THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO

MANFRED'S heart misgave him when he beheld the plumage on the 
miraculous casque shaken in concert with the sounding of the brazen 
trumpet.

"Father!" said he to Jerome, whom he now ceased to treat as Count of 
Falconara, "what mean these portents?  If I have offended - " the 
plumes were shaken with greater violence than before.

"Unhappy Prince that I am," cried Manfred.  "Holy Father! will you not 
assist me with your prayers?"

"My Lord," replied Jerome, "heaven is no doubt displeased with your 
mockery of its servants.  Submit yourself to the church; and cease to 
persecute her ministers.  Dismiss this innocent youth; and learn to 
respect the holy character I wear.  Heaven will not be trifled with:  
you see - " the trumpet sounded again.

"I acknowledge I have been too hasty," said Manfred.  "Father, do you 
go to the wicket, and demand who is at the gate."

"Do you grant me the life of Theodore?" replied the Friar.

"I do," said Manfred; "but inquire who is without!"

Jerome, falling on the neck of his son, discharged a flood of tears, 
that spoke the fulness of his soul.

"You promised to go to the gate," said Manfred.

"I thought," replied the Friar, "your Highness would excuse my 
thanking you first in this tribute of my heart."

"Go, dearest Sir," said Theodore; "obey the Prince.  I do not deserve 
that you should delay his satisfaction for me."

Jerome, inquiring who was without, was answered, "A Herald."

"From whom?" said he.

"From the Knight of the Gigantic Sabre," said the Herald; "and I must 
speak with the usurper of Otranto."

Jerome returned to the Prince, and did not fail to repeat the message 
in the very words it had been uttered.  The first sounds struck 
Manfred with terror; but when he heard himself styled usurper, his 
rage rekindled, and all his courage revived.

"Usurper! - insolent villain!" cried he; "who dares to question my 
title?  Retire, Father; this is no business for Monks:  I will meet 
this presumptuous man myself.  Go to your convent and prepare the 
Princess's return.  Your son shall be a hostage for your fidelity:  
his life depends on your obedience."

"Good heaven! my Lord," cried Jerome, "your Highness did but this 
instant freely pardon my child - have you so soon forgot the 
interposition of heaven?"

"Heaven," replied Manfred, "does not send Heralds to question the 
title of a lawful Prince.  I doubt whether it even notifies its will 
through Friars - but that is your affair, not mine.  At present you 
know my pleasure; and it is not a saucy Herald that shall save your 
son, if you do not return with the Princess."

It was in vain for the holy man to reply.  Manfred commanded him to be 
conducted to the postern-gate, and shut out from the castle.  And he 
ordered some of his attendants to carry Theodore to the top of the 
black tower, and guard him strictly; scarce permitting the father and 
son to exchange a hasty embrace at parting.  He then withdrew to the 
hall, and seating himself in princely state, ordered the Herald to be 
admitted to his presence.

"Well! thou insolent!" said the Prince, "what wouldst thou with me?"

"I come," replied he, "to thee, Manfred, usurper of the principality 
of Otranto, from the renowned and invincible Knight, the Knight of the 
Gigantic Sabre:  in the name of his Lord, Frederic, Marquis of 
Vicenza, he demands the Lady Isabella, daughter of that Prince, whom 
thou hast basely and traitorously got into thy power, by bribing her 
false guardians during his absence; and he requires thee to resign the 
principality of Otranto, which thou hast usurped from the said Lord 
Frederic, the nearest of blood to the last rightful Lord, Alfonso the 
Good.  If thou dost not instantly comply with these just demands, he 
defies thee to single combat to the last extremity."  And so saying 
the Herald cast down his warder.

"And where is this braggart who sends thee?" said Manfred.

"At the distance of a league," said the Herald:  "he comes to make 
good his Lord's claim against thee, as he is a true knight, and thou 
an usurper and ravisher."

Injurious as this challenge was, Manfred reflected that it was not his 
interest to provoke the Marquis.  He knew how well founded the claim 
of Frederic was; nor was this the first time he had heard of it.  
Frederic's ancestors had assumed the style of Princes of Otranto, from 
the death of Alfonso the Good without issue; but Manfred, his father, 
and grandfather, had been too powerful for the house of Vicenza to 
dispossess them.  Frederic, a martial and amorous young Prince, had 
married a beautiful young lady, of whom he was enamoured, and who had 
died in childbed of Isabella.  Her death affected him so much that he 
had taken the cross and gone to the Holy Land, where he was wounded in 
an engagement against the infidels, made prisoner, and reported to be 
dead.  When the news reached Manfred's ears, he bribed the guardians 
of the Lady Isabella to deliver her up to him as a bride for his son 
Conrad, by which alliance he had proposed to unite the claims of the 
two houses.  This motive, on Conrad's death, had co-operated to make 
him so suddenly resolve on espousing her himself; and the same 
reflection determined him now to endeavour at obtaining the consent of 
Frederic to this marriage.  A like policy inspired him with the 
thought of inviting Frederic's champion into the castle, lest he 
should be informed of Isabella's flight, which he strictly enjoined 
his domestics not to disclose to any of the Knight's retinue.

