rtled ear echoing with sighs and
groans and curses, upward through dark galleries, and passed ponderous
iron doors that reminded me of Milton's description of the gates of
hell, till the prison officer who preceded us paused before one of those
grim portals, and inserting a massy key, a heavy grating sound scraped
and lacerated my ear.

"Wait one moment," I gasped, leaning almost powerless on the shoulder of
Richard.

"I feared so," said he, passing his arm around me, his eyes expressing
the most intense sensibility. "I knew you could not bear it. Let us
return,--I was wrong to permit your coming in the first place."

"No, no,--I am able to go in now,--the shock is over,--I am quite strong
now."

And raising my head, I drew a quick, painful breath, passed through the
iron door into the narrow cell, where the gloom of eternal twilight
darkly hung.

At first I could not distinguish the objects within, for a mist was over
my sight, which deepened the shadows of the dungeon walls. But as my eye
became accustomed to the dimness, I saw a tall, emaciated figure rising
from the bed, which nearly filled the limited space which inclosed us. A
narrow aperture in the deep, massy stone, admitted all the light which
illumined us after the iron door slowly closed.

The dark, sunken eyes of the prisoner gleamed like the flash of an
expiring taper, wild and fitful, on our entering forms. He was
dreadfully altered,--I should scarcely have recognized him through the
gloomy shade of his long-neglected hair, and thick, unshorn beard.

"Father," said Richard, trying to speak in a cheerful tone, "I have
brought you a comforter. A daughter's presence must be more soothing
than a son's."

I held out my hand as Richard spoke, and he took it as if it were
marble. No tenderness softened his countenance,--he rather seemed to
recoil from me than to welcome. I noticed a great difference in his
reception of Richard. He grasped his hand, and perused his features as
if he could not withdraw his gaze.

"Are you indeed my son?" he asked, in an unsteady tone. "Do you not mock
me? Tell me once more, are you Theresa's child?"

"As surely as I believe her an angel in heaven, I am."

"Yes,--yes, you have her brow and smile; but why have you come to me
again, when I commanded you to stay away? And why have you brought this
pale girl here, when she loathes me as an incarnate fiend?"

"No,--no," I exclaimed, sinking down on the foot of the bed, in