n. In the
mean time, I was in the greatest consternation. I felt that I should be
discovered, and reflected upon my conduct. I had lately abjured all
deceit, and had each day gained a step in the path of virtue. I
acknowledged with bitterness, that I deserved all that threatened me,
and that sooner or later, vice will meet with its reward. Had I at first
made known my situation to Donna Celia, she would have had interest
enough (believing me to be her son), to have obtained a dispensation of
my vows. I then might have boldly faced the world--but one act of
duplicity required another to support it, and thus had I entangled
myself in a snare, by which I was to be entrapped at last. But it was
not for myself that I cared; it was for my wife whom I doted on--for my
mother (or supposed mother), to whom it would be the bitterness of
death. The thoughts of rendering others miserable as well as myself
drove me to distraction--and how to act I knew not.

After much reflection, I resolved as a last resource, to throw myself
upon the generosity of my adversary; for although inimical to me, he
bore a high character as a Spanish cavalier. I desired to be informed
the moment that he returned from Seville; and when the intelligence
came, I immediately repaired to his house, and requested an audience. I
was admitted, when Don Alvarez, for that was his name, addressed me.

"You wish to speak with me, Don Pedro--there are others at your house by
this time, who wish to speak with you."

I guessed that he meant the officers of the Inquisition, but pretending
not to understand the remark, I answered him: "Don Alvarez, the enmity
that you have invariably shown towards me has, I am sure, proceeded
from the affront, which you consider that your noble family has
received, by your cousin having formed an alliance with one of unknown
parentage. I have long borne with your pointed insults, out of respect
for her who gave me birth; I am now about to throw myself upon your
generosity, and probably when I inform you, that I am the unhappy issue
of the early amour of Donna Celia (which of course you have heard of), I
may then claim your compassion, if not your friendship, from having at
least some of the same noble blood in my veins."

"I was not indeed aware of it," replied Don Alvarez, with agitation; "I
would to heaven you had confided in me before."

"Perhaps it would have been better," replied I, "but permit me to prove
my assertions." I the