ble into
the tragic and make your life a worthy and a necessary offering--not to
revenge, but justice:--life for life--victim for victim! 'Tis the old
law--'tis a righteous one."

"You shall not, with your accursed coldness, thus dispose of me as you
will, and arrogate the option to smite or save! No," continued Cesarini,
stamping his foot--"no; far from seeking forbearance at your hands--I
dare and defy you! You think I have injured you--I, on the other hand,
consider that the wrong has come from yourself. But for you, she might
have loved me--have been mine. Let that pass. But for you, at least, it
is certain that I should neither have sullied my soul with a vile sin,
nor brought the brightest of human beings to the grave. If she dies, the
murder may be mine, but you were the cause--the devil that tempted to
the offence. I defy and spit upon you--I have no softness left in me--my
veins are fire--my heart thirsts for blood. You--you--have still the
privilege to see--to bless--to tend her:--and I--I, who loved her
so--who could have kissed the earth she trod on--I--well, well, no
matter--I hate you--I insult you--I call you villain and dastard--I
throw myself on the laws of honour, and I demand that conflict you defer
or deny!"

"Home, doter--home--fall on thy knees, and pray to Heaven for
pardon--make up thy dread account--repine not at the days yet thine to
wash the black spot from thy soul. For, while I speak, I foresee too
well that her days are numbered, and with her thread of life is entwined
thine own. Within twelve hours from her last moment, we shall meet
again: but now I am as ice and stone,--thou canst not move me. Her
closing life shall not be darkened by the aspect of blood--by the
thought of the sacrifice it demands. Begone, or menials shall cast thee
from my door: those lips are too base to breathe the same air as honest
men. Begone, I say, begone!"

Though scarce a muscle moved in the lofty countenance of
Maltravers--though no frown darkened the majestic brow--though no fire
broke from the steadfast and scornful eye--there was a kingly authority
in the aspect, in the extended arm, the stately crest, and a power in
the swell of the stern voice, which awed and quelled the unhappy being
whose own passions exhausted and unmanned him. He strove to fling back
scorn to scorn, but his lips trembled, and his voice died in hollow
murmurs within his breast. Maltravers regarded him with a crushing
and intense di