Loudon The Mummy Vol. 2

1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-3-96272-186-2
Verlag: OTB eBook publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 239 Seiten

Reihe: Classics To Go

The story about a Mad Scientist (sort of) who revives, at the start of the 22nd century, an ancient Egyptian mummy. Part2 (Goodreads)

Autoren/Hrsg.

Loudon, Jane C.

Leseproben

Chapter 1.
Father Morris, when Abelard and Mrs. Russel confessed to him the following morning the strange spectre they had witnessed, treated the whole as the mere vision of their heated imaginations, and refusing to listen to any of their surmises respecting it, prepared to attend the Queen, who, finding herself sufficiently recovered to be able to attend to the duties of religion, had, from the general reputation of his superior sanctity, sent for him to confess her. Her Majesty, indeed, seemed rapidly improving, and the hopes of Edmund reviving with her health, he passed every hour he could abstract from the duties of his station at the feet of his adored Elvira, his love for whom seemed increased by the imminence of the danger he had just escaped, of losing her for ever. In this manner several days had passed, and the strange visit of the Mummy, and the accident of the Queen, had already taken their place on the shelf with the other évènemens passés of the day; when one morning, whilst Sir Ambrose was dressing, he was startled by an earnest message from the Duke of Cornwall, entreating him to come to him without delay. Sir Ambrose immediately obeyed the summons, and found the Duke walking up and down his study in a state of the greatest agitation, which Father Morris was vainly endeavouring to tranquillize. “Oh, my beloved friend,” exclaimed the duke, springing forward and grasping the baronet’s hand the moment he saw him approach: “my dear Sir Ambrose, Claudia is no more!” “Dead!” cried Sir Ambrose involuntarily looking at Father Morris, whose aspect, how ever, still preserved only its usual cold and statue-like appearance. “Are you sure she is dead?—I thought she was better.” “So we all did,” said the Duke: “but alas! we deceived ourselves, for Father Morris has just seen her expire. Oh! where is Edmund?—why is he not with you?—what will become of him? It will destroy him to lose Elvira: and I, too, that have felt so proud in the expectation of his becoming my son-in-law, oh, it will break my heart!” “Oh!” cried Father Murphy, who was also present; “and if that’s the case, why don’t you let Rosabella take the crown at once, and make no more fuss about it.” “And yet,” continued the duke, “I cannot bear that Elvira should be deprived of her right, she would so become a crown; and with her inflexible sense of justice, and desire for improvement, she would do so much good, that I should not feel justified in depriving the country of such a sovereign.” “Thus,” said Father Morris, smiling, “do we deceive ourselves; you are ambitious whilst you think that you are only just. Believe me, if you consult Elvira’s real happiness, you will not impose upon her the troublesome duties of a crown; she will make a better wife than a queen; for her gentle nature is less fitted to command than to obey. Rosabella has more firmness.” “I do not agree with you, Father,” said Sir Ambrose; “in my opinion Elvira is infinitely better fitted to be a queen than Rosabella, for her passions are more under the control of reason;” “That is to say,” resumed the monk, sneeringly, “they have not yet been called into play” “What do you mean, Father?’” began the duke. “Nothing that could give you offence, my Lord,” returned the priest. “Disgusted myself with the world, I naturally thought the princess most likely to find happiness where I seek it myself—viz. in a life of quiet and retirement.” “Enough,” said the duke: “but where is Edmund? Let us seek him; no doubt he is with Elvira:—poor things! we must spoil their billing and cooing.” Edmund was with Elvira, and was passionately urging his suit, whilst she, engaged with her embroidery frame, listened with a half abstracted mind, and Emma duteously waited behind her chair. “You do not love me,” said he, “or you could not answer with such provoking coldness.” “You are so unreasonable, Edmund. I have already told you I have no idea of that passionate overwhelming love you appear to feel, it absolutely terrifies me, and I am sure it is not natural to my character.—(This silk is too dark, Emma)—and so, Edmund, if you feel you cannot be happy with such affection as it is in my power to bestow, we had better determine at once to separate.” “Good God!” exclaimed Edmund, striking his forehead violently with his clenched hand; “how coldly you talk of our separation!” “What can I do? I try every thing in my power to please you. (Emma give me my scissors.) But since you will not hear reason——” “Reason!” cried Edmund fiercely, seizing her arm, and then letting it go again; “If you talk of reason you will drive me distracted!” “You quite terrify me with your violence, Edmund,” said Elvira, rising, and preparing to quit the room. “Oh stay! stay, my adored Elvira!” exclaimed Lord Edmund, throwing himself upon his knees and catching her hand; “for Heaven’s sake, stay! pardon my impetuosity—frown upon me, treat me with coldness, disdain, or contempt, but do not, do not leave me.” “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, “as Henry Seymour says—you do not understand my character in the least.” “Henry Seymour!” cried Edmund fiercely: “how dare he pass an opinion upon my conduct? He shall account for his insolent interference.” “Oh no! no!” exclaimed Elvira, turning pale with terror; “I’m sure he meant no harm. For Heaven’s sake, Edmund! my dear Edmund,” continued she, earnestly laying her hand upon his arm—she paused—Edmund gazed upon her intently—she became confused, and added in a faltering voice, “do not hurt him, Edmund!” Edmund sighed deeply: “You shall be obeyed,” said he. 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 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. Elvira’s eyes thanked her lover for his disinterestedness; whilst the glow which flushed her cheeks, betrayed, that a deeper emotion than joy at the flattering prospect opened before her, swelled in her bosom. “Elvira!” said Lord Edmund, gazing upon her earnestly, as though he would penetrate the inmost recesses of her bosom. “What are your wishes? Do not hesitate to declare them, for alas! much hangs upon your words.” Elvira blushed, and cast her eyes upon the ground, whilst the rapid changes of her expressive countenance bespoke the agitation of her mind; Lord Edmund comprehended but too well the meaning of her silence, and he sighed deeply. “It is enough,” said he, in a mournful tone; “then the die is cast” He paused a few moments, whilst his friends, though they looked at him with the deepest commiseration, respected his emotion too much to venture to interrupt it: then rousing himself, he hastily brushed a tear from his eye, and exclaimed, “How weak is human nature! I know my duty, and I will perform it; but yet—Oh Elvira!” “Compose yourself, my beloved Edmund,” said his father; “tomorrow you will be more calm.” “Oh, talk not of tomorrow!” replied Edmund; “...