r were too much. I was the
punishment of her fault. I came into a world then, in which every man
despised me before I had done any act to deserve its scorn,"

"Nay, this is pushing opinions to extremes!" interrupted the Signor
Grimaldi, who had scarce breathed, in his eagerness to catch the syllables
as they came from the other's tongue.

"We began, Signori, as we have ended; distrustful, and struggling to see
which could do the other the most harm. A reverend and holy monk, who knew
my history, would have filled a soul with heaven that the wrongs of the
world had already driven to, the verge of hell. The experiment failed.
Homily and precept," Maso smiled bitterly as he continued, "are but
indifferent weapons to fight with against hourly wrongs; instead of
becoming a cardinal and the counsellor of the head of the church, I am the
man ye see. Signor Grimaldi, the monk who gave me his care was Father
Girolamo. He told the truth to thy secretary, for I am the son of poor
Annunziata Altieri, who was once thought worthy to attract thy passing
notice. The deception of calling myself another of thy children was
practised for my own security. The means were offered by an accidental
confederacy with one of the instruments of thy formidable enemy and
cousin, who furnished the papers that had been taken with the little
Gaetano. The truth of what I say shall be delivered to you at Genoa. As
for the Signor Sigismondo, it is time we ceased to be rivals. We are
brothers, with this difference in our fortunes, that he comes of wedlock,
and I of an unexpiated, and almost an unrepented, crime!"

A common cry, in which regret, joy, and surprise were wildly mingled,
interrupted the speaker. Adelheid threw herself into her husband's arms,
and the pale and conscience-stricken Doge stood with extended arms, an
image of contrition, delight, and shame. His friends pressed around him
with consolation on their tongues, and the blandishments of affection in
their manner, for the regrets of the great rarely pass away unheeded, like
the moans of the low.

"Let me have air!" exclaimed the prince; "give me air or I suffocate!
Where is the child of Annunziata?--I will at least atone to him for the
wrong done his mother!"

It was too late. The victim of another's fault had cast himself over the
edge of the precipice with reckless hardihood, and he was already beyond
the reach of the voice, in his swift descent, by a shorter but dangerous
path, towa