recollection of Manfred's late ambiguous discourses confirmed what
she heard.

"Excellent, dear lady! madam! mother!" cried Isabella, flinging
herself at Hippolita's feet in a transport of passion; "trust me,
believe me, I will die a thousand deaths sooner than consent to
injure you, than yield to so odious--oh!--"

"This is too much!" cried Hippolita: "What crimes does one crime
suggest! Rise, dear Isabella; I do not doubt your virtue. Oh!
Matilda, this stroke is too heavy for thee! weep not, my child; and
not a murmur, I charge thee. Remember, he is thy father still!"

"But you are my mother too," said Matilda fervently; "and you are
virtuous, you are guiltless!--Oh! must not I, must not I complain?"

"You must not," said Hippolita--"come, all will yet be well.
Manfred, in the agony for the loss of thy brother, knew not what he
said; perhaps Isabella misunderstood him; his heart is good--and,
my child, thou knowest not all! There is a destiny hangs over us;
the hand of Providence is stretched out; oh! could I but save thee
from the wreck! Yes," continued she in a firmer tone, "perhaps the
sacrifice of myself may atone for all; I will go and offer myself
to this divorce--it boots not what becomes of me. I will withdraw
into the neighbouring monastery, and waste the remainder of life in
prayers and tears for my child and--the Prince!"

"Thou art as much too good for this world," said Isabella, "as
Manfred is execrable; but think not, lady, that thy weakness shall
determine for me. I swear, hear me all ye angels--"