o his bloody hands?"

"This," said the King, "craves more secret examination. Let all leave
the apartment who are not immediately connected with these proceedings,
and let this Christian be again brought before us.--Wretched man,"
he continued, addressing Christian, "what wiles are these you have
practised, and by what extraordinary means?"

"She has betrayed me, then!" said Christian--"Betrayed me to bonds and
death, merely for an idle passion, which can never be successful!--But
know, Zarah," he added, addressing her sternly, "when my life is
forfeited through thy evidence, the daughter has murdered the father!"

The unfortunate girl stared on him in astonishment. "You said," at
length she stammered forth, "that I was the daughter of your slaughtered
brother?"

"That was partly to reconcile thee to the part thou wert to play in my
destined drama of vengeance--partly to hide what men call the infamy of
thy birth. But _my_ daughter thou art! and from the eastern clime, in
which thy mother was born, you derive that fierce torrent of passion
which I laboured to train to my purposes, but which, turned into another
channel, has become the cause of your father's destruction.--My destiny
is the Tower, I suppose?"

He spoke these words with great composure, and scarce seemed to regard
the agonies of his daughter, who, throwing herself at his feet, sobbed
and wept most bitterly.

"This must not be," said the King, moved with compassion at this scene
of misery. "If you consent, Christian, to leave this country, there is a
vessel in the river bound for New England--Go, carry your dark intrigues
to other lands."

"I might dispute the sentence," said Christian boldly; "and if I submit
to it, it is a matter of my own choice.--One half-hour had made me
even with that proud woman, but fortune hath cast the balance against
me.--Rise, Zarah, Fenella no more! Tell the Lady of Derby, that, if the
daughter of Edward Christian, the niece of her murdered victim, served
her as a menial, it was but for the purpose of vengeance--miserably,
miserably frustrated!--Thou seest thy folly now--thou wouldst follow
yonder ungrateful stripling--thou wouldst forsake all other thoughts to
gain his slightest notice; and now thou art a forlorn outcast, ridiculed
and insulted by those on whose necks you might have trod, had you
governed yourself with more wisdom!--But come, thou art still my
daughter--there are other skies than that which canopies Br