"Herald," said Manfred, as soon as he had digested these reflections, 
"return to thy master, and tell him, ere we liquidate our differences 
by the sword, Manfred would hold some converse with him.  Bid him 
welcome to my castle, where by my faith, as I am a true Knight, he 
shall have courteous reception, and full security for himself and 
followers.  If we cannot adjust our quarrel by amicable means, I swear 
he shall depart in safety, and shall have full satisfaction according 
to the laws of arms:  So help me God and His holy Trinity!"

The Herald made three obeisances and retired.

During this interview Jerome's mind was agitated by a thousand 
contrary passions.  He trembled for the life of his son, and his first 
thought was to persuade Isabella to return to the castle.  Yet he was 
scarce less alarmed at the thought of her union with Manfred.  He 
dreaded Hippolita's unbounded submission to the will of her Lord; and 
though he did not doubt but he could alarm her piety not to consent to 
a divorce, if he could get access to her; yet should Manfred discover 
that the obstruction came from him, it might be equally fatal to 
Theodore.  He was impatient to know whence came the Herald, who with 
so little management had questioned the title of Manfred:  yet he did 
not dare absent himself from the convent, lest Isabella should leave 
it, and her flight be imputed to him.  He returned disconsolately to 
the monastery, uncertain on what conduct to resolve.  A Monk, who met 
him in the porch and observed his melancholy air, said -

"Alas! brother, is it then true that we have lost our excellent 
Princess Hippolita?"

The holy man started, and cried, "What meanest thou, brother?  I come 
this instant from the castle, and left her in perfect health."

"Martelli," replied the other Friar, "passed by the convent but a 
quarter of an hour ago on his way from the castle, and reported that 
her Highness was dead.  All our brethren are gone to the chapel to 
pray for her happy transit to a better life, and willed me to wait thy 
arrival.  They know thy holy attachment to that good Lady, and are 
anxious for the affliction it will cause in thee - indeed we have all 
reason to weep; she was a mother to our house.  But this life is but a 
pilgrimage; we must not murmur - we shall all follow her!  May our end 
be like hers!"

 "Good brother, thou dreamest," said Jerome.  "I tell thee I come from 
the castle, and left the Princess well.  Where is the Lady Isabella?"

"Poor Gentlewoman!" replied the Friar; "I told her the sad news, and 
offered her spiritual comfort.  I reminded her of the transitory 
condition of mortality, and advised her to take the veil:  I quoted 
the example of the holy Princess Sanchia of Arragon."

"Thy zeal was laudable," said Jerome, impatiently; "but at present it 
was unnecessary:  Hippolita is well - at least I trust in the Lord she 
is; I heard nothing to the contrary - yet, methinks, the Prince's 
earnestness - Well, brother, but where is the Lady Isabella?"

"I know not," said the Friar; "she wept much, and said she would 
retire to her chamber."

Jerome left his comrade abruptly, and hastened to the Princess, but 
she was not in her chamber.  He inquired of the domestics of the 
convent, but could learn no news of her.  He searched in vain 
throughout the monastery and the church, and despatched messengers 
round the neighbourhood, to get intelligence if she had been seen; but 
to no purpose.  Nothing could equal the good man's perplexity.  He 
judged that Isabella, suspecting Manfred of having precipitated his 
wife's death, had taken the alarm, and withdrawn herself to some more 
secret place of concealment.  This new flight would probably carry the 
Prince's fury to the height.  The report of Hippolita's death, though 
it seemed almost incredible, increased his consternation; and though 
Isabella's escape bespoke her aversion of Manfred for a husband, 
Jerome could feel no comfort from it, while it endangered the life of 
his son.  He determined to return to the castle, and made several of 
his brethren accompany him to attest his innocence to Manfred, and, if 
necessary, join their intercession with his for Theodore.

The Prince, in the meantime, had passed into the court, and ordered 
the gates of the castle to be flung open for the reception of the 
stranger Knight and his train.  In a few minutes the cavalcade 
arrived.  First came two harbingers with wands.  Next a herald, 
followed by two pages and two trumpets.  Then a hundred foot-guards.  
These were attended by as many horse.  After them fifty footmen, 
clothed in scarlet and black, the colours of the Knight.  Then a led 
horse.  Two heralds on each side of a gentleman on horseback bearing a 
banner with the arms of Vicenza and Otranto quarterly - a circumstance 
that much offended Manfred - but he stifled his resentment.  Two more 
pages.  The Knight's confessor telling his beads.  Fifty more footmen 
clad as before.  Two Knights habited in complete armour, their beavers 
down, comrades to the principal Knight.  The squires of the two 
Knights, carrying their shields and devices.  The Knight's own squire.  
A hundred gentlemen bearing an enormous sword, and seeming to faint 
under the weight of it.  The Knight himself on a chestnut steed, in 
complete armour, his lance in the rest, his face entirely concealed by 
his vizor, which was surmounted by a large plume of scarlet and black 
feathers.  Fifty foot-guards with drums and trumpets closed the 
procession, which wheeled off to the right and left to make room for 
the principal Knight.

