This was the state of the public mind, when the news of the invasion of Roderick first reached the ears of Rosabella.
"Marianne!" she exclaimed, "summon Father Morris. We are ruined," continued she, as the reverend father entered—"absolutely ruined. Roderick is invincible, and he supports Elvira! Where is Cheops?"
"Ay!" returned Father Morris, "where is Cheops? It is that accursed fiend that has led us on to destruction! His counsels have destroyed us; for, though plausible in appearance, they have been as deceitful as the oracles of old."
"Yet you trusted him!" said Rosabella. "I hated him from the first; but you trusted him. You thought him all perfection: he flattered your vanity, and you weakly believed every thing that he asserted."
"Weakly!" cried Father Morris, his lips quivering with rage.
"Yes, weakly!" returned Rosabella; "for a child would have seen through his artifices; but you were deceived by them, and have been his dupe, his tool, his plaything."
"This to me!" cried Father Morris, gnashing his teeth together with passion.
"Yes, to you," returned Rosabella coolly; "for why should I longer conceal my sentiments? I will no longer be your slave. You have made me deserted by my husband—hated by my subjects—and detested by myself. I will, therefore, no longer follow your councils; from henceforward I will act for myself. Adieu, we meet no more as friends!"
And as she spoke, she walked out of the room, leaving the priest motionless with astonishment.—"This to me!" cried he to Marianne, as soon as he recovered himself sufficiently to speak—"to me, who have sacrificed every thing for her! Did I not place her on the throne? Have I scrupled even to imbrue my hands in blood for her sake? Have I not committed crimes for her that weigh heavily upon my soul? Did I not poison Claudia? and should I not also have destroyed Elvira, if Cheops had not saved her? Oh, Marianne, am I awake? Is it not a cruel dream? Is it possible it can be Rosabella! Rosabella! my Rosabella! my child! my own Rosabella! that uses me thus?"
"Hush! hush!" cried Marianne; "'tis but the passion of a moment. Be composed. Rosabella still loves you; but, irritated by the desertion of Edmund, and the news she has just heard—"