“ Stop, I adjure thee,” cried Hippolita: “remember thou dost not depend on thyself; thou hast a father.”
“ My father is too pious, too noble,” interrupted Isabella, “to command an impious deed. But should he command it; can a father enjoin a cursed act? I was contracted to the son, can I wed the father? No, madam, no; force should not drag me to Manfred’s hated bed. I loathe him, I abhor him: divine and human laws forbid—and my friend, my dearest Matilda! would I wound her tender soul by injuring her adored mother? my own mother—I never have known another”—
“ Oh! she is the mother of both!” cried Matilda: “can we, can we, Isabella, adore her too much?”
“ My lovely children,” said the touched Hippolita, “your tenderness overpowers me—but I must not give way to it. It is not ours
