ave me thus, whom never man yet braved and lived to boast of
it! And now for a mere girlish fancy, a weak feminine caprice for a man,
who cares not for you; who has betrayed you; who, idiot and inconsistent
that he is, fresh from your fiery kisses, was whimpering within an hour at
the feet of his cold Julia; who has, I doubt not, boasted of your favors,
while he deplored his own infatuation, to her, his promised wife!--For a
fond frivolous liking of a moment, you would forego gratification, rank,
greatness, power, and vengeance! Is this just toward me, wise toward
yourself? Is this like Lucia Orestilla? You would preserve a traitor who
deserts you, nay, scorns you in his easy triumph! You would destroy all
those who love you; you would destroy yourself, to make the traitor and
his minion happy! Awake! awake, my Lucia, from this soft foolish fancy!
Awake, and be yourself once more! Awake to wisdom, to ambition, to
revenge!"

His words were spirited and fiery; but they struck on no kindred chord in
the bosom of his daughter. On the contrary, the spark had faded from her
eye and the flush from her cheek, and her looks were dispirited and
downcast. But as he ceased, she raised her eye and met his piercing gaze
firmly, and replied in a sorrowful yet resolute tone.

"Eloquent! aye! you are eloquent! Catiline, would I had never learned it
to my cost; but it is too late now! it is all too late! for the rest, I am
awake; and so far, at least, am wise, that I perceive the folly of the
past, and decipher clearly the sophistry of your false teaching. As for
the future, hope is dead, and ambition. Revenge, I seek not; if I did so,
thou art there, on whom to wreak it; for saving thou, and myself only,
none have wronged me. More words are needless. See that thou lay aside thy
plans, and dare not to harm him, or her. He shall not betray thee or
thine; for that will I be his surety and hostage! Injure them, by deed or
by word, and, one and all, you perish! I ask no promise of you--promises
bind you not!--but let fear bind you, for _I_ promise _you_, and be sure
that my plight will be kept!"

"Can this be Lucia Orestilla?" exclaimed Catiline, "this puling love-sick
girl, this timorous, repentant--I had nearly called thee--maiden! Why, thou
fool, what would'st thou with the man farther? Dost think to be his wife?"

"Wife!" cried the wretched girl, clasping her hands together, and looking
piteously in her destroyer's face. "Wife! wife! a