As soon as he approached the gate he stopped; and the herald 
advancing, read again the words of the challenge.  Manfred's eyes were 
fixed on the gigantic sword, and he scarce seemed to attend to the 
cartel:  but his attention was soon diverted by a tempest of wind that 
rose behind him.  He turned and beheld the Plumes of the enchanted 
helmet agitated in the same extraordinary manner as before.  It 
required intrepidity like Manfred's not to sink under a concurrence of 
circumstances that seemed to announce his fate.  Yet scorning in the 
presence of strangers to betray the courage he had always manifested, 
he said boldly -

"Sir Knight, whoever thou art, I bid thee welcome.  If thou art of 
mortal mould, thy valour shall meet its equal:  and if thou art a true 
Knight, thou wilt scorn to employ sorcery to carry thy point.  Be 
these omens from heaven or hell, Manfred trusts to the righteousness 
of his cause and to the aid of St. Nicholas, who has ever protected 
his house.  Alight, Sir Knight, and repose thyself.  To-morrow thou 
shalt have a fair field, and heaven befriend the juster side!"

The Knight made no reply, but dismounting, was conducted by Manfred to 
the great hall of the castle.  As they traversed the court, the Knight 
stopped to gaze on the miraculous casque; and kneeling down, seemed to 
pray inwardly for some minutes.  Rising, he made a sign to the Prince 
to lead on.  As soon as they entered the hall, Manfred proposed to the 
stranger to disarm, but the Knight shook his head in token of refusal.

"Sir Knight," said Manfred, "this is not courteous, but by my good 
faith I will not cross thee, nor shalt thou have cause to complain of 
the Prince of Otranto.  No treachery is designed on my part; I hope 
none is intended on thine; here take my gage" (giving him his ring):  
"your friends and you shall enjoy the laws of hospitality.  Rest here 
until refreshments are brought.  I will but give orders for the 
accommodation of your train, and return to you."  The three Knights 
bowed as accepting his courtesy.  Manfred directed the stranger's 
retinue to be conducted to an adjacent hospital, founded by the 
Princess Hippolita for the reception of pilgrims.  As they made the 
circuit of the court to return towards the gate, the gigantic sword 
burst from the supporters, and falling to the ground opposite to the 
helmet, remained immovable.  Manfred, almost hardened to preternatural 
appearances, surmounted the shock of this new prodigy; and returning 
to the hall, where by this time the feast was ready, he invited his 
silent guests to take their places.  Manfred, however ill his heart 
was at ease, endeavoured to inspire the company with mirth.  He put 
several questions to them, but was answered only by signs.  They 
raised their vizors but sufficiently to feed themselves, and that 
sparingly.

"Sirs" said the Prince, "ye are the first guests I ever treated within 
these walls who scorned to hold any intercourse with me:  nor has it 
oft been customary, I ween, for princes to hazard their state and 
dignity against strangers and mutes.  You say you come in the name of 
Frederic of Vicenza; I have ever heard that he was a gallant and 
courteous Knight; nor would he, I am bold to say, think it beneath him 
to mix in social converse with a Prince that is his equal, and not 
unknown by deeds in arms.  Still ye are silent - well! be it as it may 
- by the laws of hospitality and chivalry ye are masters under this 
roof:  ye shall do your pleasure.  But come, give me a goblet of wine; 
ye will not refuse to pledge me to the healths of your fair 
mistresses."

The principal Knight sighed and crossed himself, and was rising from 
the board.

"Sir Knight," said Manfred, "what I said was but in sport.  I shall 
constrain you in nothing:  use your good liking.  Since mirth is not 
your mood, let us be sad.  Business may hit your fancies better.  Let 
us withdraw, and hear if what I have to unfold may be better relished 
than the vain efforts I have made for your pastime."

