Manfred, though persuaded, like his wife, that the
vision had been no work of fancy, recovered a little
from the tempest of mind into which so many strange
events had thrown him. Ashamed, too, of his
inhuman treatment of a Princess who returned every
injury with new marks of tenderness and duty, he felt
returning love forcing itself into his eyes; but not
less ashamed of feeling remorse towards one against
whom he was inwardly meditating a yet more bitter outrage,
he curbed the yearnings of his heart, and did not dare
to lean even towards pity. The next transition
of his soul was to exquisite villainy.
Presuming on the unshaken submission of Hippolita,
he flattered himself that she would not only acquiesce
with patience to a divorce, but would obey, if it
was his pleasure, in endeavouring to persuade Isabella
to give him her hand—but ere he could indulge
his horrid hope, he reflected that Isabella was not
to be found. Coming to himself, he gave orders
that every avenue to the castle should be strictly
guarded, and charged his domestics on pain of their
lives to suffer nobody to pass out. The young
peasant, to whom he spoke favourably, he ordered to
remain in a small chamber on the stairs, in which
there was a pallet-bed, and the key of which he took
away himself, telling the youth he would talk with
him in the morning. Then dismissing his attendants,
and bestowing a sullen kind of half-nod on Hippolita,
he retired to his own chamber.
CHAPTER II.
Matilda, who by Hippolita’s order had retired
to her apartment, was ill-disposed to take any rest.
The shocking fate of her brother had deeply affected
her. She was surprised at not seeing Isabella;
but the strange words which had fallen from her father,
and his obscure menace to the Princess his wife, accompanied
by the most furious behaviour, had filled her gentle
mind with terror and alarm. She waited anxiously
for the return of Bianca, a young damsel that attended
her, whom she had sent to learn what was become of
Isabella. Bianca soon appeared, and informed
her mistress of what she had gathered from the servants,
that Isabella was nowhere to be found. She related
the adventure of the young peasant who had been discovered
in the vault, though with many simple additions from
the incoherent accounts of the domestics; and she
dwelt principally on the gigantic leg and foot which
had been seen in the gallery-chamber. This last
circumstance had terrified Bianca so much, that she
was rejoiced when Matilda told her that she would
not go to rest, but would watch till the Princess should
rise.
The young Princess wearied herself in conjectures
on the flight of Isabella, and on the threats of Manfred
to her mother. “But what business could
he have so urgent with the chaplain?” said Matilda,
“Does he intend to have my brother’s body
interred privately in the chapel?”
“Oh, Madam!” said Bianca, “now I
guess. As you are become his heiress, he is
impatient to have you married: he has always
been raving for more sons; I warrant he is now impatient
for grandsons. As sure as I live, Madam, I shall
see you a bride at last.—Good madam, you
won’t cast off your faithful Bianca: you
won’t put Donna Rosara over me now you are a
great Princess.”
