“Your behaviour is above your seeming,” said Manfred, viewing him with surprise and admiration: “hereafter I will reward your bravery; but now,” continued he with a sigh, “I am so circumstanced, that I dare trust no eyes but my own. However, I give you leave to accompany me.”
Manfred, when he first followed Isabella from the gallery, had gone directly to the apartment of his wife, concluding the princess had retired thither. Hippolita, who knew his step, rose with anxious fondness to meet her lord, whom she had not seen since the death of her son. She would have flown in a transport, mixed of joy and grief, to his bosom, but he pushed her rudely off, and said, “Where is Isabella?”
“Isabella, my lord!” said the astonished Hippolita.
“Yes, Isabella,” cried Manfred imperiously; “I want Isabella.”
“My lord,” replied Matilda, who perceived how much his behaviour had shocked her mother, “she has not been with us since your highness summoned her to your apartment.”
“Tell me where she is,” said the prince; “I do not want to know where she has been.”
“My good lord,” says Hippolita, “your daughter tells you the truth: Isabella left us by your command, and has not returned since; but, my good lord, compose yourself: retire to your rest; this dismal day has disordered you. Isabella shall wait your orders in the morning.”
“What, then, you know where she is?” cried Manfred. “Tell me directly, for I will not lose an instant; and you, woman,” speaking to his wife, “order your chaplain to attend me forthwith.”
“Isabella,” said Hippolita, calmly, “is retired, I suppose to her chamber: she is not accustomed to watch at this late hour. Gracious my lord,” continued she, “let me know what has disturbed you. Has Isabella offended you?”
“Trouble me not with questions,” said Manfred, “but tell me where she is.”