Manfred then conducting the three Knights into an inner chamber, shut 
the door, and inviting them to be seated, began thus, addressing 
himself to the chief personage:-

"You come, Sir Knight, as I understand, in the name of the Marquis of 
Vicenza, to re-demand the Lady Isabella, his daughter, who has been 
contracted in the face of Holy Church to my son, by the consent of her 
legal guardians; and to require me to resign my dominions to your 
Lord, who gives himself for the nearest of blood to Prince Alfonso, 
whose soul God rest!  I shall speak to the latter article of your 
demands first.  You must know, your Lord knows, that I enjoy the 
principality of Otranto from my father, Don Manuel, as he received it 
from his father, Don Ricardo.  Alfonso, their predecessor, dying 
childless in the Holy Land, bequeathed his estates to my grandfather, 
Don Ricardo, in consideration of his faithful services."  The stranger 
shook his head.

"Sir Knight," said Manfred, warmly, "Ricardo was a valiant and upright 
man; he was a pious man; witness his munificent foundation of the 
adjoining church and two converts.  He was peculiarly patronised by 
St. Nicholas - my grandfather was incapable - I say, Sir, Don Ricardo 
was incapable - excuse me, your interruption has disordered me.  I 
venerate the memory of my grandfather.  Well, Sirs, he held this 
estate; he held it by his good sword and by the favour of St. Nicholas 
- so did my father; and so, Sirs, will I, come what come will.  But 
Frederic, your Lord, is nearest in blood.  I have consented to put my 
title to the issue of the sword.  Does that imply a vicious title?  I 
might have asked, where is Frederic your Lord?  Report speaks him dead 
in captivity.  You say, your actions say, he lives - I question it not 
- I might, Sirs, I might - but I do not.  Other Princes would bid 
Frederic take his inheritance by force, if he can:  they would not 
stake their dignity on a single combat:  they would not submit it to 
the decision of unknown mutes! - pardon me, gentlemen, I am too warm:  
but suppose yourselves in my situation:  as ye are stout Knights, 
would it not move your choler to have your own and the honour of your 
ancestors called in question?"

"But to the point.  Ye require me to deliver up the Lady Isabella.  
Sirs, I must ask if ye are authorised to receive her?"

The Knight nodded.

"Receive her," continued Manfred; "well, you are authorised to receive 
her, but, gentle Knight, may I ask if you have full powers?"

The Knight nodded.

"'Tis well," said Manfred; "then hear what I have to offer.  Ye see, 
gentlemen, before you, the most unhappy of men!" (he began to weep); 
"afford me your compassion; I am entitled to it, indeed I am.  Know, I 
have lost my only hope, my joy, the support of my house - Conrad died 
yester morning."

The Knights discovered signs of surprise.

"Yes, Sirs, fate has disposed of my son.  Isabella is at liberty."

"Do you then restore her?" cried the chief Knight, breaking silence.

"Afford me your patience," said Manfred.  "I rejoice to find, by this 
testimony of your goodwill, that this matter may be adjusted without 
blood.  It is no interest of mine dictates what little I have farther 
to say.  Ye behold in me a man disgusted with the world:  the loss of 
my son has weaned me from earthly cares.  Power and greatness have no 
longer any charms in my eyes.  I wished to transmit the sceptre I had 
received from my ancestors with honour to my son - but that is over!  
Life itself is so indifferent to me, that I accepted your defiance 
with joy.  A good Knight cannot go to the grave with more satisfaction 
than when falling in his vocation:  whatever is the will of heaven, I 
submit; for alas! Sirs, I am a man of many sorrows.  Manfred is no 
object of envy, but no doubt you are acquainted with my story."

The Knight made signs of ignorance, and seemed curious to have Manfred 
proceed.

"Is it possible, Sirs," continued the Prince, "that my story should be 
a secret to you?  Have you heard nothing relating to me and the 
Princess Hippolita?"

They shook their heads.

"No!  Thus, then, Sirs, it is.  You think me ambitious:  ambition, 
alas! is composed of more rugged materials.  If I were ambitious, I 
should not for so many years have been a prey to all the hell of 
conscientious scruples.  But I weary your patience:  I will be brief.  
Know, then, that I have long been troubled in mind on my union with 
the Princess Hippolita.  Oh! Sirs, if ye were acquainted with that 
excellent woman! if ye knew that I adore her like a mistress, and 
cherish her as a friend - but man was not born for perfect happiness!  
She shares my scruples, and with her consent I have brought this 
matter before the church, for we are related within the forbidden 
degrees.  I expect every hour the definitive sentence that must 
separate us for ever - I am sure you feel for me - I see you do - 
pardon these tears!"

The Knights gazed on each other, wondering where this would end.

