particular observation, that I have hitherto thought proper to devour my
griefs in silence, and even to bear the want of almost every convenience,
rather than hazard a premature discovery, by offering my jewels to sale.

In this emergency I have been so far fortunate as to become acquainted
with you, whom I look upon as a man of honour and humanity. Indeed, I
was at first sight prepossessed in your favour, for, notwithstanding the
mistakes which men daily commit in judging from appearances, there is
something in the physiognomy of a stranger from which one cannot help
forming an opinion of his character and disposition. For once, my
penetration hath not failed me; your behaviour justifies my decision; you
have treated me with that sympathy and respect which none but the
generous will pay to the unfortunate. I have trusted you accordingly. I
have put my life, my honour, in your power; and I must beg leave to
depend upon your friendship, for obtaining that satisfaction for which
alone I seek to live. Your employment engages you in the gay world; you
daily mingle with the societies of men; the domestics of the Spanish
ambassador will not shun your acquaintance; you may frequent the
coffee-houses to which they resort; and, in the course of these
occasions, unsuspected inform yourself of that mysterious charge which
lies heavy on the fame of the unfortunate Don Diego. I must likewise
implore your assistance in converting my jewels into money, that I may
breathe independent of man, until Heaven shall permit me to finish this
weary pilgrimage of life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

A FLAGRANT INSTANCE OF FATHOM'S VIRTUE, IN THE MANNER OF HIS RETREAT TO
ENGLAND.

Fathom, who had lent an attentive ear to every circumstance of this
disastrous story, no sooner heard it concluded, than, with an aspect of
generous and cordial compassion, not even unattended with tears, he
condoled the lamentable fate of Don Diego de Zelos, deplored the untimely
death of the gentle Antonia and the fair Serafina, and undertook the
interest of the wretched Castilian with such warmth of sympathising zeal,
as drew a flood from his eyes, while he wrung his benefactor's hand in a
transport of gratitude. Those were literally tears of joy, or at least
of satisfaction, on both sides; as our hero wept with affection and
attachment to the jewels that were to be committed to his care; but, far
from discovering the true source of his tenderness, he affe