“My lovely friend,” said Isabella, whose heart was too honest to resist a kind expression, “it is you that Theodore admires; I saw it; I am persuaded of it; nor shall a thought of my own happiness suffer me to interfere with yours.” This frankness drew tears from the gentle Matilda; and jealousy, that for a moment had raised a coolness between these amiable maidens, soon gave way to the natural sincerity and candour of their souls. Each confessed to the other the impression that Theodore had made on her; and this confidence was followed by a struggle of generosity, each insisting on yielding her claim to her friend. At length the dignity of Isabella’s virtue reminding her of the preference which Theodore had almost declared for her rival, made her determine to conquer her passion, and cede the beloved object to her friend. During this contest of amity, Hippolita entered her daughter’s chamber. “Madam,” said she to Isabella, “you have so much tenderness for Matilda, and interest yourself so kindly in whatever affects our wretched house, that I can have no secrets with my child which are not proper for you to hear.” The princesses were all attention and anxiety. “Know then, madam,” continued Hippolita, “and you, my dearest Matilda, that being convinced by all the events of these two last ominous days that Heaven purposes the sceptre of Otranto should pass from Manfred’s hands into those of the Marquis Frederic; I have been perhaps inspired with the thought of averting our total destruction by the union of our rival houses. With this view I have been proposing to Manfred, my lord, to tender this dear, dear child to Frederic your father.” “Me to Lord Frederic!” cried Matilda. “Good heavens! my gracious mother, and have you named it to my father?” “I have,” said Hippolita: “he listened benignly to my proposal, and is gone to break it to the marquis.” “Ah! wretched princess,” cried Isabella, “what hast thou done? what ruin has thy inadvertent goodness been preparing for thyself, for me, and for Matilda!” “Ruin from me, to you, and to my child!” said Hippolita; “what can this mean?” “Alas!” said Isabella, “the purity of your own heart prevents your seeing the depravity of others. Manfred, your lord, that impious man----” “Hold!” said Hippolita, “you must not, in my presence, young lady, mention Manfred with disrespect; he is my lord and husband, and----” “Will not long be so,” said Isabella, “if his wicked purposes can be carried into execution.” “This language amazes me,” said Hippolita. “Your feeling, Isabella, is warm: but until this hour I never knew it betray you into intemperance. What deed of Manfred authorizes you to treat him as a murderer, an assassin?” “Thou virtuous, and too credulous princess!” replied Isabella; “it is not thy life he aims at--it is to separate himself from thee! to divorce thee! to----” “To divorce me!”--“To divorce my mother!” cried Hippolita and Matilda at once.