Manfred continued -

"The death of my son betiding while my soul was under this anxiety, I 
thought of nothing but resigning my dominions, and retiring for ever 
from the sight of mankind.  My only difficulty was to fix on a 
successor, who would be tender of my people, and to dispose of the 
Lady Isabella, who is dear to me as my own blood.  I was willing to 
restore the line of Alfonso, even in his most distant kindred.  And 
though, pardon me, I am satisfied it was his will that Ricardo's 
lineage should take place of his own relations; yet where was I to 
search for those relations?  I knew of none but Frederic, your Lord; 
he was a captive to the infidels, or dead; and were he living, and at 
home, would he quit the flourishing State of Vicenza for the 
inconsiderable principality of Otranto?  If he would not, could I bear 
the thought of seeing a hard, unfeeling, Viceroy set over my poor 
faithful people? for, Sirs, I love my people, and thank heaven am 
beloved by them.  But ye will ask whither tends this long discourse?  
Briefly, then, thus, Sirs.  Heaven in your arrival seems to point out 
a remedy for these difficulties and my misfortunes.  The Lady Isabella 
is at liberty; I shall soon be so.  I would submit to anything for the 
good of my people.  Were it not the best, the only way to extinguish 
the feuds between our families, if I was to take the Lady Isabella to 
wife?  You start.  But though Hippolita's virtues will ever be dear to 
me, a Prince must not consider himself; he is born for his people."  A 
servant at that instant entering the chamber apprised Manfred that 
Jerome and several of his brethren demanded immediate access to him.

The Prince, provoked at this interruption, and fearing that the Friar 
would discover to the strangers that Isabella had taken sanctuary, was 
going to forbid Jerome's entrance.  But recollecting that he was 
certainly arrived to notify the Princess's return, Manfred began to 
excuse himself to the Knights for leaving them for a few moments, but 
was prevented by the arrival of the Friars.  Manfred angrily 
reprimanded them for their intrusion, and would have forced them back 
from the chamber; but Jerome was too much agitated to be repulsed.  He 
declared aloud the flight of Isabella, with protestations of his own 
innocence.

Manfred, distracted at the news, and not less at its coming to the 
knowledge of the strangers, uttered nothing but incoherent sentences, 
now upbraiding the Friar, now apologising to the Knights, earnest to 
know what was become of Isabella, yet equally afraid of their knowing; 
impatient to pursue her, yet dreading to have them join in the 
pursuit.  He offered to despatch messengers in quest of her, but the 
chief Knight, no longer keeping silence, reproached Manfred in bitter 
terms for his dark and ambiguous dealing, and demanded the cause of 
Isabella's first absence from the castle.  Manfred, casting a stern 
look at Jerome, implying a command of silence, pretended that on 
Conrad's death he had placed her in sanctuary until he could determine 
how to dispose of her.  Jerome, who trembled for his son's life, did 
not dare contradict this falsehood, but one of his brethren, not under 
the same anxiety, declared frankly that she had fled to their church 
in the preceding night.  The Prince in vain endeavoured to stop this 
discovery, which overwhelmed him with shame and confusion.  The 
principal stranger, amazed at the contradictions he heard, and more 
than half persuaded that Manfred had secreted the Princess, 
notwithstanding the concern he expressed at her flight, rushing to the 
door, said -

"Thou traitor Prince!  Isabella shall be found."

Manfred endeavoured to hold him, but the other Knights assisting their 
comrade, he broke from the Prince, and hastened into the court, 
demanding his attendants.  Manfred, finding it vain to divert him from 
the pursuit, offered to accompany him and summoning his attendants, 
and taking Jerome and some of the Friars to guide them, they issued 
from the castle; Manfred privately giving orders to have the Knight's 
company secured, while to the knight he affected to despatch a 
messenger to require their assistance.

The company had no sooner quitted the castle than Matilda, who felt 
herself deeply interested for the young peasant, since she had seen 
him condemned to death in the hall, and whose thoughts had been taken 
up with concerting measures to save him, was informed by some of the 
female attendants that Manfred had despatched all his men various ways 
in pursuit of Isabella.  He had in his hurry given this order in 
general terms, not meaning to extend it to the guard he had set upon 
Theodore, but forgetting it.  The domestics, officious to obey so 
peremptory a Prince, and urged by their own curiosity and love of 
novelty to join in any precipitate chase, had to a man left the 
castle.  Matilda disengaged herself from her women, stole up to the 
black tower, and unbolting the door, presented herself to the 
astonished Theodore.

"Young man," said she, "though filial duty and womanly modesty condemn 
the step I am taking, yet holy charity, surmounting all other ties, 
justifies this act.  Fly; the doors of thy prison are open:  my father 
and his domestics are absent; but they may soon return.  Be gone in 
safety; and may the angels of heaven direct thy course!"

"Thou art surely one of those angels!" said the enraptured Theodore:  
"none but a blessed saint could speak, could act - could look - like 
thee.  May I not know the name of my divine protectress?  Methought 
thou namedst thy father.  Is it possible?  Can Manfred's blood feel 
holy pity!  Lovely Lady, thou answerest not.  But how art thou here 
thyself?  Why dost thou neglect thy own safety, and waste a thought on 
a wretch like Theodore?  Let us fly together:  the life thou bestowest 
shall be dedicated to thy defence."

