“My countrymen, I cannot more strongly prove my devotion to your interests, for if you choose Elvira for your Queen, my widowed heart will have no bride but glory. Take, however, the treasure I resign to you. Prize her as she deserves, and Heaven in its mercy grant that prudent counsellors and sagacious statesmen may so direct her steps, that victory may shine on her banners, wisdom in her counsels, and happiness in her kingdom!”
Lord Edmund stopped, overpowered by his own emotions; and his agitation found an echo in the bosom of every auditor. The effect of his speech was instantaneous: cries of “Elvira shall be our Queen!” “Elvira forever!” rose in deafening tumult from the crowd, nor did there appear a single dissentient voice. In fact, after all that can be said upon the subject, feeling is the only true eloquence. The passions of the crowd were strongly excited: the fainting of the Duke; the agitation of Elvira; and the speech of Lord Edmund, who was the hero of the day, had absolutely driven them distracted. They shouted again and again that Elvira, and Elvira alone, should be Queen, and, forming a triumphal car, placed her in it, and dragged her along to Westminster Abbey, where the ceremony of the coronation was appointed to take place. This venerable pile, which had stood for centuries, and resisted alike the war of nature, and the destroying hand of innovation, with which the barbarous taste of the middle ages had endeavoured to destroy its grandeur, shone forth in all its original splendour, and afforded another magnificent proof of the length of time the labours of man survive the term of his fragile existence.
It had been a brilliant sight, when Westminster Hall was crowded with the nobles of the land, to choose the council of state; but far more splendid was it now, when, after the religious part of the ceremony of the coronation had been performed in the Abbey, the trembling and beautiful Queen entered its sumptuous walls, surrounded by her counsellors, and welcomed with transport by her kneeling subjects. All had been previously prepared for the ceremony, as the ordinance of the old Queen had directed the coronation to take place immediately after the election; and the venerable Hall was now crowded with the nobles and ladies of Claudia’s court, splendidly attired, waiting for the Queen, whom the choice of the deputies might give them, with the most eager impatience. Elvira was received with transports; and though, perhaps, under different circumstances, her rival might have been honoured with equal rapture, yet, as Elvira knew it not, the thought did not damp her pleasure.
In the meantime Father Morris had remained aghast, a prey to the combined tortures of grief, rage, and disappointment. The crowd had disappeared, yet still he stood gazing upon the platform, the speechless image of despair.
“For Heaven’s sake do not remain here,” cried a voice he knew only too well; and, obeying the impulse of Marianne’s arm, he suffered himself to be led from the scaffold, where all his hopes had perished. There was a small house, at no great distance from the spot, where the partisans of Rosabella had held frequent conferences respecting their plans for securing her election; and to this place Marianne led the disappointed friar.
“Curses on the fiend that has betrayed me to my ruin!” said he, as he threw himself upon a sofa in this abode: “may demons haunt him here, and eternal misery be his portion hereafter!”
The fiendish laugh of Cheops rang in the father’s ears as he pronounced these words; and ere he finished, the hated form of the Mummy stood before him.
“What, Father Morris!” cried the Egyptian, “is this your treatment of your friends? Fie! fie! is this your strength of mind? I am ashamed of you. Is it the part of a man of courage to shrink from such a slight reverse? However, I am still your friend, and if you will follow my advice—”
“Avaunt! demon!” cried Father Morris; “tempt me no more! Ruin hangs upon thy words, and it is thy advice that has destroyed me.”
“Say rather, your own evil passions,” returned the Mummy.
“Fiend!” exclaimed the monk; “was it not by thy advice Rosabella rejected the address I had prepared for her, and determined to deliver her own sentiments extempore.”
“Such an expression of her genuine feelings was likely to produce ten times the effect of a studied address. The oration of Lord Edmund was from the feeling of the moment, and you saw its power was magical.”
“And it was not by your desire that the fool Lord Noodle seconded her, instead of Lord Gustavus, as I had intended?”
“A ridiculous fool was more likely to put the people in good-humour than a prosing one.”
“Yes, yes, I know; it was thus you made your plans seem feasible, but how have they succeeded?”
“Success is not always the test of merit. How could I foresee the fainting of the Duke, and the agitation of Elvira? That timid silence said far more for her than words: if she had spoken, she would have had no chance.”
“Would she were dead!” said Father Morris, grinding his teeth.
“So would you seal your ruin. Rosabella would be suspected, and her chance of reigning destroyed—destroyed forever.”
“What shall I do?”
“Let Elvira reign!—Nay, start not! it will be but for a time: she will naturally make Edmund her first counsellor from gratitude for the service he has rendered her; and, as he has sense and talent, he will as naturally either decline employing the noble lords who were your friends entirely; or,
