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plunging it over her shoulder into the bosom of the person that spoke.



"Ah, me, I am slain!" cried Matilda, sinking. "Good heaven, receive

my soul!"



"Savage, inhuman monster, what hast thou done!" cried Theodore,

rushing on him, and wrenching his dagger from him.



"Stop, stop thy impious hand!" cried Matilda; "it is my father!"

Manfred, waking as from a trance, beat his breast, twisted his hands



in his locks, and endeavoured to recover his dagger from Theodore to

despatch himself. Theodore, scarce less distracted, and only



mastering the transports of his grief to assist Matilda, had now by

his cries drawn some of the monks to his aid. While part of them



endeavoured, in concert with the afflicted Theodore, to stop the blood

of the dying Princess, the rest prevented Manfred from laying violent



hands on himself.

Matilda, resigning herself patiently to her fate, acknowledged with



looks of grateful love the zeal of Theodore. Yet oft as her faintness

would permit her speech its way, she begged the assistants to comfort



her father. Jerome, by this time, had learnt the fatal news, and

reached the church. His looks seemed to reproach Theodore, but



turning to Manfred, he said,

"Now, tyrant! behold the completion of woe fulfilled on thy impious



and devoted head! The blood of Alfonso cried to heaven for vengeance;

and heaven has permitted its altar to be polluted by assassination,



that thou mightest shed thy own blood at the foot of that Prince's

sepulchre!"



"Cruel man!" cried Matilda, "to aggravate the woes of a parent; may

heaven bless my father, and forgive him as I do! My Lord, my gracious



Sire, dost thou forgive thy child? Indeed, I came not hither to meet

Theodore. I found him praying at this tomb, whither my mother sent me



to intercede for thee, for her - dearest father, bless your child, and

say you forgive her."



"Forgive thee! Murderous monster!" cried Manfred, "can assassins

forgive? I took thee for Isabella; but heaven directed my bloody hand



to the heart of my child. Oh, Matilda! - I cannot utter it - canst

thou forgive the blindness of my rage?"



"I can, I do; and may heaven confirm it!" said Matilda; "but while I

have life to ask it - oh! my mother! what will she feel? Will you



comfort her, my Lord? Will you not put her away? Indeed she loves

you! Oh, I am faint! bear me to the castle. Can I live to have her



close my eyes?"

Theodore and the monks besought her earnestly to suffer herself to be



borne into the convent; but her instances were so pressing to be

carried to the castle, that placing her on a litter, they conveyed her



hither" target="_blank" title="ad.到那里 a.那边的">thither as she requested. Theodore, supporting her head with his arm,

and hanging over her in an agony of despairing love, still endeavoured



to inspire her with hopes of life. Jerome, on the other side,

comforted her with discourses of heaven, and holding a crucifix before



her, which she bathed with innocent tears, prepared her for her

passage to immortality. Manfred, plunged in the deepest affliction,



followed the litter in despair.

Ere they reached the castle, Hippolita, informed of the dreadful



catastrophe, had flown to meet her murdered child; but when she saw

the afflicted procession, the mightiness of her grief deprived her of



her senses, and she fell lifeless to the earth in a swoon. Isabella

and Frederic, who attended her, were overwhelmed in almost equal



sorrow. Matilda alone seemed insensible to her own situation: every

thought was lost in tenderness for her mother.



Ordering the litter to stop, as soon as Hippolita was brought to

herself, she asked for her father. He approached, unable to speak.



Matilda, seizing his hand and her mother's, locked them in her own,




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