"Alas! thou mistakest," said Matilda, signing:  "I am Manfred's 
daughter, but no dangers await me."

"Amazement!" said Theodore; "but last night I blessed myself for 
yielding thee the service thy gracious compassion so charitably 
returns me now."

"Still thou art in an error," said the Princess; "but this is no time 
for explanation.  Fly, virtuous youth, while it is in my power to save 
thee:  should my father return, thou and I both should indeed have 
cause to tremble."

"How!" said Theodore; "thinkest thou, charming maid, that I will 
accept of life at the hazard of aught calamitous to thee?  Better I 
endured a thousand deaths."

"I run no risk," said Matilda, "but by thy delay.  Depart; it cannot 
be known that I have assisted thy flight."

"Swear by the saints above," said Theodore, "that thou canst not be 
suspected; else here I vow to await whatever can befall me."

"Oh! thou art too generous," said Matilda; "but rest assured that no 
suspicion can alight on me."

"Give me thy beauteous hand in token that thou dost not deceive me," 
said Theodore; "and let me bathe it with the warm tears of gratitude."

"Forbear!" said the Princess; "this must not be."

"Alas!" said Theodore, "I have never known but calamity until this 
hour - perhaps shall never know other fortune again:  suffer the 
chaste raptures of holy gratitude:  'tis my soul would print its 
effusions on thy hand."

"Forbear, and be gone," said Matilda.  "How would Isabella approve of 
seeing thee at my feet?"

"Who is Isabella?" said the young man with surprise.

"Ah, me!  I fear," said the Princess, "I am serving a deceitful one.  
Hast thou forgot thy curiosity this morning?"

"Thy looks, thy actions, all thy beauteous self seem an emanation of 
divinity," said Theodore; "but thy words are dark and mysterious.  
Speak, Lady; speak to thy servant's comprehension."

"Thou understandest but too well!" said Matilda; "but once more I 
command thee to be gone:  thy blood, which I may preserve, will be on 
my head, if I waste the time in vain discourse."

"I go, Lady," said Theodore, "because it is thy will, and because I 
would not bring the grey hairs of my father with sorrow to the grave.  
Say but, adored Lady, that I have thy gentle pity."

"Stay," said Matilda; "I will conduct thee to the subterraneous vault 
by which Isabella escaped; it will lead thee to the church of St. 
Nicholas, where thou mayst take sanctuary."

"What!" said Theodore, "was it another, and not thy lovely self that I 
assisted to find the subterraneous passage?"

"It was," said Matilda; "but ask no more; I tremble to see thee still 
abide here; fly to the sanctuary."

"To sanctuary," said Theodore; "no, Princess; sanctuaries are for 
helpless damsels, or for criminals.  Theodore's soul is free from 
guilt, nor will wear the appearance of it.  Give me a sword, Lady, and 
thy father shall learn that Theodore scorns an ignominious flight."

"Rash youth!" said Matilda; "thou wouldst not dare to lift thy 
presumptuous arm against the Prince of Otranto?"

"Not against thy father; indeed, I dare not," said Theodore.  "Excuse 
me, Lady; I had forgotten.  But could I gaze on thee, and remember 
thou art sprung from the tyrant Manfred!  But he is thy father, and 
from this moment my injuries are buried in oblivion."

A deep and hollow groan, which seemed to come from above, startled the 
Princess and Theodore.

"Good heaven! we are overheard!" said the Princess.  They listened; 
but perceiving no further noise, they both concluded it the effect of 
pent-up vapours.  And the Princess, preceding Theodore softly, carried 
him to her father's armoury, where, equipping him with a complete 
suit, he was conducted by Matilda to the postern-gate.

"Avoid the town," said the Princess, "and all the western side of the 
castle.  'Tis there the search must be making by Manfred and the 
strangers; but hie thee to the opposite quarter.  Yonder behind that 
forest to the east is a chain of rocks, hollowed into a labyrinth of 
caverns that reach to the sea coast.  There thou mayst lie concealed, 
till thou canst make signs to some vessel to put on shore, and take 
thee off.  Go! heaven be thy guide! - and sometimes in thy prayers 
remember - Matilda!"

Theodore flung himself at her feet, and seizing her lily hand, which 
with struggles she suffered him to kiss, he vowed on the earliest 
opportunity to get himself knighted, and fervently entreated her 
permission to swear himself eternally her knight.  Ere the Princess 
could reply, a clap of thunder was suddenly heard that shook the 
battlements.  Theodore, regardless of the tempest, would have urged 
his suit:  but the Princess, dismayed, retreated hastily into the 
castle, and commanded the youth to be gone with an air that would not 
be disobeyed.  He sighed, and retired, but with eyes fixed on the 
gate, until Matilda, closing it, put an end to an interview, in which 
the hearts of both had drunk so deeply of a passion, which both now 
tasted for the first time.

