"I do not know what you wish; I have repeatedly told you I am ready to become your wife whenever our parents think fit; and that I will do every thing in my power to make you happy. Do you call that coldness?" "I do--I do indeed: freezing, insulting coldness. Oh, Elvira! I would rather see you spurn me--hear you declare you hated me, or know that you doomed me to destruction, than hear you speak of our marriage in that calm, unvaried tone." "How unreasonable you are!" said Elvira, smiling. "Hear him, Emma; is he not a singular being? And if I find it so difficult to please him now, what must I expect when I become his wife?" "Tormenting girl!" exclaimed Edmund, "you know your power but too well." "What ridiculous creatures these lords of the creation are!" said Elvira, playfully holding out her hand to Edmund, though she still affected to address Emma; "I really don't think any of them know what they would have; and I believe the only way to manage them is to make one's-self perfectly disagreeable." "That _you_ can never do," cried Edmund, rapturously kissing her hand. At this moment a slight tap at the door announced the arrival of the duke and his friends. "So, so!" said the duke, "we have found you, have we? but you must take your leave of such tender scenes for the future." "What do you mean?" asked Edmund. "The Queen is dead," said Sir Ambrose. The glowing countenance of Edmund turned of a ghastly paleness; and his livid lips quivered, as he leaned against the window for support. "Assist him!" cried the duke. "He will faint! Don't distress yourself, Edmund; the death of Claudia shall make no alteration in your prospects." "I am better," said Edmund faintly, attempting to smile, and waving off all assistance; "'Twas but for a moment: the suddenness of the shock overcame me: I thought the Queen was better." "She was supposed so," returned the duke; "but it seems she had some internal malady her physicians were not aware of. An inward bruise, I believe. But don't make yourself unhappy about it, Edmund; I cannot bear to see you wretched. Let Rosabella take the crown, and think no more about it." "Your Grace wrongs me," said Edmund, his fine countenance glowing with the exalted feelings of his soul. "However I may suffer from the violence of my feelings, I can never permit them to interfere with my sense of duty. Elvira has a right to ascend the throne, and if my exertions can ensure her success, she shall be Queen." "Thou art a brave lad!" cried the duke. "And will you really try to secure the election of Elvira, when you know, by so doing, you will deprive yourself of her for ever?" "I shall do my duty," said Lord Edmund, pressing his lips firmly together, as though to suppress his feelings. Father Morris looked at him from under his over-shadowing cowl with a kind of sardonic smile, which seemed to say "You speak well, but let us see how you will act." "My noble Edmund!" murmured Sir Ambrose, tears rolling down his cheeks.