is so young; she has not known you
long; perhaps her love, after all, is that caused by some mystic, but
innocent working of nature, and she would rejoice to call you 'father.'
Happy years are yet in store for you."

Maltravers did not listen to these vain and hollow consolations. With
his head drooping on his bosom, his whole form unnerved, the large
tears rolling unheeded down his cheeks, he seemed the very picture of a
broken-hearted man, whom fate never again could raise from despair. He,
who had, for years, so cased himself in pride, on whose very front was
engraved the victory over passion and misfortune, whose step had trod
the earth in the royalty of the conqueror; the veriest slave that crawls
bore not a spirit more humbled, fallen, or subdued! He who had looked
with haughty eyes on the infirmities of others, who had disdained
to serve his race because of their human follies and partial
frailties,--_he_, even _he_, the Pharisee of Genius,--had but escaped by
a chance, and by the hand of the man he suspected and despised, from
a crime at which nature herself recoils,--which all law, social and
divine, stigmatizes as inexpiable, which the sternest imagination of the
very heathen had invented as the gloomiest catastrophe that can befall
the wisdom and the pride of mortals! But one step farther, and the
fabulous Oedipus had not been more accursed!

Such thoughts as these, unformed, confused, but strong enough to bow him
to the dust, passed through the mind of this wretched man. He had been
familiar with grief, he had been dull to enjoyment; sad and bitter
memories had consumed his manhood: but pride had been left him still;
and he had dared in his secret heart to say, "I can defy Fate!" Now the
bolt had fallen; Pride was shattered into fragments, Self-abasement was
his companion, Shame sat upon his prostrate soul. The Future had no hope
left in store. Nothing was left for him but to die!

Lord Vargrave gazed at him in real pain, in sincere compassion; for his
nature, wily, deceitful, perfidious though it was, had cruelty only so
far as was necessary to the unrelenting execution of his schemes. No
pity could swerve him from a purpose; but he had enough of the man
within him to feel pity not the less, even for his own victim! At length
Maltravers lifted his head, and waved his hand gently to Lord Vargrave.

"All is now explained," said he, in a feeble voice; "our interview
is over. I must be alone; I have yet to