Theodore went pensively to the convent, to acquaint his father with 
his deliverance.  There he learned the absence of Jerome, and the 
pursuit that was making after the Lady Isabella, with some particulars 
of whose story he now first became acquainted.  The generous gallantry 
of his nature prompted him to wish to assist her; but the Monks could 
lend him no lights to guess at the route she had taken.  He was not 
tempted to wander far in search of her, for the idea of Matilda had 
imprinted itself so strongly on his heart, that he could not bear to 
absent himself at much distance from her abode.  The tenderness Jerome 
had expressed for him concurred to confirm this reluctance; and he 
even persuaded himself that filial affection was the chief cause of 
his hovering between the castle and monastery.

Until Jerome should return at night, Theodore at length determined to 
repair to the forest that Matilda had pointed out to him.  Arriving 
there, he sought the gloomiest shades, as best suited to the pleasing 
melancholy that reigned in his mind.  In this mood he roved insensibly 
to the caves which had formerly served as a retreat to hermits, and 
were now reported round the country to be haunted by evil spirits.  He 
recollected to have heard this tradition; and being of a brave and 
adventurous disposition, he willingly indulged his curiosity in 
exploring the secret recesses of this labyrinth.  He had not 
penetrated far before he thought he heard the steps of some person who 
seemed to retreat before him.

Theodore, though firmly grounded in all our holy faith enjoins to be 
believed, had no apprehension that good men were abandoned without 
cause to the malice of the powers of darkness.  He thought the place 
more likely to be infested by robbers than by those infernal agents 
who are reported to molest and bewilder travellers.  He had long 
burned with impatience to approve his valour.  Drawing his sabre, he 
marched sedately onwards, still directing his steps as the imperfect 
rustling sound before him led the way.  The armour he wore was a like 
indication to the person who avoided him.  Theodore, now convinced 
that he was not mistaken, redoubled his pace, and evidently gained on 
the person that fled, whose haste increasing, Theodore came up just as 
a woman fell breathless before him.  He hasted to raise her, but her 
terror was so great that he apprehended she would faint in his arms.  
He used every gentle word to dispel her alarms, and assured her that 
far from injuring, he would defend her at the peril of his life.  The 
Lady recovering her spirits from his courteous demeanour, and gazing 
on her protector, said -

"Sure, I have heard that voice before!"

"Not to my knowledge," replied Theodore; "unless, as I conjecture, 
thou art the Lady Isabella."

"Merciful heaven!" cried she.  "Thou art not sent in quest of me, art 
thou?"  And saying those words, she threw herself at his feet, and 
besought him not to deliver her up to Manfred.

"To Manfred!" cried Theodore - "no, Lady; I have once already 
delivered thee from his tyranny, and it shall fare hard with me now, 
but I will place thee out of the reach of his daring."

"Is it possible," said she, "that thou shouldst be the generous 
unknown whom I met last night in the vault of the castle?  Sure thou 
art not a mortal, but my guardian angel.  On my knees, let me thank - 
"

"Hold! gentle Princess," said Theodore, "nor demean thyself before a 
poor and friendless young man.  If heaven has selected me for thy 
deliverer, it will accomplish its work, and strengthen my arm in thy 
cause.  But come, Lady, we are too near the mouth of the cavern; let 
us seek its inmost recesses.  I can have no tranquillity till I have 
placed thee beyond the reach of danger."

"Alas! what mean you, sir?" said she.  "Though all your actions are 
noble, though your sentiments speak the purity of your soul, is it 
fitting that I should accompany you alone into these perplexed 
retreats?  Should we be found together, what would a censorious world 
think of my conduct?"

"I respect your virtuous delicacy," said Theodore; "nor do you harbour 
a suspicion that wounds my honour.  I meant to conduct you into the 
most private cavity of these rocks, and then at the hazard of my life 
to guard their entrance against every living thing.  Besides, Lady," 
continued he, drawing a deep sigh, "beauteous and all perfect as your 
form is, and though my wishes are not guiltless of aspiring, know, my 
soul is dedicated to another; and although - "  A sudden noise 
prevented Theodore from proceeding.  They soon distinguished these 
sounds -

"Isabella! what, ho! Isabella!"  The trembling Princess relapsed into 
her former agony of fear.  Theodore endeavoured to encourage her, but 
in vain.  He assured her he would die rather than suffer her to return 
under Manfred's power; and begging her to remain concealed, he went 
forth to prevent the person in search of her from approaching.

At the mouth of the cavern he found an armed Knight, discoursing with 
a peasant, who assured him he had seen a lady enter the passes of the 
rock.  The Knight was preparing to seek her, when Theodore, placing 
himself in his way, with his sword drawn, sternly forbad him at his 
peril to advance.

"And who art thou, who darest to cross my way?" said the Knight, 
haughtily.

