prince; “what would I not give to create a feeling in that lovely bosom, like that caused by thy absence!”
Elvira blushed at the earnest gaze of the youthful German, as she replied, without exactly knowing what she said, “Do you suppose, then, that the absence of Lord Edmund gave me pain?”
“What other cause can I divine for your melancholy?” said Ferdinand. “Adored by every heart, admired by every eye, and blessed at once with rank, beauty, and affection, what can Elvira wish?—and what can cloud her brow with sorrow, or heave her lovely bosom with a sigh, unless it be the loss of the favoured lover whom ambition bids her sacrifice?”
“And think you so poorly of me,” returned Elvira indignantly, “as to suppose, if I really loved Lord Edmund, that ambition would tempt me to sacrifice him?”
“Can a heart like yours then be really dead to love?” said the prince, gazing upon her earnestly. “Can Nature have formed such exquisite beauty, and forgotten to give a soul to pity the wretches it must make?”
Elvira blushed deeply as he spoke, for his ardent look embarrassed her; and her eyes having been modestly withdrawn, again met those of Lord Edmund, who had returned without her perceiving him. ’Twas but for a moment, however, that she gazed upon him, for she shrank aghast from his withering glance. Jealousy and hatred curled his lips, and darkened upon his brow; whilst his features seemed so changed, that Elvira could scarcely believe he was indeed the same she had so lately spoken with.
“I beg your Highness’s pardon,” said he haughtily; “I would not have presumed to intrude, if I had known you were engaged. I fancied that you wished to retire, and had obtained the Duke’s permission for your doing so; but—”
“Oh, thank you! thank you, Edmund!” cried Elvira; “most gladly will I seek my chamber.” Then marking a slight smile upon Prince Ferdinand’s face, she hesitated, for she recollected the interpretation he had put upon her melancholy and indifference. Lord Edmund’s agony was beyond description: he saw her hesitation; he saw her look at Ferdinand, and fancying she sought his approval before she would retire, his jealous rage was unbounded, and, darting at her a look of ungovernable passion, he sprang from the pavilion, and was out of sight in an instant. Elvira could not bear his look, nor his unreasonable jealousy; and, exhausted by her previous fatigue, she fainted. A crowd soon gathered round her, and she was carried to her chamber in a state of insensibility.
“Mark me!” said a figure muffled in a thick cloak, speaking in a deep, low whisper, as he laid his hand upon the arm of Father Morris, who stood gazing after Elvira, with a look of intense anxiety; “she must not die; for if she does, I swear by the holy tomb of Osiris at Philae, Rosabella never shall be Queen!”
From that hour, Elvira recovered; and the consumptive symptoms, which had so strongly excited the alarm of her friends, entirely disappeared.
Lord Edmund was conversing earnestly with one of the deputies, and, notwithstanding his jealousy, advocating the cause of Elvira with vehemence, when he was informed that she had fainted: his first impulse was to fly to her assistance; and when he found she had been removed to her chamber, his heart smote him for the cruel manner in which he had left her.
“She was really ill,” thought he; “and, in her feeble state, my harshness overpowered her. But never again shall my foolish jealousy disturb her peace. No! let her scorn me—hate me, if she will. I will bear all the tortures she can inflict, rather than again hazard wounding that gentle bosom. Let her smile on whom she lists, even upon that hated German, I will not repine: if she be happy, I will ask no more.”
Thus thought Edmund, and he knew not that he deceived himself, till he saw Prince Ferdinand, who, with the happy elasticity of youth, was chatting gaily with one of the beauties of the court. “Love him;” thought he, as a scornful smile passed over his features—“love him, did I say? Oh, no: it is impossible; I could not endure to see her love that coxcomb:” and, shuddering with the torments of jealousy, he turned away.
Cheops was near him, muffled in a thick cloak that shrouded him from observation; the Mummy marked the changes in Lord Edmund’s countenance, and read well the feelings they betrayed.
“Yes, even he,” said he, with one of his fearful laughs, “will soon be mine; for never yet did man trust in his own strength, that did not fall.”
XVIII
The day of election now rapidly approached. The Duke, Sir Ambrose, the rival candidates, and the opposition lords, were all in London. The deputies were also assembled; and though it was forbidden to declare publicly for whom they intended to vote, till the decisive moment arrived; yet the popular feeling seemed so strongly in favour of Rosabella, that there appeared scarcely a chance for her rival.
Exulting in her expected triumph, and confident of success, Rosabella sat in the splendid boudoir
