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 you shrink from the duties that you have imposed upon yourself, and talk of your last moments. Shame! shame! Elvira! rouse yourself from this lethargy, and be indeed a Queen. Remember, that though Nature has ordinarily denied your sex the power of triumphing in the field, she has yet left a far greater conquest for you to achieve—the conquest of yourself; for it is far more glorious to subdue the wayward desires of the human heart, than to lead scores of monarchs captives in your chains. Struggle then with your feelings: conquer those fatal passions that threaten to destroy you; show yourself worthy of your crown, and be again the Elvira for whom even in her childhood, I anticipated greatness."

"It is too late," interrupted the Queen impatiently—"it is now too late. Urge me no more, Sir Ambrose, or you will drive me to despair."

Sir Ambrose was provoked at her obstinacy, and a pause ensued, which was broken by a tumultuous noise and shouting. It was the people at the gates of the palace, who, impatient at the length of Sir Ambrose's stay, were now becoming clamorous for an answer.