"One who does not dare more than he will perform," said Theodore.

"I seek the Lady Isabella," said the Knight, "and understand she has 
taken refuge among these rocks.  Impede me not, or thou wilt repent 
having provoked my resentment."

"Thy purpose is as odious as thy resentment is contemptible," said 
Theodore.  "Return whence thou camest, or we shall soon know whose 
resentment is most terrible."

The stranger, who was the principal Knight that had arrived from the 
Marquis of Vicenza, had galloped from Manfred as he was busied in 
getting information of the Princess, and giving various orders to 
prevent her falling into the power of the three Knights.  Their chief 
had suspected Manfred of being privy to the Princess's absconding, and 
this insult from a man, who he concluded was stationed by that Prince 
to secrete her, confirming his suspicions, he made no reply, but 
discharging a blow with his sabre at Theodore, would soon have removed 
all obstruction, if Theodore, who took him for one of Manfred's 
captains, and who had no sooner given the provocation than prepared to 
support it, had not received the stroke on his shield.  The valour 
that had so long been smothered in his breast broke forth at once; he 
rushed impetuously on the Knight, whose pride and wrath were not less 
powerful incentives to hardy deeds.  The combat was furious, but not 
long.  Theodore wounded the Knight in three several places, and at 
last disarmed him as he fainted by the loss of blood.

The peasant, who had fled on the first onset, had given the alarm to 
some of Manfred's domestics, who, by his orders, were dispersed 
through the forest in pursuit of Isabella.  They came up as the Knight 
fell, whom they soon discovered to be the noble stranger.  Theodore, 
notwithstanding his hatred to Manfred, could not behold the victory he 
had gained without emotions of pity and generosity.  But he was more 
touched when he learned the quality of his adversary, and was informed 
that he was no retainer, but an enemy, of Manfred.  He assisted the 
servants of the latter in disarming the Knight, and in endeavouring to 
stanch the blood that flowed from his wounds.  The Knight recovering 
his speech, said, in a faint and faltering voice -

"Generous foe, we have both been in an error.  I took thee for an 
instrument of the tyrant; I perceive thou hast made the like mistake.  
It is too late for excuses.  I faint.  If Isabella is at hand - call 
her - I have important secrets to - "

"He is dying!" said one of the attendants; "has nobody a crucifix 
about them?  Andrea, do thou pray over him."

"Fetch some water," said Theodore, "and pour it down his throat, while 
I hasten to the Princess."

Saying this, he flew to Isabella, and in few words told her modestly 
that he had been so unfortunate by mistake as to wound a gentleman 
from her father's court, who wished, ere he died, to impart something 
of consequence to her.

The Princess, who had been transported at hearing the voice of 
Theodore, as he called to her to come forth, was astonished at what 
she heard.  Suffering herself to be conducted by Theodore, the new 
proof of whose valour recalled her dispersed spirits, she came where 
the bleeding Knight lay speechless on the ground.  But her fears 
returned when she beheld the domestics of Manfred.  She would again 
have fled if Theodore had not made her observe that they were unarmed, 
and had not threatened them with instant death if they should dare to 
seize the Princess.

The stranger, opening his eyes, and beholding a woman, said, "Art thou 
- pray tell me truly - art thou Isabella of Vicenza?"

"I am," said she:  "good heaven restore thee!"

 "Then thou - then thou" - said the Knight, struggling for utterance - 
"seest - thy father.  Give me one - "

"Oh! amazement! horror! what do I hear! what do I see!" cried 
Isabella.  "My father!  You my father!  How came you here, Sir?  For 
heaven's sake, speak!  Oh! run for help, or he will expire!"

"'Tis most true," said the wounded Knight, exerting all his force; "I 
am Frederic thy father.  Yes, I came to deliver thee.  It will not be.  
Give me a parting kiss, and take - "

"Sir," said Theodore, "do not exhaust yourself; suffer us to convey 
you to the castle."

"To the castle!" said Isabella.  "Is there no help nearer than the 
castle?  Would you expose my father to the tyrant?  If he goes 
thither, I dare not accompany him; and yet, can I leave him!"

"My child," said Frederic, "it matters not for me whither I am 
carried.  A few minutes will place me beyond danger; but while I have 
eyes to dote on thee, forsake me not, dear Isabella!  This brave 
Knight - I know not who he is - will protect thy innocence.  Sir, you 
will not abandon my child, will you?"

Theodore, shedding tears over his victim, and vowing to guard the 
Princess at the expense of his life, persuaded Frederic to suffer 
himself to be conducted to the castle.  They placed him on a horse 
belonging to one of the domestics, after binding up his wounds as well 
as they were able.  Theodore marched by his side; and the afflicted 
Isabella, who could not bear to quit him, followed mournfully behind.



CHAPTER IV
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