nd the delight of a fond and admiring parent--that Theodora
was now changed into the fearful semblance of a frantic being. Alas!
such was the effect that a few moments had wrought, that the eyes of a
fond parent would have in vain endeavoured to recognize his darling
child. Feelings utterly foreign to the nature of Theodora, had now taken
possession of the shattered fragments of a broken heart, once the shrine
of hallowed and mental beauty; and those intelligent, soul-stirring
features which nature had bestowed as the interpreters of soft
sentiments and kindly feelings, now faithfully reflected the workings of
impassioned and frenzied woe.

Alas! it is too often found that the gentle female heart, when rudely
lacerated by the perfidy of man, is capable of being wrought, by a
powerful sense of injury and intense anguish, to the utmost agony which
the darker passions can display.

With irregular steps, which bespoke the confusion of her thoughts, she
paced the silent chamber that gave back with hollow sound the measure
of her steps, while the vaulted passages of the palace echoed at
intervals the deafening shouts that were heard from without.

But the fit of frenzied passion under which Theodora laboured was too
violent to last. That fatal crisis was approaching, which generally
terminates in the immediate accomplishment of a mad suggestion, or with
calmness treasures up in silence some direful resolve. The moment had
now arrived when the forces of the suffering victim were exhausted; she
suddenly became composed; her mind appeared irrevocably fixed on some
act of madness, and despair was stamped in the cold and unearthly
expression which at that moment subdued her whole frame, and apparently
subjected her existence to a new dominion.

CHAPTER VIII.

Aguarda hasta que yo pase
Si ha de caer una teja.

_Quevedo._

Este misterio aparente
Te voy, Senor a explicar.

_Zarate._

We think it almost time to retrace our steps, and revert to a character
which played a conspicuous part at the beginning of this history. The
reader, if not particularly deficient in memory, will perhaps remember a
certain Don Rodrigo de Cespedes, who bustled not a little in one or two
of the foregoing chapters, though he had the best excuse in the world
for subsequently keeping out of the way. It is to him we must return;
therefore, patient reader, suffer